With a month to go in Labin, we figured we were on the home straight. We were actually quite chipper in mid March when it was all of a sudden English/Irish week at Lidl. Hallelujah! They had the fish and chip packets (cod and chunky chips). We had them once before (thanks Lidl, Budapest) and remembered them being as close to actual, from the chipper, fish and chips as it's possible to get in this part of the world. We've been waiting patiently for upwards of a week for this sale to start as, and we don't know why, it seems nigh on impossible to buy edible crumbed or battered fish here. Which is daft given the proximity to the ocean, but by the time it hits the supermarket it's turned a nasty, orangey shade and barely tastes like fish. We bought 4 bags. As usual there was a fair amount of local interest in the contents of our trolley once we were at the checkout. Firstly we usually do have a trolley - not just three or four items in hand. Secondly we buy weird stuff - like fish and chips and finally, we're loaded/minted/rolling by local standards. Record was an enormous stock up that set us back 1000 kuna. In fairness 150 of that was cat litter - but still - A$250. Last of the big spenders - that's us.

So having secured our fish and chips, dinner was sublime - and it was even easy to get a jar of perfectly acceptable tartare sauce. Monday is also flower day. Usually there's an empty row of water filled buckets where the tulips and roses were for sale. On Mondays, there are actual flowers in the water buckets - so - a metric dozen red roses for us Unfortunately the bags of mixed fish and chips weighed 1 kg each and we had to shop smart if we were going to climb the hill without collapsing. Having said that, we couldn't resist the ginger marmalade and regular marmalade as well. Suffice it to say it was a reasonable struggle to get it all up the hill - but so worthwhile when we sat down to dinner.

With a month to go it's also vital that we keep a record of everything getting fired into the fridge so that the food runs out the night before we head to the airport. We also stopped at the local lottery agency and 'invested' A$6.50 / 30 kuna in 2 lines for EuroJackpot for this coming Friday night. €82 million would definitely work for us.

Drama is never far on this housesit and things were going relatively smoothly. The house hadn't tried to kill me recently. The cats were getting on(ish). More of an uneasy calm in the Middle East rather than actually all getting along happily. A couple lurk outside due to the chance of a hiss and a swipe if they come in. Come 20 March, a Sunday as we recall, our old and snotty tuxedo cat went missing. He actually disappeared after breakfast but we only realised he was missing when he was absent at dinner. That never happens - this is a cat who'd be in the cupboard with a can opener ready to assist if solid signs of dinner prep were not occurring by 5 pm. Still no sign of him as the night got dark and cold and he wasn't home for breakfast on the Monday morning. We had to raise the alarm… he's old, he's perpetually not 100% and he thinks cars all have 'on the ball' drivers and good brakes. Silly old fella - we were imagining 1001 things that could have befallen him - and none of them were good.

Our owner reached out to all her local contacts to BOLO for a chunky tuxedo with sinus issues. Best case he'd turn up - or at the very least we'd eventually find him curled up somewhere peaceful in a ruined building for the long sleep. Worst case - car accident or locked in a building starving to death. Curiosity may be a cat's constant companion, but it is not a cat's friend.

By the Tuesday we were all coming to terms with him not coming back. Three days away without a valid reason. Not likely to be returning. I even went ballistic with the spray and wipe - cleaning the snotty reminders off the walls in the house. James was out trekking around the old hilltop town alley ways, ruins, empty corners etc hoping to find him one way or another. Not a sign of him. We mourned and cursed the hex upon us of old tuxedos causing us grief.

