Saturday, 29 September 2012

What are cats for. Number 3,876

Actually I've probably only asked myself this about two hundred times, but a bit of exaggeration on a wet eve seemed like a good thing.
Here is our cat lying in his favourite spot when it is over about 38 degrees – now a fading memory...
I've just been painting out our sitting room and noticed on every door frame at about a foot, a strange dark grey mark of about six inches. It dawned on me after a while that this was in fact a fine collection of cat grease deposits. UGH.
You know that thing they do, banging their head into your leg, or in this case a doorframe, and then rubbing their head and body repeatedly, tripping you up generally and purring like a small furry traction engine. 'I love you.' No you do not. You like the idea that I am standing in the kitchen wondering what the hell to make for lunch and therefore you have an opportunity to go 'Mioauowwww, and rub your grease all over me and the furniture.
Cats are always there at the most impossibly annoying moment. You have just tipped a mop bucket of rancid water all over the clean tiles, or are trying to stop a kitchen fire from forgotten toast, and a small cat appears and goes: 'Miaow.'
There are good things. Err . . . Oh yes, he does catch baby rabbits, (sad, but actually useful) and rats, and then leaves their entrails for you to step in as you blearily look outside in the morning to see what the weather is doing. Maybe not so good . . .
What else? I do like seeing him running along our road to greet us, and the special extra low miaouw he emits when we leave his territory.
Ah, I can hear him at the door now. He will come in and make a fuss until one of us gives him something. He will eat two nano particles of it, then walk away flicking his tail in disgust, then a dog will come along and hoover it up. Then he will come back and go 'miaow' as he has forgotten that food was put out five minutes ago. Arg!
I probably would miss him though if there was a cat shaped space in our lives.

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