March 2011 Archives

Wednesday: The Cats Protection League has still to call back. There are probably too many cats to protect, or maybe they've just given up trying. I try to get through to the RSPCA and fail, I keep returning to a recorded message. It claims I'll be connected if I hold on, it lies.

Thursday: I finally get through to the RSPCA, they tell me about a web-site called 'Pets Located'. Why they couldn't tell me about this when I was in their building last week I've no idea. Mystery is now entered at Pets Located, she is also on the waiting list for RSPCA re-homing. She still avoids me.

Friday: I am increasingly saddened by finding 'Mystery' regularly asleep in our shed. This is despite the fact that we've provided a box and bedding and we're still feeding her. It's probably my hormones.

Saturday: Rapidly (or not so rapidly in fact) coming to the conclusion that no-one cares too much about stray cats. A possible sign of the troubled economic times is that pets can sometimes be the first to suffer. In my line of work I've noticed that spending on 'luxuries', such as concert tickets, is already on the wane. People are concerned about the future, the cuts and rising prices are starting to hit their pockets.

Whether this means that pets will be cast out rather than indulged remains to be seen and I shouldn't be basing this whole theory on one personal incident. This said, one of our existing cats was adopted by us from the RSPCA - he'd been abandoned when his previous owners moved house. Consequently it appears to me that people are already leaving their pets behind.

Monday: I'm on the 07.21 train to London. It is meant to depart Northampton at 8.05 but ten minutes later it is still there and I am among a carriage load of people sitting in increasingly irritated ignorance. By 8.20 they tell us that there is no driver for the train and that the next London bound departure is sitting on the opposite platform. Several hundred people leave their seats in quick succession, head up the stairs, over the bridge and board a different train.

I am reading a book that appears to have been written for the opposite sex and concerns the misfortunes of black women in the South of America in the early sixties (and the families they serve). Up ahead of me a huge black guy who resembles nothing more than the Hulk, had the marvel character been made into a blaxploitation movie, is reading a copy of 'Culture and Imperialism'. I feel a bit humbled.

I call the cats' protection league to see if they have space for a mystery stray. I leave a message. No-one calls back.

Arriving home at 9pm I make it my mission to ensure that Mystery does not cause me similar problems to last night. We face off in the hallway, a high-noon moment. She evades my attempts to stop her but is somewhat panicked when I give chase. She hurtles so fast towards the stairs that she skids past them on the tiled floor, her back legs sliding somewhat comically beneath her. I hit the foot of the stairs to stop her climbing them at which point she does something I've never seen before jumping vertically to a height of around four feet, just above the radiator. Upon landing she hurtles back to the kitchen and out the cat flap. For the rest of the week she runs a mile whenever she sees me, I feel a bit guilty.

Sunday Mystery is spending more time in the house. Eldest gets picked up from a 'sleepover party', spends the rest of day in pyjamas. Youngest takes me on a shopping excursion to find a game he doesn't really need. Against my better instincts I try to watch West Ham vs Stoke, it is a better game than expected but I don't get to see it all.

When Sunday quickly begins to disappear over the horizon we realise that we don't really know where Mystery is. A search of the house finds her hiding under a bed, she scarpers from there and disappears again (befitting her new name), she is both small and nimble. She is also a pain in the ass to get out of the house. On two occasions she manages to sprint past me, admittedly not difficult, turning a peaceful retirement to bed into something resembling a farce. This can't go on.

Saturday 10am There's a battle going on, the battle to name the stray cat. I'm hungover and don't want to get involved - partly because naming it will make it harder to stick it in a sack and throw it in the canal. I'm joking of course; we've always had cats and probably always will - which is why we've already got two, and don't need another. This said I'm now even feeding the damn thing, and we wonder why it won't leave.

On the naming front the eldest favours Bunny and/or Bandit. Both names are linked to bands she likes - either the children or the pets of band members she likes. The concept of naming a cat Bunny is beyond me. In any case it's the youngest that is next in line in the naming ritual, as the eldest named one of our existing cats. He favours Boris which may not really work as the stray appears to be a female.

