I love when it rains.

It is not the smell it leaves on the air or the fact it might bring forth Rainbows. It's because I get to spend some quality time with my usually socially inept, double hard bastard cat, Buster.

I have been previously owned by four cats. Sandy, a fat ginger ex-tom. Rocky, a long-haired tabby who was also a double hard bastard. He once attacked the mad woman up the road who was infamous for shouting 'nicky nacky noo, suspenders!' at passers by, thankfully after the attack she only got to 'nicky nacky' before being too scared to walk past our house. Rodney, a pure white, beautiful animal but he had major issues and actually did turn out to be a right plonker and Stanley, a ginger, tail-less, dog loving little sweetheart.

Sandy was welcomed into our family home when I was one year old after the neighbours had a house fire. A lovely fireman went back inside to save the kittens and my parents agreed to take him in there and then (Sandy not the fireman). Sandy got to two stone in weight, probably the reason why I could manhandle him so much and he was my best friend. We knew he visited another house as no cat got that fat on what we'd fed him. That and the fact he always came home smelling of curry made us figure it out, eventually. But, he was always there when I had no one to play with. Our favourite game, 'we've been kidnapped Sandy and we have to be quiet and can't move from the bed otherwise they will kill us'. I do realise I would have been a child psychiatrist's dream at six years old which probably is why I was so mortified when he died when I was fifteen.

Rocky and Rodney are a whole other story which would take too long to explain. Lets just say, I didn't want them to go to a rescue after my mother died, I went and cat-napped them, most of my family stopped talking to me and to top it off, when I moved, the man who lived upstairs didn't understand what, 'they are my cats STOP feeding them' ment. They both chose a life of tinned tuna and salmon over whatever I could find on offer at the supermarket and lots of Doritos, mine was the party house!

Stanley the first on the other hand, was an angel and he was my dog's best friend. Unfortunately, a lot of people thought he was an angel and I think he was stolen. Suprisingly, it wasn't by the man upstairs this time but I have to believe it was someone who loved him enough to take him, it was far easier that way.

Then we come to Buster. When the hubster and I moved from London to Kent, he was the first animal we got as a couple. He's twelve now and I have spent entire rain washed days, shut away, cuddling him. He is my favourite cat ever and considering some of the cats I've owned and what they ment to me, this is quite an accolade.

Why do I love him so much? He will never just play with his kill, if he's going to attack, he'll go straight for the jugular. He is more than happy to be in his own company for days/weeks at a time and if he can't give you his all, he'd rather give you nothing.

It rained today, it's always nice to spend some quality time with one's self...