Am I the only one who regularly re-christens their pet? My demented tom cat is currently known as F**k’s Sake! Well, at least he thinks that’s his new name as I say it every time he tries to trip me over with his Ninja tactics (which is very many times a day). How can one cat go from carrying a baby rabbit like a proud lion who has made his first gazelle kill, dragging it between his mighty legs, tossing his mane and generally being very pleased with his murderous ways; to seeing that ‘mummy’ has on that lovely pink fluffy dressing gown, and going all ‘puss in boots’ on me, and trying to suckle the dressing gown like a 5 week old kitten!
I guess it’s no different to the teenage boy who is strutting his stuff and acting tough with his friends to earn his street cred one minute, then crying when he can’t find his favourite bedtime toy .. sheesh.
After repeatedly ramming the closed cat flap with his mighty head, I am beginning to wonder if he has banged his head once to often! More often than not he knocks at the window with the same ‘puss in boots’ wide-eyed look, but then if he isn’t attended to immediately, the battle lines are drawn, and he is like a rampaging viking hammering at the cat flap.
True to form, on Saturday whilst the chimney sweep was doing her thing, he waited for his chance and seized it when she opened the door to get something from her car, and quick as a flash he ran in dropping a live shrew at the computer desk! This, I feel, was a deliberate stealth attack to get me away from the desk. My other half was suitably manly, as the chimney sweep offered to hoover up (????!!) the shrew which had taken to hiding (very sensibly) beneath a large wooden trunk under the desk, in amongst the tangle of wires and speakers nearby.
(Said chimney sweep looked like she was about to jump on the sofa and I wasn’t much better!)
Luckily the offer of ‘hoovering up’ was not taken up, as the brave man of the house (aww) single-handedly tracked the terrified shrew, soothed it with soft words, and gently scooped it up taking it out to the garden stream and releasing him close to the safety of the maze of tunnels at the water’s edge. Oh, my hero … sigh.
Tomcat is currently drenched after sitting (deliberately) out in the pouring rain that is the national dish of Wales. True to form, his first action after being brought into the lovely warm sitting room, was to jab and hold my legs whilst simultaneously attempting to dry his fur on my trousers (well at least I think that was what he was doing!). He is a clever cat … he knows that I don’t like this, although he thinks his new name is a term of endearment I am sure. He knows, that after several affectionate “ouch, get off, damn it, FFS etc, the only way to ensure a ceasefire is to refill his food bowl (even though he hasn’t finished what is in it already). Feed me human – the bowl of infinity is not to the regulation height of “gargantuan mountain” stature – sort yourself out woman!
Now that my feline master has returned, I am fated to do his bidding or risk a fate more dreadful than you can imagine – he will begin to purr and drool at the same time, rendering my earlier shower and putting on of clean garments totally futile. It is all a ploy to get me to change into the Dressing Gown of Fluffiness and Contentment. I tell you this cat is a clever, clever boy!
He is known to jump onto the computer desk and randomly walk over the keys, a little like me a guess. So there’s a question, did I actually write this, or did he?? FFS!