Kat the Cat is playing up again.
She’d become almost normal for a short while there – you know, just sleeping a lot, eating, purring, lying on the windowsill and doing other regular, lazy cat things. In the past 24 hours, all that has changed, and she has run away, been found, half-eaten a very large spider (and left the other half on my bed), burnt her whiskers on a candle, started illicit affairs with some local tom cats, bitten my big toe, brained herself on the conservatory door, and got stuck on the roof. It has been a rather stressful time.
She disappeared yesterday evening – not a big deal for cats, generally, but Kat always stays within earshot in case I decide to give her more food – and I eventually took off walking around the estate with Red, forlornly shouting “KAT!” and yet again wishing I’d had the foresight when I was naming her to realise how ridiculous and embarrassing this scenario would be. (Red thought it might be quite funny if every cat in the estate tried to respond to the crazy woman shouting for “cat”, in a sort of Pied Piper-ish type of situation.) I even got in the car and drove up and down the Grove Road in a most pathetic manner, scouring the sides of the road for dead cats. You can’t say I don’t know how to enjoy myself.
Eventually I accepted that she was dead and returned home to mourn. Jay, who was being very sweet and comforting (possibly out of shame and repentance for all his anti-Kat remarks and threats) came round to distract me with a guitar lesson, and left after midnight, telling me to go to bed. I refused, and sat on in the living room, staring sadly and dementedly at a chewed purple mouse and a little pink jingly ball. My grieving was interrupted by wild cheering and whooping, and I looked outside to see my neighbours dancing in a line down my garden path, singing loudly. It seemed an odd way to cheer anyone up, especially so late at night, but they do things differently, sometimes. I opened the door. “We found her!!” shrieked E2, thrusting a startled and totally indignant Kat the Cat into my arms. I was very happy.
I was not so happy this evening, when I realised why she’d taken off. It seems that she’s come into heat again, and is seeking ‘companionship’. This in itself wouldn’t be so bad, if it weren’t for the 700 or so desperate male cats that have set up a vigil in my garden. They are just sitting there, staring at the house with wild, obsessive glints in their eyes. And the noise! They’re howling and yowling and moaning and groaning like zombies, and I feel a little surrounded and vulnerable. What if they break in and take over my house? If one bites me, will I turn into a howling cat when there’s a full moon? Plus there’s just something sick about the way they’re all prowling around waiting for my innocent little kitty to come outside so that they can ravage her. Evil, horrible creatures. Kat doesn’t exactly diffuse the situation by sitting in the porch glaring out at them and hissing, giving the odd blood-curdling wail for good measure. It’s getting to be a bit much, to be honest. I’d like to scream, but I don’t want to get the toms any more agitated.
I just wanted a simple life, you know.