Everyone I know thinks I'm a bit batty about cats. I talk to them, as if they understand every word I say, a bit like I used to talk to my kids when they were nobbut toddlers. "Now then, what would you like for supper tonight?"
"We don't really care so long as it's not namby pamby bloody southern poofter cat food. Hey, you didn't manage to get the rat out from behind the boiler did you? That would be nicely cured by now."
Cats welfare takes priority over everybody else's, for instance, "Mum I think I've broken my wrist!"
"Oh OK. Let's just feed the cats and then I'll have a look at it!"
Cat's have first choice on seating.
"Why are you sitting on the floor?"
"Well L.C. was on the sofa and I didn't want to disturb him."
However this pales into minor eccentricity compared to some people. A surgeon in Cheshire has commisioned a luxutry kennel for her two Great Danes.
The kennel will boast a jacuzzi, plasma screen T.V., state of the art music system, thermostatically controlled beds and a security gate with retinal scanner. A snip at £1.4 million.
Presumably there will also be a chef on hand to prepare the scooby snacks.
Either that or she's failed to get planning permission for a second dwelling on her property.