If you have watched the kids film Cats and Dogs, you will know that the plot of the film details that the cats are evil and trying to take over the world, while the dogs try to protect us, the unsuspecting humans, from a catty hell.
I always thought that cats were cute and harmless; my furry feline friends who would keep my feet warm in the winter and be friendly and stroke able.
I clearly had no evidence to back this up.
At the beginning of the year, I acquired two rescue kittens from the Cats Protection League. I went there with the intention of getting one little bundle of fluff, a little abandoned black number who looked really pathetic and suited me down to the ground. But the lady fed me and boyfriend a sob story about black one being brothers with white one, and how they were the only two left from their litter, and had made a strong bond. This was clearly a lie, as white one is white with very short hair, black one is black with long hair, and their birth dates are two weeks apart. Honestly, it was like the final tear jerking scene from Free Willy, and we bought it hook line and sinker, coming home with two little fluff balls, white one and black one.
We soon realised the error of our ways. For the first couple of days they were sweet, but soon found their feet, racing up and down the stairs at four in the morning, and pooing all over the floor. Great! We thought it would get better with time, as they were fragile and rescued, and realised we were in for the long haul.
I won black one over quickly, mainly because he is the runt of the litter and seems to have been starved of oxygen at birth. He duly played dead every time I went to pick him up, and as he can’t even meow and is fairly pathetic, we made firm friends.
White one on the other hand is like a ninja. On the advice of the lady, I tried to pick him up each day and give him a cuddle, to let him know I was in charge and meant him no harm. After being scratched badly on the face, chest and arms, enough to haemorrhage blood all over the place, I meant him harm so thought it was a bad idea to try again.
As the summer came, and the days got longer, I decided that they were after all, animals, and should go outdoors. Mainly because I was sick of looking at the litter tray, and, as part of their evil plan, one or other of my sweet little kittens had taken to having a poo every time we sat down for dinner at the table. Needless to say, we fast started eating off our laps in the lounge, and the dining room table has thus failed to fulfil its life potential.
But the summer brought another problem, in addition to the fact that the crazed tearing around the house got earlier, as the sun came up. I went on holiday, and boyfriend reported that the evil fluffballs had upped their game. They had started to bring us ‘presents’.
Not one or two, oh no. These criminal masterminds do nothing by half. On average, they were bringing in four mice, shrews and other poor, innocent creatures into our house per day. Boyfriend began to lose his marbles when he found one of these mice in his football kit, after being hid there days before, like a crazy ex may put prawns under your carpet.
A few days later, boyfriend rang me in a state of horror. Apparently, the tag team had brought a mole in. Not a little creature, but something they would have had to have both been involved in, like the chuckle brothers. Boyfriend took a photo of the poor mole, about the length of my lower arm, flat on its back with its legs in the air, on my dining room table. Why thank you.
Since then we have had multiple shrews, both whole and in parts, like the godfather, a bird and a mouse.
My point is this. If you are planning on getting pets, I would like to strongly recommend a fish. With a five second memory span, even if they hatch an evil plot, they will soon forget ..