Tuesday, 16 February 2016

Cat's Eye.


This morning, I was briefly worried a cat would play with my wee.

I should explain this statement, before you think I’m an oddball. I’m cat-sitting for a neighbour this week, who owns two of the grumpiest-looking, yet sweetest cats I’ve seen. I’ve become this friend’s go-to person for feline-feeding, which suits me, as I like any excuse to spend time with my favourite type of animal, and it suits her, as she’s pleased to have someone who’ll keep them company, rather than just throwing a handful of cat-biscuits into a bowl and then sodding off.

Every time I arrive at her flat, one of the cats runs straight for the bathroom and leaps onto the toilet cistern, so she can playfully bat at the water from the tap next to it, should a inferior human accomplice such as me be kind enough to switch it on. I always do, because I’m soft.

The downside to my friend’s flat, however, is a distinct lack of doors. So, when I needed the loo this morning, I faced a quandary. I knew that as soon as I visited the bathroom the cat would follow me (which she did) expecting the usual sink antics (which she did). I could only attempt the damage limitation of turning on the tap before activating my personal plumbing.

The next few minutes were tense. The cat was clearly torn over which water source to opt for. Her judgemental staring eyes made me aware of the lack of privacy; she wasn’t very discreet. I pray she isn’t fitted with a collar camera, as if she is, her owner will face a rude awakening when she returns, in a literal sense.  

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