So, the holidays continue. As if things weren’t depressing enough, I was then asked to babysit for a few days.
Another child hanging around? I’d rather sticky tape my eyes open and have someone swiftly glide the edges of a piece of very sharp paper across my pupils.
Fortunately for me it wasn’t a human child they wanted to dump on me, but a feline one.
“He’s no bother,” my friend smiled as she held up a ginger kitten, it’s eyes all wide like that Antonio Banderas thing from Shrek.
She went on to tell me that Chester has two litter trays – one for ‘ones’ and the other for, well, you know. How had she taught a kitten to distinguish between two litter boxes depending on his bowel movements? I can’t even find a fella that can flush the chain after himself.
I agreed to babysit after she promised to repay my favour with duty-free cigarettes and a teddy bear.
Chester arrived on the Friday along with his toilets and a miniature duffle bag full of what looked like balls made out of tinsel and an array of treats.
He watched me intently as I sorted through his gear, probably fearful I was going to nick his catnip or use his litter tray. I could feel little claws pawing at me when I got the treats out.
“Chester! Wait!” I scolded him.
To my surprise he then sat on his bum and waved a tiny, orange foot in the air.
“He’s a dog-cat!” I gasped.
If he sits, then could he do other tricks like a pooch (though not mine because she’s too numb to even learn how to pee outside)?
As I tested out his skills I was quite disappointed to discover that ‘sit’ and ‘high-paw’ were the pinnacle of his talents. But I couldn’t get over the fact that he appeared more dog than cat. Being a traditional ‘dog’ woman a thought crossed my mind – should I...? Should I do it? Should I try to WALK him?!
In my mind, he was now more bulldog than Bengal. Plus, seeing as though cats can sense evil (probably why he was clawing at me), I thought I’d take him out to spread awareness as I was busy spreading the hate.
I got a few odd stares but I was loving it. I decided to call in to see another mate who absolutely abhors cats because they are ‘the agents of Satan’.
“It’s not coming in here!” she screamed. “I’m getting ready for my sister’s wedding tomorrow!”
I assured her we wouldn’t stay long and that Chester was more than toilet trained and she reluctantly agreed to a quick cuppa.
I laughed as she watched him, fearful of him casting some ancient curse or flying up her very expensive curtains, Wilkinson’s finest no less.
Chester was okay until he hissed violently at her when she popped out to use the loo. She shot him the ‘dead eyes’ and I got back to flicking through her Sky planner.
I could hear Chester whinging but I was too curious as to what was happening on Brits Abroad.
I then heard shouting and the distinctive sound of something relieving itself.
Unfortunately Chester had indeed relieved himself in a rather ugly Fascinator that now looked more gold than frosted mink.
I kept Chester for another week. Turns out he has excellent taste in fashion as well as impeccable toilet habits. Best man I’m ever gonna have in my life.