Some time ago we noticed that the 'second telly' -

the one I use to watch French TV - was behaving badly. The colour came and went and sometimes the picture narrowed. 

This week we decided to take it to be repaired. The man put it on his bench and connected it while we were there.

"Strange," he mused, "ir's not a fault I've seen before. Leave it with me and I'll ring you within 48 hours."

Yesterday he telephoned to say he could repair it for 75 euros. It was not as bad as he had feared but 'did we have a cat because they had found evidence of liquid. . . .?'

"You mean a cat has done a pee in the television?" I asked.

"Erm, yes. It's quite possible."

"Well we do have six of them so it's highly likely."

We collected it today and the man explained how he had cleaned it all inside.

"Our repairs are guaranteed for three months," he announced as we left.

"Even against cats?"

"No, sorry!"

So who's the guilty party I wonder.

                            Parsley likes sitting on the computer monitor,

or in the laundry basket.

The twins prefer to share an armchair.

Chloe likes a radiator.

Toby patrols to keep all the girls in order,

but suspect number one is Holly, as she spends quite a lot of time on the boxes behind the television.

We have managed to reduce our routine visits to the vet to just three times a year - two cats each time.

Last week it was the turn of Toby and Chloe and we knew that if anyone caught a glimpse of a catbasket they would all disappear under the bed or behind the computer. So I prepared the willow basket and a new cat carrier that the vet had given us last time in the garage and then went to find the victims.

Toby was curled up  on an armchair so it was easy to pick him up but when he saw the basket he became amazingly active and it was a bit of a fight to get him in. Chloe, bless her, was more trusting and quite curious about this new bag so she didn't protest too much when I zipped her in.

Toby made  loud cries all the way there but Chloe didn't make a sound. Maybe she was too scared. Toby was sick within a few minutes and also did a poo. We had to open the sunroof and the windows - just a bit.

In the waiting room I managed to clean Toby's basket (he's usually carsick so we were prepared) and the receptionist took the 'Carnets de Santé'. The vet invited us in and proceeded to examine her patients before administering the jabs. I remember her when she started, five years ago, and was a bit inexperienced but now she handles the cats with calm assurance and sticks the needle in without making them flinch.

She gave them both a clean bill of health, made sure they didn't have any 'habitants' (such as fleas) and then we went to the desk for her to add up the bill. She didn't have a large bag of cat biscuits in stock but promised to bring them to us this week. it was then we discovered she has lived in our village for the last three years.

The only time I've seen her is at the surgery when we were both waiting for the physio. It was the season for 'bronchiolite' in young children and her seven month old daughter was booked in for her first session of torture.

Yes - torture! From what I gather they squeeze the child's chest to make her cough and it must feel like choking or being asphyxiated. The poor little things cry with terror and as the treatment is on a daily basis most of them start screaming as soon as mum parks the car outside the surgery. I'm sure they don't do that to children in England.

Anyway, to return to the visit to the vet, we bought six phials of 'Advocate' which treats fleas, worms, ticks and earmites (I like to use this twice a year but it's more expensive than Frontline which only repels fleas and ticks) paid in advance for the biscuits and came out with our precious bundles of fur 221 euros worse off.  Veterinery charges are increasing but I think they still compare favourably with costs in Britain. All the same, it's definitely worth it to protect them from most diseases, including rabies.

CC is claustrophobic, I have a fear of spiders but with Yvette it's cats.

At first, she didn't say anything because she realised how much we adore our six small furry creatures but then I noticed that she flinched a little if any of them approached her and she always preferred to sit on a chair at the table rather than on an armchair where one of them might want to come on her lap.

Eventually my friend admitted that she was terribly afraid of cats but that she was making a great effort to get used to them.

Her daughters were amazed to learn that she was prepared to come and visit a home where there were so many felines on the prowl so she was obviously making progress already.

A few weeks ago she brought one of her daughters to see us. She persuaded her mum to stroke one of the twins. Another victory.

But this week, Yvette actually sat on an armchair with Toby perched on the arm beside her. CC and I stood by to grab any cat who might leap on her but then she decided she'd like to try having Toby on her knees.

I grabbed a camera. Despite her anxiety Yvette let Toby sit there long enough to take a picture. Et Voila!

Chloe always used to be happiest on top of our wardrobe. Maybe she felt safe from the rest of the cats, or perhaps she was just shy. Whatever her reason she would only come down to eat, use the litter tray or creep into our bed at night.

However now that the house is upside down because of decorating (and the wardrobe has fallen apart) our Chloe has been forced to integrate.

