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Saturday, January 26, 2013

Not such an aristicat!

In January 2002 the kids and I moved into a house close to their primary school and the sporting complex, where they spent a large percentage of my time. 
I was newly divorced and about to begin studying full-time for a Bachelor of Education at the nearby university. 

We'd brought our maniacal and senseless Jack Russell, Odie, with us but had left the blind, geriatric Siamese and the malicious, bitey black cat at my ex-husband’s house. 

The reason for this was firstly, as a rule cats don’t generally like to move house and secondly, the kids would be seeing them every weekend anyway.

A drama studio was set up in a front room of the house where my students could continue their private lessons and assist me in financing and maintaining my wine- cask habit.

At the beginning of August I realized that Lulu’s sixth birthday was imminent and after some deliberation I decided to buy her a kitten. 

Not being a cat expert as such, I wasn’t aware of the fact that cats aren’t much into procreation during the month of July and there was currently a city wide kitten- drought.

Scrutinising the newspaper every day and ringing the animal refuge left me empty-handed and scratching my head as to how I was going to procure a furry ball of mischief in time for Lulu’s birthday. 
I was beginning to get desperate as the 'B' day was fast approaching.

One fortuitous day I moseyed into a pet shop and found a solitary tabby (who had clearly originated from a couple of extra horny parents) sitting in a cage.

A little boy about ten, was standing beside the cage gazing at it adoringly. 

“She’s really cute isn’t she?” he lisped earnestly.

“Yes it is cute,” I replied untruthfully.

It was skinny, a bit mangy and didn’t appear to be infused with personality. With its plain markings and gummy eyes I have to say it wasn’t the most appealing moggy I’d ever seen, but it was only twenty bucks. 


Dithering uncertainly at the cage and wondering if it was skinny because it was indeed riddled with worms, I heard the little boy unobtrusively murmuring to the girl at the counter,

“So I’m going home to ask Mum and I’ll come back later.”

That was enough inducement for me. 

I waited until he took off on his bike, scurried up to the counter and slapped a twenty down.

The moral of this story is- A cat in a cage is worth two in a bush.

Ps: We still have this cat twelve years on and it has cost me a fortune.