Moving Cats

Last weekend I was helping my parents move into their new flat in Govan. This meant moving lots of boxes. This also meant that the cat was subject to relocation. So he was unceremoniously packed into a cardboard box and put in the back of the van. We could hear him complaining as soon as we set off but carried on regardless, convinced that his experience was probably character building. But we were barely past Fenwick when we realised that he had somehow engineered his own escape and was enjoying the freedom of a van full of boxes. We were discussing the implications of the rogue feline with regard to unpacking at the other end when suddenly and without warning he popped up from beneath the seat. This was both amazing and worrying at the same time. Amazing because the transit van is designed in such a way as to deny animals passage from the rear to the cab, and worrying because a scared cat is a dangerous cat. But to everyone’s amazement and relief he sat on my lap like he was in the living room with scenery whizzing past the windows. Upon alighting at Govan he settled into the new flat almost immediately. He just sniffed about a bit and went to sleep in the cat bed my mum had got for him. A very comfortable cat bed but also a very cheap one on account of its unpopular design. Its bright red, furry and heart shaped. At least the cat loves it.

And so today Trish and I set out on another cat quest. She finally cracked on the idea of getting a cat but despite my best efforts I failed to find one. The cat protection people told me that they didn’t have any kittens and the yellow paper was full of adverts for old cats with bad names. So I dealt with the situation the only way I know how. I typed ‘tabby kittens for sale’ into Google. And guess what? Uh-huh, I found an online classified advert for six tabby kittens. They were described as beautiful and seemed to be available individually rather than a job lot. So I emailed the guy and he sent me some photos and I replied and said ‘Great, I’ll have one of your beautiful cats please.’

We had to go all the way to a wee place called Blyth just outside Newcastle. So we got up early. I managed this despite a hangover after drinking with Dave Shrigley last night. (Which was a good laugh although I spaced out quite early and became internally obsessed by having to get up in a few hours to go and get a cat). So we drove and drove. And drove. And got there by eleven o’clock. Lee, the cat man, gave us a cup of tea and chatted away. Then he went and got the kitten he chose based on my twin criteria of attitude and stripiness. And it passed on both counts with flying colours. It immediately started running around and attacking things and it looked as if it had actually been modified with extra stripes. So we packed the wee fella into his cat carrier and made for home. When we got back he explored for a while, took a piss (in the right place) and set about knocking shit out of a toy mouse. He doesn’t have a name yet but I’m working on the shortlist already.

Bonding With The Kitten