Over the week or so since we took temporary custody of Furtle’s cousin’s cat, Jasper, we and he have adapted remarkably well to each other’s company and I have to say that once you get used to him, you stop noticing the short fur and just realise that in all, he is a very sweet-natured young cat.
Mostly.
On Monday, his first day with us, he was unsurprisingly into everything. We have had to remove all breakables from shelves for the duration and hide them. He likes to climb. He is inquisitive, fast, agile and completely ungainly. We have about 6lbs of wild elephant running amok around the place.
That said, after the first night, when we shut him in the kitchen, we decided that he could have the run of the living room, conservatory and stairs during the night, but not the bathroom, study, bedroom or kitchen. That seemed to work. He adapted quite quickly, grumbling a little before going to his own little bed. He was allowed in the bedroom while we are awake and for the half hour between me getting up for work and Furtle following me. (I like a little longer leisurely wake up time than she does).
As I say, Jasper (for that is his given name) adapted very quickly to that routine.
Unfortunately, it all went horribly wrong at the weekend.
First of all, he started scratching to be let in at 7.30am, while we were inclined to have a lie in. That was not unreasonable; he wasn’t to know what a weekend is. We let him in and he settled down to kip on the bed.
Unfortunately, after that it all started to go wrong. Having boozed on Friday after work, we slept in rather late on Saturday and then I had to dash into town to buy provisions and pick up mail, while Furtle tidied and cleaned. When I got back, Jasper was already traumatised by having been chased around the house by a loud and scary vacuum cleaner. I think he coped rather well until he had his
Chicken Licken moment. I was in the kitchen brewing coffee, when Furtle decided to hoover the bathroom floor above. The noise of the vacuum was bad enough, but the sound of it through the ceiling, combined with the rumble of the tiles proved too much for the feline of little courage, who dropped flat against the floor and legged it for the conservatory.
And then we had guests. Karen and Ant came to stay and for a little over 24 hours, the cat who is generally used to a single person in its life, but who had got used to two, had to readjust to four.
He spent most of the rest of Saturday hiding in the wardrobe, cuddling the teddy bear hot water bottle, and Sunday under a blanket on the bed.
VillainThis meant that come bedtime last night, the brute was fully rested, but still agitated, so when he was dropped outside the bedroom when I went to bed, he just stayed there mewling and clawing at the until about 2.30am when I took him downstairs and stuck him in the conservatory. Somebody (not I) then felt guilty and I was tasked at 3.00am to let him have the usual run of the ground floor. He came back up and continued unabated. I dozed off then, but apparently at 4.00 Furtle got over her guilt and locked him back in solitary since he would not stop scratching at the door. It turned out when I got up this morning, that during his brief period of respite he had managed to shove a bunch of books onto the floor and pull the back of one of the arm chairs forward in a scene of minor devastation.
If he continues with these tantrums, all the cuteness in the world will not save him from permanent and extended solitary confinement in the conservatory, with the curtains drawn. I shall line him up and count him twice a day when I take his food and water in and that’s it. My Inner Prison Guard is ready, willing and able.
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