Let me start by saying, I love cats. I love their attitude, constant Karen resting bitch face, the head nuzzles and of course, all the cookies and cat privileges. But this cat has a genuine issue...
As previously mentioned, I flat shared with Burty who at the time, had two cats. Said cats were very used to me, my presence and (not to make it too sexy), my scent. So, it’s safe to assume that after living in close proximity with Burty for maybe… two years? They knew who I was.
Currently, Burty has brought one cat with him and consequently, after spending most of my free time masochistically scrolling through YouTube feeds and resisting the lockdown urge, I was very excited to finally reap the rewards of having a furry companion.
The van arrives and I can barely contain my excitement; I’ve bought treats, toys and a cat-flap to make our calico friend feel right at home. I’d done the research and as far as I was concerned, I was about to enter the cat whisperer chapter of my life.
I had visions of shared looks, private jokes, stolen glances at social events and after a long, soul-destroying day in the pits of work, a purring pal would be there to greet me with its paws wide open. We’d share the highs and lows of life and grow old together to the point where you can’t imagine life without the other.
But suddenly it all became clear…
The specimen arrived, however not in the crate that was designed for such a quest-Instead, it was huddled in the corner of a cardboard box, glancing up sad and confused, and covered in shit.
Understandably, the cat was a nervous traveller and although the latter brown surprise was more than likely not by choice, choosing to take up occupancy in the box was. But I digress, nothing a few dreamies, comforts of home and some peace and quiet won’t solve. But it would be the beginning of a notorious calling card.
Days pass and the cat is still tiptoeing between under Burty’s bed and under the sofa. She clings and never strays far from her master. But however brief, sightings are a rare and pleasant surprise.
Weeks pass and the alpha predator disappears like a puff of smoke when the gaze of anyone other than her master is upon her. Light rustles, wind and footsteps are the new enemy. The cat is twelve…
Months pass and you’re more likely to spot a leprechaun in my house.
From my research, (pushes glasses up nose) I discovered that cats have a remarkable ability to remember their owners, even after being separated for long periods of time. Now, although there’s no exact timeline for how long a cat can remember you, cats have been known to recognize their owners even after years of separation.
I’m trying my best to not take it personally. But at this point, Burty became concerned about the ambience and cat equivalent of feng shui for Minion and and collectively, we couldn’t figure it out…
I was confident that I wasn’t the devil and had no history of skinning cats or stealing mice. Thus, the only reasonable conclusion we could agree on, was that my (sexy alert) scent was naturally more potent and prominent around the house. As such, the cat was aware of this and potentially saw me as a threat.
I’m flattered…
Nevertheless, I set out on a mission. With the prospect of a scared cat on the line, I was more determined than ever to knuckle down and earn those head nuzzles. It’s a cat after all, so it struck me…. I would need to think like a cat.
After implementing and realising I’d need more than a slow-motion approach and an Attenborough silver tongue, I devised a plan to not only mute my scent but to merge it with Burty’s. Over the next four months, we used:
- The same shampoo/ conditioner
- The same body wash, face wash and body spray
- The same detergent and fabric softener-We also washed our clothes together.
Also, in the spirit of welcoming our honorary housemate to the upstairs domain, I decided to leave my bedroom door open. Like an understudy, I would be waiting in the wings, ensuring every mew or scamper was met with a warm welcome and dreamies. I would woo the cat and kill it with kindness. I was in deep, and in a gallant attempt to deceive the one who purrs, I’d occasionally don Burty’s clothes. I was Donnie Brasco, infiltrating the inner circle, blending in with my surroundings and I had my eye on the purring prize.
But alas, after months of ‘cat shit corner’, the cat detective had clearly rumbled my plans. In response, Minion saw the invitation, raised the bar and pissed on a chair in my room. A one off perhaps I hear you say? No- and this became the start of a cat and mouse game of ‘Smell piss? Find the piss’.
