A friend of mine came over for a visit. She said I should tell you about the mentally deranged transference of personalities we have projected onto our animals and the names we call them… Come on; we all do it.

Cat’s first. Smudge, princess Smudge, Her Smudgeness, Smudgilicious. Sox, he’s rescued from the gardens in Almuñécar, thinks he’s posh; never, ever swears.
Junior has Touretts; he’s a foul-mouthed, little creature. Lucky, rescued from outside Mercadona, tiny, hissing, spitting, scratching eyes glued shut. He’s a bit of a union man, a clip board carrier, organizes meetings, first one to complain and write a letter if the food isn’t up the tree on time.

There’s Chavy – he’s ginger, sorry. Then there are the ‘Ingtons’. Meowsey-Meowington, Barky-Barkington, Fluffy-Flufington and our personal favourite, Farty-Fartington.
Obviously, there are more, as have 50 rescued animals here but am starting to see myself through your eyes!