Further catty complications

Resigned to the inevitable. Yes, that is the breadbasket.

The courtyard’s feline politics continue to evolve. Established residents Eric and Little Fatty seem to have resigned themselves to the permanent presence of Psycho Bob, whose recent trip to the vet to have his activities curtailed has had no effect at all on his psychotic attack-cat tendencies.

Blatant earwigging on my part when vodka-swilling Polish neighbour was on the phone to the pôle emploi seemed to suggest that he had landed a permanent job somewhere and was planning to move house (I say ‘seemed’ – it’s not easy to eavesdrop accurately when both parties are operating in a second language which one of them speaks very badly and in a Polish accent).

But the arrival two Sundays later of a further Pole with estate car and trailer confirmed my suspicions, particularly when he proceeded to load a pile of furniture and a small jungle’s worth of house plants into the trailer and push off. Unfortunately it slipped his mind that he is, at least technically, a cat owner. To be fair, Psycho Bob had clearly moved out several months previously, but you’d think he might at least mention that he planned to abandon the cat to its fate.

No, he didn't look anything like this. Unfortunately.

This leaves us with three cats, two of them increasingly middle-aged and grumpy, plus one oversized bushy tail which probably needs a basket all to itself. This is really rather too much cat for the size of the house.

Thing With Nuts, meanwhile, seems to have changed his territorial boundaries and although regularly spotted on his way to somewhere else, now rarely stops off to create mayhem. Unfortunately his previous incursions have once more left next door’s Shameless Hussy in a rather compromised position after she escaped from the house for a spot of noisy feline houghmagandie behind the garage.

This can only mean yet more feline interlopers, since our house has apparently become the cat equivalent of the Café de Paris. Evenings are spent picking up and putting out Fuzzy Kitten – a previous result of Thing With Nuts’ sexual incontinence – and Strangely Bald Tabby, recent addition to next door’s mini-zoo. I am barred from speaking to either of these visitors on the spurious grounds that I might encourage them to move in and then turn immediately into the sort of mad old bat who shuffles about town smelling of cat wee, carrying multiple poly bags and wearing a strange hat.

I dread returning from our week in Sussex to find that the entire feline population has moved in, installed a sound system and started dealing Class A drugs and running guns from the bedroom. So far Fuzzy Kitten and Strangely Bald Tabby don’t seem to have grasped the cat flap concept, but this can only be a matter of time.

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About misplacedperson

Camping and snowboarding for a living. It may not be a career, but it's certainly a life.
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11 Responses to Further catty complications

  1. Don’t worry..given any slight foreign connection, Sarkozy is probably setting up one of his special units to deal with any feline ingratitude for your ‘French’ hospitality.
    Be prepared to find your house full of tax inspectors, men from the social security, CRS, grumpy local police…and no cats who cannot produce the correct paperwork in five examples.

    These chaps would rather be at your place dealing with cats then venturing onto the local ‘manouche’ site and dealing with chainsaws.

  2. jo walmesley says:

    Thank God I’m not the only one who had a cat who sat in the bread basket. Trés hygenique! Like you, my breadbasket is in the window which gave the occupant a clear view of the alleyway and illegal feline immigrants

  3. StewartP says:

    If you want a cat to sleep in its proper place, ie: its own basket, put an important document in that place.
    Cats cannot resist paperwork, and will settle down on an income tax form or bank statement within minutes of it being placed somewhere.

  4. iampisspot says:

    Due to finding myself at the bottom of a black hole, otherwise known as ‘wedding season hell’, I must admit to not keeping up-to-date with your recent blog posts.

    As I have now waved goodbye to the last ever-so-happy couple as they enter a state of marital bliss (questionable) and have seemingly clawed some of my life back, I have spent the last hour at work reading your blog.

    Thank you for making me laugh hysterically at my computer screen, my work colleague now thinks I am clearly a sandwich short of a picnic (although again, this is questionable, I fear I cannot blame just your humorous and incredibly observational blog for her garnering such an opinion).

  5. ivan says:

    then turn immediately into the sort of mad old bat who shuffles about town smelling of cat wee, carrying multiple poly bags and wearing a strange hat.
    So you have one of them as well. We had a problem here until a few people got together about a year ago and collected as many cats as they could find then took them to see the vet. We still have the original cats but very few new ones now and the old dear has less cause to complain when I walk my dog past her house.

  6. farfalle1 says:

    If I were pregnant I would want you to name the child. You must have gone to Native American School for learning naming – it is a gift, and you have it. Strangely Bald Tabby is my favorite (name; I don’t know the cat).

  7. Pingback: Uninvited guests | It's All Downhill From Here

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