After this warm carpet-soaked phase, Minion gained ground by witnessing what can only be described as a very awkward situation. One day- as cats do, the Usurper brought in a mouse. I don’t assume this was an act of aggression, but more the nature of the cat.
Which I’m all for…
However, it tipped the scales in her favour and we both learned that day; I’m apparently scared of mice. To clarify; I say mice, I mean rodents and rats are at the top of the shriek list. I’m not entirely sure when this happened. But now, I transform into Alfalfa at the sight of a small, tailed visitor- News to me!
But in my defence , it’s when they’re indoors, on my turf. I wouldn’t go out into the country and shriek at a mouse, just as I wouldn’t shriek at a barman in a pub- You expect to see them there. But also, they take forever to catch, they’re bloody quick and it involves having to move all the furniture and quarantine the area one square inch at a time.
With this intel, that cat had new potential. In the following months, she rained down the plagues of Egypt with legions of mice. They were everywhere… She would bring them in whilst sneering through her whiskers and waving her tail with a content malevolence.
Then the shrieking would begin.
“You’re scaring her!” Burty would proclaim.
But she would drop them off like the postman, one after another after another. Like a conveyor belt of mice. In begrudges me to say, but in terms of efficiency, it was impressive. She was like a bond villain with an appalling bouncer mentality. During this time, Burty would often chime in with his own narration of events. Pointing out very clearly that in his opinion, ‘She just gets bored of them and leaves them’.
But I knew better…
Have you ever felt like you’re a third wheel with a cat? Ever had that moment when you walk into a room and feel the mood change? When people leave as they notice you arriving. Honestly, at one point I could have argued that the cat and I were the same person. We were never seen together, she avoided me more than Germany’s small talk on the War. It would only be a small window when Burty returned home. Although I’d cautiously approach with the promise of dreamies and treats- it was never a guarantee.
Otherwise, where Burty went, the cat went, and we’d start all over again the next day.
During the day if Burty was at work, Minion would politely slink out, like a stranger walking into the wrong room. She would then diligently and somewhat awkwardly sit and wait for her master’s return by the front door. Her daily watch had begun and no number of treats, Pssp Pssps, dreamies or bribes could steer her focus and tempt her back through the flappy vortex to the house.
Even outside, she’s keen to stay out of sight. Although eager for her masters bed and the sweet taste of Whiskas, she’s unable to pass back through without her liege lord & protector. To remedy this, I tried the Feliway Optimum Starter kit to calm the precious princess when, occasionally, she’d pluck up the courage and enter the fortress of danger. I tried several- in different rooms. But no dice…
Upon occasion, the tables would seem to turn, and victory would often be close at hand. But at the last second, it always slipped away between my fingers. But by luck during a passing conversation with Burty, I gained intel that had been previously (and stupidly) overlooked.
An Achillies heel, a blind spot and a potential bargaining chip;
Tuna. ..
During the months of surveillance and observation of the furry shadow, I noticed that the sound of a tuna can being pulled open was the activation sequence for summoning her. Inside, outside, asleep or playful, the cat would soon appear eager and purring proudly whilst awaiting her prize. But also, stubborn; if there was a delay in providing said tuna, she would let out several scratchy and unpleasant mews. This would naturally continue whilst getting progressively louder and more obnoxious until the gift was finally bestowed.
With this new intel, I came heist level of prepared. I activated the pheromone plus reinforcements the night before and it was Go time!
Once again Burty left for work and like clockwork, Minion vacated The Fortress of Darkness until her Master’s return. As to not draw suspicion, I showered and went about my day, nonchalantly moseying through the lounge and kitchen. I’d notice Minion peering in and ducking away once our eye lines met, so I chose to ignore her. As far as she was concerned; she was as camouflaged as Predator and had successfully duped the insufferable spare human.
But then, as I casually strutted upstairs, it’s time for the old switcher-oo.
For all she knew, Burty could have a day off and could have just popped down to the shops. These miracles sometimes happen… I sprayed myself, changed my glasses and wore Burty’s recognisable hat and dressing gown.
