Last week when somebody known as me a loopy, old, mad girl, I responded in grawlix with *@*&*$%£* since you’ve obtained to have the ability to take ‘the bants’ haven’t you?
But what did irritate was the failure to incorporate the phrase ‘cat’, as in ‘crazy, old, mad cat lady’. Or ‘crazy, old, mad cat woman’ if I get to decide on, however let’s not get into gender politics when my function is to champion my ardour for cats.
I’ve by no means understood the ‘do you prefer cats or dogs’ query as a result of I’d have each – and guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbils, rabbits, a wombat and a donkey – however I’m not in a position to have these so cats it’s.
Currently I stay with Biggie Smalls, a good-looking classic ginger tom and Missy Elliott, my youngest youngster’s rascally however stunning black kitten. (Ownership is vital for the apportion of blame, as in “Your cat’s feud with the crows has just turned my walk through the park into Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, because she followed me and they recognised us and the entire murder swooped us all the way home. Much to your cat’s delight, taunting them from under my coat hem as we ran.” Outside, 20 plus crows dive bomb the home whereas a gleeful Missy sits inside on the window ledge watching, happy on the kerfuffle, the cat who obtained the scream.)
I totally settle for there are those that are proof against the charms of a fluffy feline reminiscent of my good friend, who telephones to slate emotional ticking time bomb people.
“That’s why I hang out with cats,” I say. “Apart from the occasional turning of backs if you’ve stayed out overnight, they’re mellow. In fact,” I inform her, “Biggie’s smiling at me right now.” He is, sincere, gazing at me in a approach no human ever does.
“Smirking”, comes the response.
Nope. Despite one of the best efforts of the Bond franchise to impute wickedness by affiliation with numerous baddies to cat actors who’ve innocently turned as much as work for treats, not one of the cats I’ve lived with have ever lied, cheated, conned, badmouthed or ghosted me. Pure of coronary heart – except you’re a mouse, the place intuition will out. So I’ll all the time make room for a cat. And if that makes me a loopy, old, mad cat lady, they’re welcome.
