Ever wondered what your cat does all day?
I know exactly what mine does.
She floofs.
Everywhere.
I’d only been out for the afternoon. I’d left a relatively tidy house. Yet I came home just 3 hours later to a white, mohair carpet. It was like an explosion in a candy floss factory, minus the pink. Floof central.
Strangely enough, the cat is grey, which goes nowhere to explain how my carpet was covered in white floof. Plus the sofa. And the curtains. The table too. Come to think of it, the standard lamp was also rather skew.
As I surveyed the scene, in sauntered the chuffin cat – not looking bald as I had expected, but maybe a little dishevelled.
“Holy moly! What have you been up to?!” I yelled.
Gloria gave me a withering look, then looked at the floor. There I spied a mangled fly.
“You spent 3 hours chasing a fly??” I exclaimed.
Gloria let out a sigh. I got the impression that she would have rolled her eyes if she could have. Instead she adjusted her tufty paws, swished her tail (oh look, more floof) and stared at the fly again.
Then I understood what she meant: she had spent 3 hours waging war against a monstrous man-eating menace, who had threatened to destroy the house and everything in it. So what’s the problem with a bit of floof and a few broken ornaments?
Satisfied that I now had an accurate grasp of the situation, she stood up and nonchalantly padded to the door.
Then with a turn of her head, she cast her eye across the scene and fixed me with that familiar glare, the one that says, “Look at the state of this place, human staff member, you really should perform your housekeeping duties to a higher standard. No feline needs to spend her day paw-deep in discarded floof!”
As I handed the peace offering to Gloria, she eyed me suspiciously. Two minutes later, having wrestled with it, batted it, pummelled it, dribbled on it and sat on it, she promptly stood up and cast it aside. Then she flounced off outdoors without even giving it a second glance. Assuming that put an end to our disagreement, I made a well deserved cup of tea. As I headed outside with my mug, I felt content in the knowledge that I would be able to sit peacefully in my bear chair, without the worry of being clawed through the wooden slats by a revenge-seeking tufty paw.
Gloria looked from me, to the mouse and then back to me again. Clearly she was expecting some form of action. We watched together as her ‘offering’ disappeared back into the undergrowth, like a mini spy on a secret mission, having infiltrated enemy lines. He was only missing the dark glasses and briefcase. Maybe he’d left them in the hedge earlier.
chuffincat 