At first, when the bedroom was emptied and 'out of bounds' she was rather lost. She would scamper through to the conservatory and hide under a chair but gradually she came round to the idea that this was 'her' house too. She realised that she had as much right to curl up in an armchair as any of the other cats and she didn't have to wait for a human lap before she dare make herself comfortable.

She took a liking to the soft stool in front of the television - one of Pepper's favourite seats - and held her ground against all opposition until, one evening we actually found them sharing it.

Another popular place is the radiator and all the cats vie for position when it's turned on. At first, Chloe was not very pushy but now she waits her chance and jumps up like the rest of them, as soon as it becomes vacant. Then she stretches out in contentment and enjoys her snooze.

We may be  fed up with the length of time it's taking to get this bedroom repainted but it's doing Chloe the world of good. She is a much more confident little cat.

There are some nasty people around and it seems we have a vicious person living near us.

Yesterday this notice was distributed by the mairie:

Avis a* la Population        Notice to the population

Un chat a été empoisonné, rue du moulin. A cat has been poisoned in Rue du Moulin

L'intoxication a été provoquée par une substance convulsivante (du style curater). It was poisoned by a substance which causes convulsions. (I couldn't find 'curater' in my dictionary. Anyone know what it means please?)

Selon le vétérinaire ce type de produit aurait des effets identiques sur un enfant. According to the vet this kind of substance would affect a child in the same way..

Il est donc demandé aux parents d'inciter leurs enfants a* ne pas s'approcher d'un chat mort ou blessé ou de ramasser des substances genre granulés de couleur. Therefore parents are requested to tell their children not to go near a dead or injured cat or to pick up any substance like coloured granules.

(* I know there should be a grave accent but can't figure out how to do it. Character map doesn't seem to work. Sorry)

Now while I appreciate that our village has quite a large population of feral cats this kind of behaviour disgusts me. Apart from causing a cat to suffer a painful death this person has also endangered the lives of any children who might, inadvertently, touch the poison.

In addition, my cats are now pacing the house in frustration because I won't let them out. (Rue du Moulin is only a few metres away). Several of them jumped on my head, poked me in the eye and generally said 'wake up' in their own inimitable way this morning and leaped to the window as soon as I stirred.

But no. Mummy wouldn't open up. I tried explaining it was for their own safety but they didn't understand. Holly showed her displeasure by peeing on the table and Toby vented his anger by chasing all the others. The house was full of hissing, spitting and snarling  for some time this morning and the fur was flying.

Fortunately they have all calmed down now and are snoozing in their favourite armchairs.

The question is; how long can I keep them indoors?

If only it were possible to make a catproof fence to keep them in our garden.

It wasn't intentional but we upset another lot of people at the vet's yesterday.

Holly was obviously suffering from another bout of cystitis and Toby had been sick several times a day for nearly a week so we popped them in the catbaskets and set off for Nouzonville.

The surgery starts at 5p.m. but we have found from past experience that it's better to wait beforehand to ensure being first than to wait even longer in the queue. Doors open at 4p.m. and we were there at 4.15.

The receptionist came to ask about the problems and took their 'cartes de santé'. By this time poor Toby had performed both ends and there was a pretty awful smell coming from his basket.

At 4.30 a chap came in carrying a small dog. His polite 'Bonjour' was not echoed by the scowl on his face. He had obviously hoped to be first as well.

At ten to five the door opened and we were invited into the surgery. Dr. Helene S examined Holly first, confirmed my diagnosis and gave her two injections - one antibiotic, the other anti spasmodic - and two lots of tablets to continue the treatment.

Then it was Toby's turn. She examined him, asked questions then gave him an antivomiting injection. This is followed up with two medecines - one anti sickness and another, ten minutes later, to 'line his stomach'. She then suggested a bloodtest.

"We'll have the results on 20 minutes if you'd like to wait in the salle d'attente, or perhaps do a bit of shopping. You can leave the cats with us."

We emerged from her surgery at ten past five to a find a packed waiting room: not a spare chair anywhere and people standing in the entrance holding onto their dogs.

Normally there are two vets on duty but the chap who had come in after us was still there. The other vet wasn't there.

We made a quick exit and went to the supermarket opposite.

After putting our shopping in the car we went back in at half past five just as the man with his little dog was coming out.

We were invited back in for the results which showed that Toby had no kidney or liver problems so if his vomiting persisted they would have to test for feline leucaemia. However, she thought the treatment would do the trick.

She then sat down at her desk and laboriously wrote out the treatment for both cats and notes for her own records. She explained carefully how and when to give the tablets and medecines and finally added up the bill - on a scrap of paper.

