I’m cat sitting Mrs Next Door’s three moggies while she’s
away this weekend. She said she likes them to be in at night, and tonight was
the first test of whether I could persuade them to do her bidding.
Annie, one of the she cats, has been in all day, so no
problem there. The other she cat (whose exotic name escapes me) was a bit
suspicious, but complied without too much trouble. The problem was Harry the
tom cat. Harry wasn’t coming near me, and I didn’t like to leave the door open
and unguarded because the two she cats were showing signs of wanting to go out
again. So Harry is still out. I’ll try again shortly.
You know, I have a problem with cats. Every one of the local
cats treats me with undisguised suspicion. The local dogs all come to me, the
cows come to me, the horses come to me; even the foreign sheep and llamas will
come to me on a good day! But not the cats, none of them. They all flee if I
inadvertently get too close. I have two theories.
The first is that they’re good at seeing my invisible
companion and don’t like it. The second and more favoured one is that they know I’ve
got their number. They know I see through their little wiles; they know I’m not
fooled.
And now I duck.
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