Our neighbour across the fence acquired a kitten. As soon as it got out the back door it shot up a tall conifer at the end of the garden.
Coaxing was no use. Nor was borrowing a ladder and trying to reach for Pussy who only climbed higher. Finally the owner called a tree surgeon who roped himself up and seized the escapee. Some days later we heard the lady say “If you go up that tree again Mummy’s going to be very cross with you.”
One day a little black-and-white cat came snooping by our French window. It was very hesitant and twitchy so we thought it was a tom but had the good manners not to inspect him too closely. We named him Billy.
He was happy to accept food. Boy, that hasn’t changed, except he’s stepped it up to four packets of meat a day plus several handsful of crunchies.
Eventually we worked out he was female and since we live in an increasingly Asian neighbourhood we modified her name to Billi which means cat in Hindi and Urdu (the male equivalent is “billa.”)
She tends to “eat and run” like a teenager but as she ate more we began to wonder who her real owner was. She has had several collars so someone must have thought she was theirs. Maybe they moved away.
We bought an outdoor cat cabin and lined it with newspaper and a towel. We positioned it here and there in the garden - by the shed, in the plastic greenhouse, on the wooden bench to get it off the cold ground - but as far as we know she never used it though one or two other local cats may have done.
Instead she has established a roost - the roof of a tall garden tool cupboard just outside the living room. At dawn we draw back the bedroom curtain and look down to see her there and wish her good morning. Open the kitchen door and in she shoots.
Her usual route for coming down was to trot along the fence to a raised bed and leap onto the earth and from there to the ground. But when summer came and the plants rose up she didn’t fancy jumping into them and instead nervously launched herself direct from the fence. So rather than have her sprain an ankle we bought one of those folding ramps to help elderly dogs into cars, and set it up halfway. She soon got the idea of the chute.
As winter approached and we began to plan holidays the question of ownership raised its head again. These days when Billi left the garden it would be to our right so I made an is-this-your-cat flyer and posted copies to the houses along the road there but no-one responded.
We repositioned the cabin to by the tool cupboard and success! It became Billi’s night shelter against cold weather; and increasingly during the day also.
Until wandering cats took to pissing on the outside of her bedroom. Miserable gits! That put her off and it was back to rooftop sentry duty for Billi.
For the last several weeks she has decided to stay indoors with us but not on the couch as she used to. No, it’s the bathroom for her and she sleeps on the laundry basket; we can hear the thumps as she scratches herself next to the airing cupboard.
Now she has taken to curling up in the bathtub. Why, we don’t know; it must be colder than by the radiator.
And so here we are at the beck and call of a fat feline. Take a few steps downstairs and she will rush past you to the dinner plate in the kitchen; and up again. If we soften and let her stay overnight she will wait till we visit the toilet at 2 a.m. and demand to be let out.
How did we get into this? How do we get out of this?
