My family — and all those other animals

WHEN the kids were small, I tended to overindulge them to make up for the fact that I was a separated mum. This included filling the house with animals. The more animals the less likely they were to notice there was only one parent. So Noah’s Ark was recreated. There were two birds, called Guns and Roses. Two goldfish, called Charles and Diana. Two turtles whose names elude me. Two hamsters, called Hfor and Houdini. The latter was named because of his ability to escape from a locked cage and dig up large areas of carpet. There were always cats and dogs as well. And much more.

While the kids started out enthusiastically with each new arrival, their interest soon waned and yours truly ended up doing all the cleaning and feeding. I ranted and raved at them for their negligence but in hindsight they hadn’t actually asked for any of them.

So up to a few months ago there has always been an animal in the house, and I don’t mean the kids. When my dog died, I thought about getting a puppy.

And then I offered to mind a puppy recently for a few days while her owners were away and I now know that I’m too old for it. A tiny little bundle of fur, she would run out into the garden, dive into a muddy flower pot and then shoot past me at high speed on to my white couch. My house is just not conducive to small inquisitive creatures of any kind. Rather than have her do damage downstairs at night I brought her to my bedroom to sleep. Mistake. She thought it was the best thing ever. Diving on to the bed and landing on my head. I spent most of the night wearing her — like a Russian in Moscow.

Maybe I don’t want those grandkids after all.