My wicked son

I tried to make an entry last night, but my mouse died just after I finished writing it and I ended up losing it. So I went out and bought a new one this morning. I also got carried away buying more stuff - some more of the millions of little things needed to make an empty place habitable, like a draining board, washing-up bowl, toilet brush, another dustbin, two new squeaky toys and a stock of wet wipes for the floor. I've got a cunning little sponge mop thing that you clip a wet wipe onto so that you can scoot it round the floor without bending - I do enjoy getting on my hands and knees but there's just too much floor to do it that way, especially since I do the floor at least twice daily. I've never been houseproud before, it's fuckin' freaky!

Spike is not happy. He's offended that he wasn't consulted about moving house, he's offended at being expected to go to the toilet on a leash, he's offended by Squish (but that's normal) - and he's both offended and miserable about being separated from his cat. So he's alternating Evil Bugger mode with Bad Poet Angst mode. Today he peed in the hallway as I was taking them outside. With any other dog this would be down to being too desperate to wait, but I know Spike better than that. He only leaked a few drops in the hall, but he waited a full five minutes to lift his leg when I got him outside. And he chomped my hand yesterday in the park. He pretended he was just going for the ball, but I was already holding it - how do you not notice that?

But his Bad Poet Angst routine is even worse. He sits by my leg with half-mast ears and big sad worried eyes, heaves a sigh and very gently lays one paw on my arm. It's halfway between heartrending and hammy - I know the feelings are genuine but he's such a drama queen it's hard not to laugh just a little.

I know what would solve all his troubles. He misses Maisie (and the feline is mutual, according to Mum) and he needs a cat. The trouble is I'm not willing to add another permanent responsibility; I'm at my limit with the Black Pack. I'm thinking of getting in touch with some cat rescue places and see if I can foster kittens temporarily or something. I know there are a lot of cat people on my friends list - any of you have any thoughts?

My wicked son

I tried to make an entry last night, but my mouse died just after I finished writing it and I ended up losing it. So I went out and bought a new one this morning. I also got carried away buying more stuff - some more of the millions of little things needed to make an empty place habitable, like a draining board, washing-up bowl, toilet brush, another dustbin, two new squeaky toys and a stock of wet wipes for the floor. I've got a cunning little sponge mop thing that you clip a wet wipe onto so that you can scoot it round the floor without bending - I do enjoy getting on my hands and knees but there's just too much floor to do it that way, especially since I do the floor at least twice daily. I've never been houseproud before, it's fuckin' freaky!

Spike is not happy. He's offended that he wasn't consulted about moving house, he's offended at being expected to go to the toilet on a leash, he's offended by Squish (but that's normal) - and he's both offended and miserable about being separated from his cat. So he's alternating Evil Bugger mode with Bad Poet Angst mode. Today he peed in the hallway as I was taking them outside. With any other dog this would be down to being too desperate to wait, but I know Spike better than that. He only leaked a few drops in the hall, but he waited a full five minutes to lift his leg when I got him outside. And he chomped my hand yesterday in the park. He pretended he was just going for the ball, but I was already holding it - how do you not notice that?

But his Bad Poet Angst routine is even worse. He sits by my leg with half-mast ears and big sad worried eyes, heaves a sigh and very gently lays one paw on my arm. It's halfway between heartrending and hammy - I know the feelings are genuine but he's such a drama queen it's hard not to laugh just a little.

I know what would solve all his troubles. He misses Maisie (and the feline is mutual, according to Mum) and he needs a cat. The trouble is I'm not willing to add another permanent responsibility; I'm at my limit with the Black Pack. I'm thinking of getting in touch with some cat rescue places and see if I can foster kittens temporarily or something. I know there are a lot of cat people on my friends list - any of you have any thoughts?