Flossie my lovely tabby and white floozie cat is a real queen. I have to trim her claws a little as she is not very adept at scratching them down on the cat post. (she came from a bad home and is only now learning how to do some things). I sit her next to me on the sofa, and lift a paw, she holds it up for me like in a manicure parlour and lets... LETS! me clip her claws.

I've also been teaching her how to use her cat post, to the amusement of me other half. It took me an age showing her how to use the cat flap (again to my other halfs amusement).

And when she was given fresh chicken and fresh fish for the first time she went mad for it.

It's taken us a year to get her to like us, and in that year we've taught her how to play (she didn't even know how to do that - her previous owner had given her no stimulation at all, she was ignored and left to get on with it).

Now, anything is fair game, she hides behind sofas and launches an attack on you. Pounces on the family dog when it is least likely to expect it. And has turned in to the most lovely cat ever.

But I still miss my bad ass cat that I had from when I was 5. He died when I was 25, a feral kitten which we tamed. It was never a dull moment with him, and he was like a tasmanian devil. But with us he was a softy. Pee him off though, and he'd launch an attack maybe 20 minutes later when you are least expecting it. He chased me down the garden once when I was smaller. Me hopping in the air, him flying behind me attacking me.

He hated men (except my dad), but was the fabbest cat ever!

Ella