There’s something quite disconcerting about waking up with three cats in your bed when you actually own just two cats.
The neighbours have a fairly new, fairly small kitten. She took a liking to the big hairy bloke I’m married to the other day and now seems to spend more time here than at her own home. She seems to be outside a lot, so I figure she’s feeling a bit lonely and know that she can always find some company and food here.
Yesterday morning I awoke to the sensation of a cat leaping about the bed attacking my foot. I thought it was Norman. Until Norman landed on my head.
Then I thought it might have been Seymour, but no … he was still asleep on my other foot.
I opened one weary eye and realised it was the next-door cat.
I’m not quite sure what we’re going to do about the wee critter. She’s quite cute but I don’t really want a third cat. And I think Seymour would have a complete meltdown if he had to share his house/staff/bed with another cat on a permanent basis.
As some of you may know, I refer to my poor, long-suffering but well-insured husband as Fluffy because:
- He doesn’t shave as often as he should; and
- It annoys the crap out of him. Particularly when pronounced Fwufffffeeeeee.
Anyway, I had been referring to our furry visitor as Bob the interloper (Bob being short for Thingamabob, because we didn’t know her name). But it would appear her real name is actually Fluffy. How’s that for a coincidence?