MY PUSSY PANDEMONIUM
I am drinking coffee in my neighbour Ted’s kitchen. He is recounting his success with rainbow chard and pak choi seedlings while tipping sugar straight from the packet into his mug. ‘That greenhouse is worth its weight in gold,’ he says.
I am simmering with greenhouse envy. All I have for my seed trays is half a shelf in the airing cupboard. His kitchen door opens. Enter my cat Boysie Bruce Willis.
‘Boysie darling,’ I exclaim.
‘Where have you been? Mummy waited for breakfast for you.’
Boysie avoids making eye contact with me and jumps on to Ted’s corduroy lap.
Ted smirks. ‘He’s been on my bed all night.’
‘But Ted, we installed our microchip cat flaps so this situation couldn’t occur.’
‘There is no situation occurring. I’ve taken the batteries out of my cat flap. Bottom line: your cat prefers my house.’
How can this be? Surely my house is a cat palace compared to Ted’s? I have fleece throws throughout, cushioned cat baskets and central heating at a comfortable 20C all year round. For a fact, I know that Ted’s thermostat is set at 14 degrees whatever the weather and apart from his bed (which I’ll have you know I have never seen!) he can only offer a cardboard box full of old newspapers in his attic as an optional sleeping arrangement.
‘Boysie, sweetheart,’ I wheedle.
He gives me the benefit of his hind quarters while rubbing his head along Ted’s unshaven jaw line.
More smirking. ‘He’s a man’s cat.’
‘Ridiculous.’ My voice is rising. ‘He just doesn’t get on with Lettuce.’ I finish on a high, shrill note.
Boysie looks at Ted as if to say, ‘See what I have to put up with? The woman’s a harridan.’
Before I elaborate on Lettuce – the cat, not salad vegetable – I must explain our feline set-up. Ted has two cats: Max Wall and Dylan the Villain. The latter so named because he steals biros and sprays furniture, electrical fittings and inert ankles. I have Tommy Thomson, a big black bruiser who arrived one winter and refused to leave. I also used to have Boysie, a young, friendly cat, mainly white with a few black splodges and palest of pink noses. Back then, cats and humans harmoniously co-existed.
But then, one afternoon, I visited the local cat sanctuary. In a pen, sitting on her own, was an adorable kitten. She was white with black splodges and the palest of pink noses.
‘That’s Lettuce Leaf,’ a nice woman emptying litter trays said.
I commented on the scratch across adorable Lettuce’s adorable nose.
‘She’s being bullied,’ the nice woman said. ‘The other cats in the pen gang up on her.’ And that was that.
Ted, who has the uncanny knack of being able to read my thoughts, is now leaning over Boysie’s head and says in quite an agreeable tone, ‘Don’t blame Lettuce. It was you with your highfalutin ways. You got your comeuppance!’
It’s not often that I either get or accept my ‘comeuppance’ but in this case Ted is right.
The moment I saw Lettuce, I imagined her and Boysie posing charmingly like a pair of Staffordshire cats, one each side of the fruit bowl, in the front window of my through-lounge. Passers-by would pause to admire them. I would become known as ‘that clever woman with an eye for interior design who has two perfectly matched felines’, rather than ‘the mad old girl who keeps moggies’.
A couple of weeks later I brought Lettuce home. Initially she cowered at the back of the basket.
‘Nobody’s going to bully you here,’ I said soothingly.
Tentatively she emerged.
Boysie trotted forward to extend the paw of friendship while Tommy Thomson, as elder statesman, remained seated on the sofa watching benignly through his one good eye.
Purring, Lettuce took a few steps forward.
‘Boysie, meet Lettuce.’
As if I’d fired a starting pistol, Lettuce suddenly leapt into the air and landed on Boysie’s back! With a cry of anguish he shook her off . Lettuce circled before again hurling herself at him, claws out. It was like watching a wildlife programme in miniature, when the leopard brings down the much larger wildebeest.
Friends have advised, ‘Give her time. She’s probably frightened, traumatised, lacking in confidence.’
Wrong! Lettuce LOVES to fight. When Lettuce purrs and paddles her paws – watch out. When Lettuce’s pale-pink nose turns a bright coral red, take cover! Passers-by will never see her sitting sedately in my window with Boysie. At best they’ll see two cats brawling and a flying fruit bowl.
‘You should have sent her back,’ Ted says, offering Boysie some stale cat biscuits. Boysie scoffs the lot with relish as if devouring gourmet cat food.
‘They didn’t want her back. They were looking for a fall guy and I was it. The scratch on her nose was from another cat trying to defend itself. Anyway Ted, I’ve grown fond of her.’
‘She’s not fond of you. You said you had to sleep with your head under a pillow in case she goes for your fluttering eyelashes.’
‘It’s not her fault. She mistakes them for spiders.’
Outside in Ted’s hall the cat flap clicks and Tommy Thomson hurries into the kitchen.
‘Excuses, excuses,’ Ted says. ‘Hello Tommy. Come to find your mum?’
Simultaneously we notice that Tommy is panting. We peer out into the hall. Lettuce’s face is pressed against the cat flap, her nose bright orange.
