Someone has drool issues…

…And it's not me.

Since I lost Steve, I've been starved of cat-based affections (you can insert your own dirty joke here - I'm too tired to bother), and have been on the look out for a new kitty who will give me their undivided love and attention without me actually having to go to the trouble of buying a pet of my own.

There's a been a couple of random encounters – the beige cat that wanders into the office, the crazy kitten across the road from the office, and the big cat I've named Buddy who I see most lunchtimes - but none of them really mean anything; they're just the feline equivalent of friends with benefits (just without *those* sort of benefits, if ya sees mah meaning).

That was until yesterday. I was round visiting Sparky Ma and Pa when I noticed a cat outside their house. Now, I've seen this cat before; he was actually Steve's special friend for a time, so I figured that he must also be feeling a bit emotional and empty since Steve was taken from us. That being the case, I thought we could, y'know, get together and hang out.

This cat, who I'll name Tig, immediately responded to my attentions. He's a dear little thing - huge eyes and tiny paws; he's actually quite dainty for a tomcat, which makes it all the more surprising that Steve went for him because she was a bit of a tomboy herself. Anyway, so Tig comes in the house, and wanders around a bit, and after a few minutes big bro Simon starts playing with him. This is cool, I'm thinking, we've got a dainty Steve-substitute. That is until I heard Simon yell "eeeeoow! Someone's got a drool problem!"

I looked up half expecting to see Simon dribbling down his chin, but no - he meant the cat.

Dear god - to you remember that scene in the classic Tom Hanks movie 'Turner and Hooch' where the dog (not Tom Hanks) has huge strands of slobber hanging down from his mouth so that it looks like he's swallowed a shoe? Imagine that on a cat.

I seriously almost vomed.

Within seconds Simon was trying to get the thing out into the garden, but it thought he was playing and kept trying to rub around him. His reaction to this, obviously, was to back away because he didn't want cat slobber on his jeans. And then it got worse; Tig clearly felt the sensation of something hanging from its face, so kept shaking his head to try to get rid of it. All this did, though, was to elongate the drool strands and eventually flip them up so they got stuck to the side of his head. For such a dainty little kitty he ended up looking like a freakin' monster.

Anyway, eventually I worked up the courage to get some kitchen roll and wipe the little bugger's face clean - again almost puking in the process (why they hell is that?). It's then that I noticed that, whereas other cats like to rub their faces against things to leave their scent, Tig just bangs his frikkin' head against things over and over again. Which leads me to think that he's maybe retarded or something. I don't know. Either way, that's not the way these non-cat owning relationships should be - if I wanted to wipe faces I'd buy my own cat. So I did the only thing I could think of to nip this in the bud before Tig thought we'd moved our relationship to the next level.

I got in the car and went home.