When they say not to try something at home, they mean it as poor Manxo has discovered. I got Manxo on the Isle of Man in the summer of 1976 and immediately had a falling-out with my sister after she accused me of ripping-off the name she gave her own new cat teddy, Manxi. She suggested I changed the name just enough to cover-up my crime. Manxo, Manxi...hmmm, there may have been something to that. Okay, its true, all these years later I'll admit that there might have been something in her accusation. In my defence I'll say is that there is no such thing as an original idea. Especially at 7 years of age. She should have been flattered.
Anyhow, while Manxo weathered many years of savage attacks by a variety of family dogs, he managed to suffer only superficial injuries. He has travelled the world, lived in London, San Francisco, Boston and Barcelona, only to finish-up in Dublin, having his snout chewed off by Winnie The Pooh.
I made the dreadful discovery after Toni came upstairs looking both horrorfied and disgusted in equal measure. I could tell by the position of her ears and the rolling of her eyes that something terrible had happened (a look I've seen many times since WTP came to live with us). So I trudged downstairs, resigned, to observe the latest of Winnie's DIY jobs.
Manxo has since been relocated to a safe place where he can spend the rest of his retirement in peace (I hope).