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We took Hunter and Ralph to the vet for their 12 month / 730 meal service this week. This is always somewhat traumatic as, cloistered house cats that they are, they find the noise and bustle of the outside world rather terrifying. Both started doing that honking emergency call that scared kittens do (it's horrible - like a feline air raid siren) and Ralph hid himself under a blanket, peeking out only when he spotted Hunter in the other cat carrier.

Fortunately both are doing fine and Ralph, who was a bit porky last time, has shed a whole Kilogram, putting him back at his ideal weight. Hunter looks bigger but, as the vet put it, that's just the fluff - he's actually a size zero.

Hunter and Ralph, July 2006:

Hunter and Ralph, July 2008:

Complete photographic history here.

And Ralph has all the toys.

One of my better excuses for not doing the washing.

Here you can see the spoiled domestic fluffball, stalking his prey across his natural habitat: a cheap Ikea rug.

Actually, a funny thing has happened to Hunter lately (not the thing where he injured my face - that wasn't particularly funny*) - he's learnt to play. Ralph has always played in the flat - in particular, he loves to chase toy mice around, dribbling them like a footballer then pouncing and returning triumphant, mouse in jaw. Hunter, however, always treated toys as enemies that must be dispatched Rambo-style, with the maximum amount of violence possible (picture here), until one of two things happen:

1. He gets so excited that he vomits (yuck), or
2. The toy dies a horrible death, or
3. We remove the toy in an effort to prevent options 1 and 2.

Lately, though, he's progressed past this, and he now knows that letting go of the toy snake will allow us to move it again, thus making for a more entertaining chase. I'm not sure whether this is standard cat education (albeit rather late) or the effect of domestication, but it is a relief.

* I'm assured by Helen that it was. She was good enough to stifle her laughter until I'd found medication, though.