Amber's first visit to the vet

With a new cat in toe, our responsibilities have gone up quite noticeably. Not only do we have the decorating and finishing off in the house - which might not get finished until long after we're drawing pension - but now we have this tiny little life that right now, is totally reliant upon us

... for everything.

She's no bother though and eats very little, so that's good, but she has to see doctors - or a vet in her case. After the fiasco with the bath, I just knew she wasn't going to like this.

As luck would have it, she didn't mind the journey at all. She was surprisingly easy to get into her cat box, probably because she wasn't big enough to go star-shaped and stop me from putting her in it. Nevertheless, unlike Sammo, who made noises like someone was trying to strangle him all the way from home to the vets, Amber was very quiet.

Better still, she was quiet when the vet - a very nice woman, who had been recommended by the lady that told us about the cat in the first place - poked, prodded and generally woman-handled her before dropping the bombshell.

Now anyone who has read my stories, will know that I have written one or two stories of a transgender nature; mainly those that involve an unexpected change either by magic or accidental. I suppose it would therefore be fitting to be told that Amber was not what we thought she was.

She was - or is a boy.

To further add to our confusion, she wasn't three months old either, but more like two - as denoted by the fact her eyes - sorry, his eyes were still violet-blue.

So Amber was not an Amber after all and try as we might, we were not able to associate our little bundle of fluff with a name that to us, was definitely feminine.

To begin with, Pen didn't think it mattered, as once he got to seven to eight months old, he would be neutered anyway, making him if anything, A-sexual.

"I don't care," I grumbled. "It's a girly name and he's a boy - apparently."

"Says the man whose name in French sounds just like Nicola?"

"Yes and I don't like that anymore than he's going to like being called Amber. It's a girl's name."

The upshot was, we decided a name that was more appropriate for a boy cat was in order - regardless of the fact that he would only continue to be male for the next six months or thereabouts and we began considering alternatives to Amber as a name.

He was not precisely ginger, and we began tossing other names into the mix like Oatmeal, Butterscotch and other gender non-specific names, but nothing really stuck. At least, not until I began calling him Biscuit Brain. Somewhat derisive I know, but it was because of his clumsiness and his propensity for doing completely daft things, having us in stitches; laughing like drains.

To cut a long story short, Biscuit has stuck - though I don't always drop 'Brain'. Not only does it kind of fit, but he's actually responding to it and in the month we have had him, he's doubled in size and daftness.

True, he's lost a lot of that clumsiness that he, like all kittens seem to have and replaced it with sheer lunacy, enjoying nothing more than racing and tear-arsing around the kitchen, arms and legs akimbo, whilst dragging his favourite toy - a bit of gardening twine with a bit of paper tied to one end - around in his mouth.

Yup, he's going to continue to be a handful. He's learning how to jump with height and distance increasing on an almost daily basis and as he has settled in with us, his confidence and curiosity have also increased, meaning that there are fewer places in the house that he won't go nosing around.

He's certainly keeping us on our toes, but makes up for it by being extremely cute and cuddly, which has made a really nice change, since our previous cat, Sammo, was such an ornery bugger.

With the cold weather upon us, we spend many a pleasant evening relaxing in front of the wood burner, watching one of our favourite shows on the TV, whilst polishing the cat.

See; I told you he was cute ...