Poor old Whisky. Living in the countryside means that the cats get attacked by field mites. Tiny orange creatures that like to bite chunks out of them.
I rarely see Whisky as he is very much independant but happened across him when I returned from work early one day. I went to stroke him and then recoiled as I noticed that he had scratched alot of the fur from his chin, head and around his collar line. I took him to the vet as the wounds were weeping. It would seem he is allergic to these creatures. He has perked up considerably since and is alot more social.
This is his current favourite haunt. The light to the scene is what most attracted me. I like the way he is snuggled up under there too. Seems like a perfect place to get some rest and recover. Poor fella.