I know, I know. This is a food blog. But sometimes rules must be bent, and life is the better for it.
Not content with chickens, my girlfriend has been playfully prodding me in the direction of pets for about six months. That’s pets rather than functional animals, something that lives in the house and doesn’t give us milk or eggs or meat.
By the time the New Year came round, my half-arsed and not-really-very-strong defences had been worn down and we started looking for a cat, or to be more precise a kitten. That was my only stipulation: that we get the smallest, cutest, littlest kitten we could find. I’m aware that they don’t stay small, cute and little for very long but I was happy to ignore that reality.
It didn’t take us long. On our first visit to the Blue Cross we found two little kittens that had to be housed together so we signed the papers and yesterday they came home with us.
And so it is with great pleasure that I introduce you to (drum roll please, though not too noisy, they seem to have an aversion to LOUD NOISES) Josiah and Abbey – named after America’s favourite fictional president and his first lady. It’s fine to call them The Barletts. We do.