My cat; is a shit cat. He’s rubbish and refuses to sit on my
knee. Occasionally if my other half picks up the black and white fur-ball, he
will sit on his knee for approximately 15 seconds. Then he clearly realises
that he is sitting on a human knee and makes a bid for freedom. This behaviour
confuses me greatly; Father Christmas delivered this crap excuse for a cat on
Christmas day 2 years ago. The kitten was so tiny his eyes hadn’t quite turned
from kitteny-blue, to green. When he was a minuscule thing that fell asleep
sitting upright, he would sit on my knee happily. He even used to sit on my
knee when I was at my desk, replacing my usual wheatybag. These days the
nearest I can get to cuddling this anti-social creature is picking him up and
draping him over my shoulder like some hairy, living, accessory. And that only
works while I am walking around or standing up. If I sit down with my hairy,
living, accessory, he’s off. He’s quite a big cat and I had no idea how much a
cat can eat and not get fat. Perhaps Slimming World should be marketing cat
food as it certainly doesn’t put weight on the fur-ball and he eats 4 pouches a
day. He is always hungry but will only eat from a pristine dish and as my other
half has taken to using my bloody Burleigh pasta dishes whenever the cat’s dish
is dirty, I have considered just feeding him on the floor and mopping up afterwards.
This cat takes a mouthful of food and then places it on the floor to chew it.
And he’s certainly Spatially Aware as he always makes sure he drops his food on
the floor and not on the mat underneath his dish that would be easily washed.
He is also a bit strange as he doesn’t remotely mind getting wet.
He returns
from his travels with his tail shaped like a question mark and his coat wetter
than an otter’s pocket. So why do we bother keeping this poor excuse for a cat?
Well, grim though it is, we don’t appear to have a mouse problem anymore. In
fact, if Dr Crippen had made a cat, this would be him in the flesh. He kills
anything. Mice, rats, moles, rabbits, birds, nothing that is small and moving
is safe from this cat.
In fact even things that are big and moving aren’t safe as I saw him wrestling with a Pheasant
the other morning. We returned from the afternoon school run the other week to
find that he had devoured half a rabbit in the bloody conservatory. Hats off to
my 7 year old daughter who, upon hearing that her Mother is more squeamish than
a celebrity faced with a Bushtucker Trial, promptly collected the dustpan and
brush and proceeded to sweep up the remains. All I had to do was call out “Make
sure you pick up both the rabbit’s ears, darling” in my very best Mary Poppins
voice. She’s also a bit of a dab hand at rescuing live rabbits from underneath
the planters on the patio. Her tools of choice are a shoe box and my 3 foot
long dressage whip. Poor bunnies. My other half has now made a mesh barrier to
go across the conservatory doorway. It’s brilliant, it means the plants don’t
get cooked and the cat can jump it easily but not while he is carrying a
rabbit. We haven’t had another bunnygate incident since it was installed.
We had to lock the cat flap some months ago; so that the cat
can go out but cannot bring the vermin that he has caught, back into the house.
One day we moved the sofa in the kitchen and found a dead shrew under it. And
another shrew squashed under the rug at the sink.
He’s an awesome hunter and I’m not sure what I want more, a
cat that purrs himself to sleep on my knee or a 5 star vermin controller.
Obviously as Father Christmas brings all the presents on his sleigh direct from
Lapland , that’s where the black and white
fur-ball came from. But if Santa was the kind of man to use a cat charity so
that he could re-home their cats and kittens, I’m fairly certain it would be
this one. ;)
www.westgateark.org.uk
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