Quietly we return to the kitchen and firmly close the door.
Always You, Edina, by VG Lee, is published by Ward Wood Publishing, priced £9.99.
I am simmering with greenhouse envy. All I have for my seed trays is half a shelf in the airing cupboard. His kitchen door opens. Enter my cat Boysie Bruce Willis.
‘Boysie darling,’ I exclaim.
‘Where have you been? Mummy waited for breakfast for you.’
Boysie avoids making eye contact with me and jumps on to Ted’s corduroy lap.
Ted smirks. ‘He’s been on my bed all night.’
‘But Ted, we installed our microchip cat flaps so this situation couldn’t occur.’
‘There is no situation occurring. I’ve taken the batteries out of my cat flap. Bottom line: your cat prefers my house.’
How can this be? Surely my house is a cat palace compared to Ted’s? I have fleece throws throughout, cushioned cat baskets and central heating at a comfortable 20C all year round. For a fact, I know that Ted’s thermostat is set at 14 degrees whatever the weather and apart from his bed (which I’ll have you know I have never seen!) he can only offer a cardboard box full of old newspapers in his attic as an optional sleeping arrangement.
‘Boysie, sweetheart,’ I wheedle.
He gives me the benefit of his hind quarters while rubbing his head along Ted’s unshaven jaw line.
More smirking. ‘He’s a man’s cat.’
‘Ridiculous.’ My voice is rising. ‘He just doesn’t get on with Lettuce.’ I finish on a high, shrill note.
Boysie looks at Ted as if to say, ‘See what I have to put up with? The woman’s a harridan.’
Before I elaborate on Lettuce – the cat, not salad vegetable – I must explain our feline set-up. Ted has two cats: Max Wall and Dylan the Villain. The latter so named because he steals biros and sprays furniture, electrical fittings and inert ankles. I have Tommy Thomson, a big black bruiser who arrived one winter and refused to leave. I also used to have Boysie, a young, friendly cat, mainly white with a few black splodges and palest of pink noses. Back then, cats and humans harmoniously co-existed.
But then, one afternoon, I visited the local cat sanctuary. In a pen, sitting on her own, was an adorable kitten. She was white with black splodges and the palest of pink noses.
‘That’s Lettuce Leaf,’ a nice woman emptying litter trays said.
I commented on the scratch across adorable Lettuce’s adorable nose.
‘She’s being bullied,’ the nice woman said. ‘The other cats in the pen gang up on her.’ And that was that.
Ted, who has the uncanny knack of being able to read my thoughts, is now leaning over Boysie’s head and says in quite an agreeable tone, ‘Don’t blame Lettuce. It was you with your highfalutin ways. You got your comeuppance!’
It’s not often that I either get or accept my ‘comeuppance’ but in this case Ted is right.
The moment I saw Lettuce, I imagined her and Boysie posing charmingly like a pair of Staffordshire cats, one each side of the fruit bowl, in the front window of my through-lounge. Passers-by would pause to admire them. I would become known as ‘that clever woman with an eye for interior design who has two perfectly matched felines’, rather than ‘the mad old girl who keeps moggies’.
A couple of weeks later I brought Lettuce home. Initially she cowered at the back of the basket.
‘Nobody’s going to bully you here,’ I said soothingly.
Tentatively she emerged.
Boysie trotted forward to extend the paw of friendship while Tommy Thomson, as elder statesman, remained seated on the sofa watching benignly through his one good eye.
Purring, Lettuce took a few steps forward.
‘Boysie, meet Lettuce.’
As if I’d fired a starting pistol, Lettuce suddenly leapt into the air and landed on Boysie’s back! With a cry of anguish he shook her off . Lettuce circled before again hurling herself at him, claws out. It was like watching a wildlife programme in miniature, when the leopard brings down the much larger wildebeest.
Friends have advised, ‘Give her time. She’s probably frightened, traumatised, lacking in confidence.’
Wrong! Lettuce LOVES to fight. When Lettuce purrs and paddles her paws – watch out. When Lettuce’s pale-pink nose turns a bright coral red, take cover! Passers-by will never see her sitting sedately in my window with Boysie. At best they’ll see two cats brawling and a flying fruit bowl.
‘You should have sent her back,’ Ted says, offering Boysie some stale cat biscuits. Boysie scoffs the lot with relish as if devouring gourmet cat food.
‘They didn’t want her back. They were looking for a fall guy and I was it. The scratch on her nose was from another cat trying to defend itself. Anyway Ted, I’ve grown fond of her.’
‘She’s not fond of you. You said you had to sleep with your head under a pillow in case she goes for your fluttering eyelashes.’
‘It’s not her fault. She mistakes them for spiders.’
Outside in Ted’s hall the cat flap clicks and Tommy Thomson hurries into the kitchen.
‘Excuses, excuses,’ Ted says. ‘Hello Tommy. Come to find your mum?’
Simultaneously we notice that Tommy is panting. We peer out into the hall. Lettuce’s face is pressed against the cat flap, her nose bright orange.
Quietly we return to the kitchen and firmly close the door.
Always You, Edina, by VG Lee, is published by Ward Wood Publishing, priced £9.99.