When you own cats (as I sadly do), you have to put up with a lot of things: Biting, scratching, the expense, the smell, fleas, worms, the vet, vile cat food, litter trays, random vomit, ruined furniture, tripping over them, that look they give you, dead mice on the bed, constant meowing and having to keep pushing them off your lap… For a start.
This misery is only offset by one thing – Buying cat accessories. Having cats as evil as Zuul, and as grumpy as Stouffer, means I need to buy a great many accessories. I’ve just bought these collars for them, aren’t they just darling? The design is called “Hello Mouse” – I suspect the designers of “Hello Kitty” will soon be saying “Hello Lawyer”!
I have a confession to make – a confession so bad that you may want to pour yourself a strong drink before reading it. No, honestly. I have done something dreadfully bad and my only defence is that I didn’t mean to do it… But when Judgement Day comes that may not be enough to spare my soul from burning in Hell forever. You see, I’ve corrupted a kitten.
It started out innocently enough. Like most sensible cat owners, I decided to let my growing kitten enjoy the outside world. To me the idea of an “indoor cat” is just wrong… Cats are independent creatures, hunters, explorers. Our garden is full of fun, mice, trees and other cats to hang out with – so (once he’d had his shots and been “doctored”) I took my kitten, Zuul, outside a few times and (being aware that he was a tad vulnerable) stayed with him.
But I am not just a responsible cat owner, I’m also a responsible smoker. In other words, I do not smoke indoors. This led to me making the worst (and most irresponsible) decision of my life – the very decision that has possibly damned me forever. I decided to combine trips into the garden with my kitten, with trips into the garden for a cigarette.
It was cute when he used to hang out on the step with me and sniff around the dropped ash. It was funny when he tried to bat at the cigarette and miaowed, as I stood there blowing smoke rings. It was endearing how he started to stand on the fence, positioning himself downwind of me, so that the smoke I blew out would waft straight into his face…
And then it hit me. I’d taught my kitten to smoke.
It’s true – I have turned my kitten from a little black and white ball of innocent fluff into a three-cigarettes-a-day (I don’t smoke much) nicotine addict, with smelly fur and a monkey on his back. God help me.
He stares at the packet. He cries to go out and then cries more if I’m not smoking. He climbs onto my lap and shoves his head into my mouth, if I’ve had a cigarette without him. Poor Zuul, he is the most corrupt kitten on Earth and it is all my fault.
Judge me harshly if you must but understand that you will never judge me as harshly as I judge myself.