This morning, I padded down the stairs to find my plumptious and jowly ginger cat Charlie, sitting fatly by the cat flap, staring fixedly. At first I thought his mate Mrs Robinson might be walking brazenly round the garden. (She is a blowsy cat, who if she were human would have bleached hair, high heeled mules and say ‘cock’ a lot. As it is, she often pops in for breakfast and a quick sniff of Charlie’s bum) But no – Charlie was looking at his sister Lola, having a wee. Lola looked up once or twice and flattened her ears as if to say: “What are you looking at perve?” but Charlie just carried on looking. Literally a Peeping Tom!
Well he’s going to be a Peeping Spayed by the weekend. This latest act of feline weirdness is only the latest in a series of hissings, squabbles and catty fist fights between the two of them. They used to curl up together! Now they can’t walk past each other without aiming a furry punch. Off to the vet on Friday. Only nobody is allowed to mention it because the last time they had to get some injections, they just sort of knew. I don’t know why, but the second I opened the cupboard where the cat baskets are kept, they both streaked upstairs and hid under the bed! Anyone got any tips?