And then it was Wednesday. It was a big day. Huge. As if we didn't have enough drama in our lives, one of the other miscreant felines accomplished the 'apparently' impossible and jumped from a tree he's not supposed to be able to jump from onto a roof he's not supposed to be able to reach. Took forever to talk him into taking the return journey. We even had a ladder set up so we could get as close as possible for encouragement purposes whilst he yowled himself silly. Whilst I was up the ladder and concentrating on him, who waltzes home but Lazarus himself - after 3 full days missing. He was starving and thirsty and covered in cobwebs - but otherwise in excellent condition and had lost a bit of weight. He was no longer chunky - just a fuller figured mature cat. Heaven knows the condition of whatever dwelling he had been locked in for 3 days. Beyond thinking about actually. He ate, drank, purred, drank, ate, drank - he was so happy to be home and we, so happy to have him there. Meanwhile the ginger nutjob decided he was bored with being on the roof and having no one paying attention to him any more. He jumped back to his tree and skittered down. The inmates have taken over the asylum. Three weeks left to survive.

We made it to Thursday 24 March and realised it was the 1 month anniversary of the invasion of Ukraine. Not something for celebrating that's for sure. There was pizza, there were fish and chips and it got unbelievably warm. Having been freezing seemingly for weeks it made it to 22 on the weekend. No need to unpack summer clothes though, going back to 9 degrees again in a weeks time. It's never possible to eat too much (excellent) pizza, but by the end of March we thought we'd try the truffle burgers at Rumore, just for a change. With dark beer instead of wine - really mixing it up.

The dramas had to continue though. Sunday 3 April, with a mere week and a bit to go, was a sad day. We have 9 cats on the books and half a cat. She is rumored to be owned by the woman next door and despite being 12 years old, was tiny. Hence half a cat. We christened her mini-me. Yet another troubled tuxedo cat unfortunately. Twelve is considered pretty old for a rescued street cat here in Croatia - the living is hard and so many things are out to get them. We were trying to avoid mini-me living with us the whole three months we were in Croatia but we gave in on Friday night when it was freezing cold and pouring rain. She was on our window sill, dripping wet (took her down to large rat size) and shivering. She'd been getting a bit skinny as it was. We brought her in, dried her off and fed her before sitting her in a cat bed to sleep the night away in warmth. She pottered about close by on the Saturday and spent another night in but by Sunday morning seemed quite unwell so we trotted next door but no one was home. Then asked our owner to advise mini-me's owner that she was not well and she needed to come and pick her cat up. She was out for the day apparently. Made it back around 3 pm just in time to spend time with her before she passed away. Hard life for little kitties. Not to mention housesitters. Please… no more dramas. No sickness, no disappearing acts, no fighting and no killer falling appliances or pot plants.

Like a Catholic order, we've been spending a few quiet days contemplating our next move after Spain. We're not due in Ireland until almost the end of June and we're getting almost daily offers of short, awkward to get to housesits with hordes of animals in rural France. We suppose it's good to be popular. With a solid dose of good Catholic guilt and copious sums on the back of an envelope, we compared a possible (non-Schengen) housesit in Cyprus with just b*****ing off to Morocco for 6 weeks… we discovered that from a financial perspective, it was going to cost as much to get to and from Cyprus, do fill-in accommodation, do a housesit and work ridiculously hard… as it was going to cost to get to and from Morocco, live like kings (or at least princes a wee way down the line of succession) and be looked after for 6 weeks. Morocco won.

We proceeded into our final week with the fond thought of 10 weeks of not being responsible for anything or anyone - feline or human. We filled our extra bag with chocolates and booze and made our final haul up the hill carrying 6 kg each. Great for fitness, but we're not going to miss it. Our final full day eventually arrived - 12 April. Cleaning, more cleaning. Furballs banished out into the sunshine to allow cleaning to occur without fur, snot, feathers to interfere with it. An early final pizza dinner at Rumore, an early night, paperwork done, Portugal forms done, passports checked and alarm set for stupid o'clock in order to get the bed freshly made and get out the door for our 6.30 am ride to Zagreb airport. Psyched. Labin to Zagreb (car), Zagreb to Lisbon (flight), Lisbon to Malaga (flight) and finally Malaga to Fuengirola (train)… Spain here we come. We're ready… are you?