So what are the rules of etiquette when it involves me moving to a different town and taking my neighbours cat with me.
Because this is another thing I have to take into consideration with the moving process.
We call her Little Pussy Cat. You have to say it sort of like Sylvester would.
She’s been living with us, on and off, for about three years now. Mostly on. There was the incident that made her run away to the next neighbour for about five months but she came back after that. What happened was that I gave her a flea treatment, one of those ones where you squeeze a little tube of toxic liquid between their shoulder blades. I felt the need to do this because at the time her nickname was The Scabby Princess, because whenever you rubbed your hands over her, all you could feel were these little scabs and bumps.
So anyway I gave her the treatment and she cracked it and went and lived next door. We’d look over the fence and see her sitting in their yard and we’d say – hello Little Pussy Cat – and she’d hiss and snarl at us like a crazy feral. Then one day I walked out the front and she was sitting on our verandah like there’d never been a problem.
So, anyway, the reason she originally moved in with us was because her owners, Shirley and Ian, bought a new yippety yappety dog called Waverley, and he’s an annoying little pain in the bum and basically ran her out of home. He chased and harassed her until she decided our place looked much more peaceful. In the beginning they used to pay for her food but that all stopped pretty quickly. So we just started feeding her all the time. But every morning when I feed her I tell her that you’re not my Little Pussy Cat just to make sure she doesn’t get any funny ideas about the situation.
When she ran away from us to our neighbours we had a talk to them and explained the situation and they were happy to feed her because she’s a nice little girl and they’re cat lovers but they made it clear that if any medical issues came up they wouldn’t be taking her to the vet or paying for it. Which I can totally understand. Because not only is she like a third hand cat to them, but they also have another cat with leukemia and paying for those vet bills probably keeps them just below the poverty line as it is.
And I know the owners don’t want her back. Because the other day I was out getting the mail and she was rolling around on the driveway like she does and her old owner was walking past and stopped to talk to me and didn’t even say – hello Little Pussy Cat – or touch her or say how’s she going or who’s the cat or whatever.
So, that leads us to the upcoming move. I said to Daz the other day – you know we’re going to have to take her with us don’t you. We can’t just leave her here to starve to death. I can’t believe I have to lug the neighbours cat around now.
Not the end of the story.
She has a brother.
The other day my daughter said – are you bringing Charlie as well? Well god no! Surely. I can’t can I? Can you take two of your neighbours cat’s? I saw this coming. Which is why I refuse to feed him. Well I just throw him a few in case e’s starving to death. It’s hard to tell under all that fur..
Sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a bloody marshmallow.