Pet paradise

For some years now Gorgeous George and I have been pursuing "the simple life". Circumstances - for instance having our little business sink underneath us and leaving us in rather a lot of debt - made the decision to cut costs and live frugally a no-brainer. Besides which, GG has always hated too much stuff and is happiest when throwing things out rather than buying them. I've had to work a bit harder at it, but there are definite signs of improvement, both in terms of clutter and debt reduction.

But one aspect of our lives has stubbornly refused the cost-cutting razor, and it's the pets. Our daughter, the Boho Babe was always a bit of a pet collector while she lived at home, and I am a soft touch when it comes to the sight of a soft cuddly pet-type animal in need of a family. Which has meant, of course, that we have ended up with three cats and a dog and the Boho Babe has grown up and moved out.

One of the cats, Dreydis, is an eight-year-old Burmese with a surgically reconstructed pelvis as a result from being hit by a car. He also suffers from asthma and sounds like a reformed smoker. He actually belongs to the Babe, but after she moved out, he stayed with us because our other cat, Fred the Tonkinese would "fret without him".

Fred is a talking Tonk, meaning he yells and screams like a toddler having a tantrum unless he is actually asleep on a lap. The Babe suggested we get a Tonk after our own Burmese was hit by a car because they "combine the best of a Burmese and a Siamese". Total twaddle, he has all the neurosis of a Siamese and is as needy as the worst Burmese. He is a challenge, to say the least. Luckily he adores Gorgeous George and GG adores him, so they are a match made in hell.

Boo, our ancient Persian cross, was also the Babe's acquisition, when he was a tiny seven-week-old charity cat. He is still with us, 16 years later, scratching the timber door frames to shreds and abusing all and sundry just because he can.

Finally there is Bertie, a white, furry, mostly Maltese cross who is going on 11 and who cost us an absolute fortune after being hit by a car, strangely enough driven by an ambulance officer who kindly drove me and the mangled pup to the vet where he was patched up to the tune of many thousands of dollars. That was many years ago, but now his cruciate ligaments in both legs have gone and require pretty frequent medication and he has mild heart disease and a hernia.

And on days like today, when the rain is bucketing down and they are all inside and glaring at me, except for Fred who is actually running around and yelling, I think maybe not having pets would be a sensible move.

And then Bertie struggles over on his poor sore legs and puts his head in my lap and looks up at me with his big, brown eyes and I promptly resolve to spend a bit more money on injections and pain-killing meds for him and some nice clean litter so the cats don't have to go out and get wet.

Sorry GG, the money has to come from somewhere. Sardines on toast for dinner, again. The simple life, right.