It was time to go method or go home…
In the appropriate robed garber, I began the summoning ritual and waited anxiously. After five minutes I lay extra treats and let the tuna perfumate close to the flappy portal. But it was no use, the cat got wise, and my Sting operation was a bust. It felt like all hope was lost; my cat dreams were beginning to shatter, and I was ready to accept my fate of cleaning cat hair out of carpet for the rest of time.
That was until fireworks night… I twirled my moustache and spun my cane-I had my opening.
Like for most animals, fireworks night is a pointless and painful night to endure. On this occasion, Burty was staying out and it would just be me and the cat.
I returned home to the sound of shells going off from above and as I entered the kitchen, I saw her cowering and wide-eyed under the kitchen table instead of her usual upstairs hidey-holes. I saw Saving Private Ryan in her eyes; a lost, confused, vulnerable look craving safety and protection. Armed to the teeth with goodies, I leapt to action and I could feel the nuzzles were in the bag.
I disarmed her with chicken and followed through with a delicious flurry of dreamies. I brought her toys, blankets and lay down her master’s dressing gown for her to weirdly sniff. Then… the big guns.
I played eight hours of a special ‘Bon fire cat relaxation music’ to put her at ease. You know the type of music, its essentially elevator music mixed with cats purring to a never-ending jingle. With no sign of Burty to protect her from the raining blitzkrieg and with limited other options, I was accepted surprisingly quickly and as so, nuzzles and purrs were bestowed in exchange for head scratches and protection.
We stayed huddled under the table until the storm was over, and she eventually dozed off.
Although it all felt very transactional, all my work had paid off and I was basking in my victory. I felt like Attenborough and at one with the cat.
- Deep, hearty purring> Check
- Waving tail> Check
- Head rubs> Check.
- Licking my hand> Check
- Big, adorable cat eyes> Check.
- Quick check of poo corner> Check
- Smell piss> Check
(Although I wouldn’t have blamed her for the latter two)
Now feeling prouder than Poirot, I waddled away with a smug sense of closure knowing the case of the fearful feline had been cracked and put to bed.
But how wrong I was…
I awoke the next day with my head held high; I felt accomplished…No, victorious! However, several hours later whilst ascending the stairs with a certain, delicious morning beverage, the cautious statue of a cat once again appeared on the landing. To my silent surprise, she still seemed bewildered and perplexed by the approaching stranger. But then suddenly, its survival mode, live or die- end of days and she makes a desperate, bold dash for the stairs.
For only then will she truly be safe.
But have you ever had a cat charge towards you whilst running for its life? On stairs?? It’s borderline attempted manslaughter. But in the process of trying to counter and not crush our furry lodger, droplets of my ambered tea rained down and found their target. I stumble and take as much as I can on my naked legs, but the damage has been done and the line has been drawn. It’s a clear declaration that she’ll never forget.
In this life or the ninth…
She scrambles, slides and fumbles in a spectacularly cartoonish fashion which is followed by the crashing or shattering of something you can’t help but wince at.
She expands her retreat through the flappy portal and the great outdoors- It’s her only chance. But just before, she turns back, brow lowered and with a glare filled with the promise of retribution. Its only for a moment, but it’s enough and her intentions are clear. Evidently, she would retreat, and plot new devilish schemes filled with brown surprises. But more than that, I was left feeling something between an unwanted one-night stand and re-living Fifty First Dates.
I thought we had something…
Currently, the cat is warm and welcoming to most visitors to the house. With her master present, she’ll provide the purrs, the paw beans, head nuzzles and fist bump to please the visiting company. We recently had Burty’s Mum come to stay with us from Spain. Within no time, the cat was back to attentively mewing with excitement at the sight and presence of the friendly face.
We haven’t seen her in four years…
I once heard a saying ‘If cats had phones, they wouldn’t text back’.
I prefer the saying;
‘Some cats are just c**ts’.
