Cat Coasters for Cat Rescue

Cat Coasters for Cat Rescue

Why rescue?cat2

I am a huge advocate of rescuing cats from shelters rather than buying them from breeders or pet shops.  Every type of cat, of every age and every breed are available in a shelter somewhere.  Only want a pedigree kitten?  There will be one, somewhere, in a shelter!  So why spend out hundreds of pounds when shelters are having to put down animals they can’t home? (Though really good shelters have no kill policies except due to severe illness.)

Pretty much every stereotype about shelter cats are untrue.  They’re just as loving and adorable as any other cat out there – and the great thing about shelter cats is the staff/volunteers will want the match to work – so will evaluate the pet to check how they are with other animals, children, or specific people, and what kind of home would suit the cat best.  Some are happy to be left home alone for longer periods of time, others need more attention.  Many like to roam outside, while a few want to stay indoors pets.  They will also flag up if there are any specific health care issues. It means when you take a cat home with you, you can have far more confidence that the pet will work with your personal circumstances, rather than taking a gamble.

Another reason to choose a shelter cat is it will keep more money in your pocket. Having an animal isn’t cheap, but when you pay the fee at the shelter, it usually covers a whole range of costs including neutering/spaying, vaccinations, flea and worm treatment, and the pet should also be micro chipped as well. My local shelter charges a £60 fee which covers all that, yet my vet charges £60 for a spay alone.  What a bargain!

My “rescue” cats

Despite being a huge proponent of rescue animals – none of my three cats are actually from a shelter.  But I didn’t buy them either.  Two were strays that were found in not-so-great situations, and no possible owners came forward after searching.  Even if owners had been located, I wouldn’t have been happy giving them back as they both showed signs of neglect in different ways.  My third cat was a kitten that was dumped with someone who had large dogs, so couldn’t keep them (the original owner asked her to look after the kitten for the weekend, then never came back).

My first cat, Button has come on such a long way.  When I first got him I used to say he was ‘scared of life’ – jumping at every sound, and running away in terror if a man came near him.  It took me a long time to gain his trust, but he’s now the most loving cat, always wanting cuddles and attention.







Bailey, the kitten who was dumped, is full of personality.  He will only come to you when he chooses to, so you feel all the more privileged when he honours you with his presence.  He gives adorable little head nods to people he’s feeling affectionate towards.










Pepper is my little eternal kitten – half the size of Bailey, who is almost half the size of Button!  She’s full of sass, keeping the two boys in line, and constantly begging for treats – and is often found in random places (the bin, a cupboard, a box that’s half the size of her, and so on!)


IMG_2175 (2)










Why Poppy’s Place?

Poppys Place is an animal rescue that have two bases – one in Colchester and the other in Dartford.  They’re 100% non-destruct, and often take cats in that are hard to adopt.  The love and care they have for the animals they rescue shines through everything they do (just read Sybil’s story here).

What am I doing to help them?

I’ve made a set of six fused glass coasters each with a different cat image on it, and I’m going to give 10% of every sale to Poppys Place. You can find the coasters on the Sparkly Place Fused Glass Facebook coasters plain

They will make a lovely addition to any cat lovers home.  And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten dog lovers – they will be another set for them, with the same 10% going to Poppys Place.




The Past and Present Collide – a story about a dog named Prince

The Past and Present Collide – a story about a dog named Prince

When my Grandad was young, he went to live with his Aunty Sue and Uncle John, and they had a dog called Prince.

They lived in a small village near Manchester, and everyone knew Prince.

Every morning the dog would walk Uncle John to the train station, then head to the centre of the village where there was a bus stop next to fields.  Prince would spend an hour wandering and sniffing about this field, until on the hour, every hour he would head back to the bus stop and sit and greet everyone getting off the bus.  At the end of the day he’d head to the train station to meet Uncle John after his day at work and again greet everyone getting off the train.  So everyone knew Prince.

They spent a lot of time training Prince with food.  You could put some meat down and say, “Wait” and he would until he got the command to go ahead.  One day they were about to go into church and Uncle John put some meat down.  “Wait,” he told him.  He was suddenly called away, and afterwards headed into the church service.  It wasn’t until two hours later when they were heading out the church the family spotted Prince still sitting next to his treat, waiting.  My Grandad’s sister rushed over to him to give him the command to eat, and put him out of his misery!

When Prince died they buried him in their garden and put up a stone with his name and surname on.  Later, they moved away from that village – and my Grandad moved to the south of England.  No family members remained in the village.  Over the years the cottage they lived in was knocked down, and the garden became open to the public.

My Grandad is now 92, and last week received a phone call from his younger sister to say that she’d just taken a trip to the village, and had looked around the area her brother used to live.  She’d found the garden, and Prince’s gravestone still standing.

To her surprise, there were fresh flowers on the grave, and it was well tended.  To remember the dog that person must had been around my Grandad’s age.

No one knows who it is – but they obviously had fond memories to still be visiting him around seventy years later.  How lovely is that?

Not the grave in question!

Not the grave in question!