The stray also appears to be spending more time in the house, or at the very least more time than it should - which is none at all of course.

Sometime later that day a friend of the youngest is at ours, I overhear him calling the stray 'mystery cat'. I decide that I like the name 'mystery'; it is of course a mystery how it got here and why it stays. The wife doesn't like the name. I'm not sure I like the cat.

Friday The kids have got into the dangerous habit of discussing names for the stray. On that basis it'll make it much harder for me to maintain my strict rule that we cannot take another pet in the house. We already have the two cats (Misa & Mr Bitey) and a hamster that no-one really cares for beyond feeding and the occasional cage-clean. It's only the cats who show him any interest; in fact they show him a lot of interest. They're particularly fond of watching him spin on his wheel and run through his tunnel. I get the impression that they'd like him to come out and play.

Friday 16:00 Tonight I'm going to see Blancmange, by accident. They're playing at the O2 Academy after an absence from touring of some 25 years or so. I was never that interested in them originally, though I'm haunted still by the fact that 'Living on the Ceiling' was on constant repeat at the clubs we frequented in the early 80's. I might struggle to name many more of their songs.

The accidental part came as I was given some gig tickets which I consequently offered to a mate. He accepted under the incorrect impression that I was asking him to come along with me, whereas I really wanted him to take them off my hands. Stuff gets complicated sometimes.

Thursday 11.30am A stray cat has adopted us. He wandered into the garden five days ago and hardly seems to have left since. This is probably because the wife has been feeding him. She felt sorry for his ragged looks, matted fur and possibly even the black mark beneath his nose which, on a human, would probably be called a beauty spot. Now it's time for us to gather him off and take him to the RSPCA from where we adopted our two cats last August.

They scan him and find no chip. All cats that they process are 'chipped' so they can be traced back to owners. No such luck for this moggy. Sadly they won't even take it in as there's no room in their shelter. Abandoned cats are ten a penny it seems, or maybe twenty at the current rate of exchange. They send us away with a paper collar that we have to fit to the cat; it says that the animal has been reported as a stray and that if he isn't then the real owners should contact them or us.

Thursday 20.00 The stray cat has been sneaking into the house. It has already removed the paper collar.

Thursday 8.20am The eldest calls me on my mobile. It's an inopportune moment since I was trying to creep into my own bedroom without waking the wife, attempting to give her a lie in and all that. Besides this the eldest only left the house ten minutes ago.

Of course it's an important call; she wants to know how long Lent lasts. 'Until Easter Sunday' I tell her (quietly). 'Yes, but how long is that?' Naturally I have no idea, anywhere between 5 and 7 weeks is my best guess but Easter has been an ongoing issue in my household since I've been perpetually confused by the school Easter holiday break, which appears to start a week too early.

For those who are unaware, the school break runs two weeks up to Good Friday and they go back on the Tuesday after the bank holiday. It seems weird to me, particularly as they're then all off on the Friday for the Royal Wedding - consequently they have two weeks (and a day) off then go back for two days before having another day off. Had it started the week up to Good Friday then the two weeks straight would've included 3 Bank Holidays and given us the opportunity for a decent break without missing school time. It still bothers me, and I've known about it for months now.

The eldest seems sure that Lent is 40 days and nights; I suspect she's getting confused with St Swithun's Day and the rain that's supposed to follow it. My mum was obsessed with this folklore last year. I still have no idea why Lent is so important to my daughter, other than the fact that I've tended to observe it with some avoidance or other (generally chocolate) despite having no religious beliefs. My daughter finds this amusing and pointless.

I know I have no religion as I'd started to complete the obligatory census form which dropped through my letterbox a few days ago and had already ticked the no religion box. I'm part-way through completion - struggling with questions like 'how well do you speak English' which could be a matter of opinion - when I note that it's meant to be a record of the population on the night of March 27th. Consequently if I drop dead prior to that date then the family are going to have the trouble of asking for a new form, on top of the other troubles they may have to consider - like finding someone else to ask how long Lent is.