As I handed over the cheque I said

"There are lots of people here tonight. Are you on your own?"

"Yes, it is busier than usual. There are days like that but he (the boss) will be in sometime."

She then opened the door for us and preceded us through the roomful of dogs, cats and people to hold the front door while we went through with our precious cargo.

I bet those people are still swearing about us.

We were having lunch when we heard this squeaking sound coming from the conservatory.

CC and I went out to investigate. The twins and Parsley were stretched out on the armchairs but little Chloe was staring at the corner under the door. We couldn't see anything so we went back to our food.

A few minutes later CC called out, "There's a mouse!" and I caught  glimpse of a small brown shape scuttling for cover behind the radiator. Chloe watched but didn't pounce.

It was a shrew and it was climbing up the wall behind the radiator well out of reach of the cats - or us.

We wondered whether one of the cats had brought it in while the doors were open this morning or whether it had foolishly walked in by itself.

Parsley came over to sniff the intruder but went back to her siesta. There was nothing we could do while the little visitor was rockclimbing out of reach so we left them to it.

Some time later we saw Chloe in hunting posture by the litter tray. It took a combined effort to catch the tiny creature - CC lifted the tray and I pounced with a pot - and then we put him outside in safety.

He seemed rather disorientated at first but then made for safety under some stones.

We have kept all the cats in to give him time to make a complete getaway.

The annual vaccinations for Toby and Chloe were overdue by a couple of weeks so we popped them into the cat baskets and took them to Nouzonville this morning.

They have been working on the road and carpark outside the vet's for several months and it's still not finished. We usually manage to find a space just outside the surgery but today we had to leave the car right on the other side of the carpark and stagger over carrying the two precious burdens.

When we arrived there were already three people in the waiting room, all with very well behaved dogs, and one with a toddler in a pushchair as well. So much for making an appointment for 10.30.

It was after 11 when we were called in by a very pleasant young lady. At first, we thought she was a new veterinary nurse but she was the vet. It seems Dr B's previous assistant has left to have a baby.

She thoroughly examined both cats and remarked on Toby's good condition considering his age - approximately 14. She spoke some English and was keen to practise it. However, her lack of experience showed when she administered the jabs. Toby squawked and wriggled and Chloe jumped. Normally, with either of the other vets, the cats didn't seem to feel a thing.  I wonder how she'll cope when the twins need to have their claws cut.

According to CC I am paranoid about the cats going out. There is a notice in the front entrance asking people not to let the cats out that way because it leads directly onto the road.

They are allowed out in the back garden but I still worry because, being cats and innately curious, they go next door and beyond and French people are not always kind to felines.

If I can use bad weather as an excuse I tell them it's too wet or windy or whatever but we have had nearly two whole weeks of bright sunshine and nothing more than a light breeze so I have had to let them loose to play all day in the garden.

Chloe, being the youngest, is the most nervous about the big outdoors and, until today, she stayed very close to the door. However, when I went to inspect the vegetable patch she followed me and sniffed her way along the path, round the wheelbarrow and then up to Parsley who was having a dustbath right where I had sowed the beetroot a few days ago.

Parsley took exception to this invasion of her space and promptly chased Chloe all the way back to the conservatory. The poor little thing didn't venture out again for the rest of the day.

Just recently we have had a new visitor in the garden in the shape of a large white cat with a brown tail. Yesterday he chased Parsley and one of the twins and came in through the bedroom window. Today he tried his luck again but the window was closed. He came up to me, purring and looking for a fuss. It's difficult to tell whether he has a home or not. Lots of cats wander the village scavanging but, even a pet puss may not have the required tattoo on its ear or microchip (a recent alternative).

He came close enough for me to see evidence of fleas so now I'm paranoid again in case my cats want to go and play with him or invite him in for dinner.

You know that sensation of half waking but knowing you have a good hour before its time to get up. You are cosy and comfortable and your mind is half dreaming but able to control what happens.

It's then that Toby decides to jump on my head and pull my hair. If that doesn't have the desired effect he proceeds to bite my ear. At this stage I give in and haul myself out of bed to let him out.

Once my feet touch the tiled floor I have to trot off to the loo and by the time I come back is it worth going back to bed? This morning I tried and nearly achieved the same dreamlike state when the nurse came. She has her own key but she does clatter about in the bathroom.

OK, I give up, and get up. Toby is sheltering in the alcove by the conservatory. As soon as I open the door he rushes in and makes a beeline for the litter tray.