A Loving Gift From My Cat

Disposing of the dead rat on my doorstep is, of course, quite gross.  But trust me, nothing is more dreadful than lying in bed at nights listening to rats scampering about in the ceiling, all night long!  As happened when we lived in Sydney inner city (Camperdown).  Cockroaches we were prepared for, and aircraft noise, and fleas.  But rats!!  And they seemed indestructible.  We tried poison, blocking up the entrances with steel wool, talon baits, the exterminator.  And I had to ask the next-door neighbour to remove their pile of mulch from the corner nearest our house, which is where the exterminator said they were breeding.  She was deeply offended and didn’t speak to me again.

No rats in the ceiling here, I’m pleased to say.  Thank you, cat.

We always knew moving would be traumatic for the cat.  Even the sight of suitcases is enough to make our cat disappear for days.  Last Christmas I had the cat booked into the cattery but when the morning came, it took two hours to find her.  Got to the cattery well past the designated “booking-in” time, and apologised to the manager.  “I suppose you’re used to this,” I said to him.

“Too right,” he said.  “I’ve had people phone me up on the day and say, We can’t find the cat, so we’re not going, can you cancel the booking please.  And I’ve had people phone me up and say, We can’t find the cat but we’re going anyway, but can you cancel the booking please.”

We didn’t want to waste two hours looking for the cat on moving day, so we took the precaution of booking Claude (well if you must know, it is one of those smart-alec names, Claude as in “Claude de Pussy”) in to the cattery for the two days before the move.

When we arrived we kept her shut in the laundry until the removalists had gone, then made sure she was kept in the house for several days before letting her outside.  Seems to be fairly settled now, but must be missing the mice.  At Muswellbrook we had a dead mouse on the doorstep most mornings.