Tuesday, next door’s cleaner let their cat out, she couldn’t get it back in so she left me a note asking me to do it, believe me this is not a simple task. As a rescue cat she is skittish to say the least, lovely when she knows you but skittish.
Having to get a cat in when on my way out was not my ideal way to spend valuable socialising time. Anyway.
Next morning I thought I could hear said cat, so between getting little girl dressed, me dressed, readying our selves for our days at work and nursery, I popped round to check. On my way I found myself trying to remember the alarm code. Fatal mistake. As a girl who, in the days before mobiles, could only remember phone numbers by pretending to dial them, I’m best just stepping up and pressing buttons, not THINKING about it.
So, at 7:30 am I was standing in the middle of someone else’s houses with a crying little girl, an escaping cat trying to call my neighbour to remind me of the code. (I don’t know what it says about me, but she thought I had forgotten my OWN alarm code).
Funnily enough with the house screaming at it, the cat ran away again.
See I love cats, but blimey.
Last night at around nine o’clock I could found standing on my settee, screaming. Yes Tom and Jerry style screaming. There was a mouse in my sitting room.
The only differences between me and the cartoon were the colour of my skin and the fact that my stockings weren’t saggy.
The Gruffalo will tell you the mouse is the scariest animal in the woods and I would I agree. I cannot stand furry rodent type creatures. It makes me wince just to think of it.
Luckily I had a pair of four inch heels nearby which I donned like stilts to take me to safety of my bedroom; if 5 foot something of me wasn’t enough to scare it I was going to make damn sure it couldn’t make a vicious lunge for my well turned ankle.
If Isobel wants a ratty, hamstery type pet she can appeal to PD’s absent parent guilt and he can keep it for her.