An indignant cry alerted me to the fact that my poor Willow was in trouble, again.
Confession. Privately I had a wicked snigger.
“She pissed in my boots!”
.
“Moi?!”
Now, while Willow would do well in the height category of the Pissing-Kitty Olympics, I can’t quite see how even she could have pissed in his boots.
They were, after all on a bench that was full of all manner of other stuff placed there “out of range”.
But somehow, one cat or another had definitely done the deed. Poor Willow always gets the blame.
.
“After such a harsh accusation, I need a lie down!”
How mean of me to snigger.
Well the truth is, Willow is inclined to pee on stuff that gets left lying around.
It’s her way of commenting on untidiness.
But then there’s the matter of Grant’s chair…
It was getting peed on regularly, hence the removable waterproof cover. It protects the chair but not Grant’s pants when he sits in it.
This makes him rather cross.
So the only way to prevent angry outbursts was to make it impossible for cats to get into the chair.
The short-coming of that being that the man never remembers to put the box back.
Well, I can only do so much, right?
That’s why I had a naughty snigger.
And the fact is, we’ve never actually caught the culprit in the act, so we can’t be sure it’s Willow.
“Well it wasn’t us!”
Blackie’s in the clear. Penny sometimes does unintentional ‘overshoots’.
“Oh, it’s alright. I’ll take the blame.”
It is probably all about having multiple cats.
My first cat Mo, had a clean record and so did Yeti until she got kidney disease.
The trouble really started with my boy, Mr Panther.
Panther had major attitude.
But now I’m going to confess what I think this is really all about. I don’t recall ever writing this before…
It’s a phenomenon.
It’s Revenge of Mr Sharpe.
Apologies to the child I once was….
When I was in my first year of school aged 5, one afternoon just before the bell, I felt the urge to pee.
One might think this was attention seeking, but I can clearly remember thinking that it would be alright to just go because it would pool in my chair and presumably evaporate. I hadn’t yet learned about thinking things through, you see.
Another girl cried “Ew, miss! Carolyn’s weed!” Bitch.
As we all trooped out I saw the janitor Mr Sharpe scowling at me. Even at 5, I could interpret that look.
Poor man probably fought in the trenches and had moved on to deal with dirty little school children.
Mr Sharp was well named but I’ve always remembered him and wished I could apologize for my piggy behaviour.
He certainly deserved better.
Anyway, I always look on my current trials as punishment, although it feels sometimes it rather more than fits the crime.
.
.
Willow arrived 18 months after I lost Panther. I don’t say she is his re-incarnation, but she does remind me of him so much. Including his unfortunate out-of-box events.
Of all a person’s childhood memories, why is it the embarrassing ones that stick?
I’ll divulge another in the interest of light humour…
When I was about 7, my aunty Win, who was a hard-working country nurse, came up to London for a day or two, a short release from her duties of caring for her disabled brother and my elderly grandmother.
It must have been Spring or Summer.
Instead of allowing my aunt to sit with her feet up, for some reason my mother decided to lumber her with the job of taking me to the boat races.
Where we went, I’ve no idea. We went on a bus or maybe several buses.
The only part of the day I remember in cringing detail is that my mother must have fed me something that violently disagreed with me.
Poor Win, on her brief holiday was confronted with a small child in urgent need of a facility that could not be found.
Let us say that we got some funny looks on the bus and when finally we arrived home my 10-year old brother regarded me with revulsion.
My mother laughed.
Poor Win. She always did get the shitty jobs.
Poor Aunt Win.
Thank you, Carolyn, for today’s entertainment, badly needed here!
Joanna
I always think of contrition and confession as more of a dog thing!
I laughed, but I’m not telling who, or what, I laughed at!
That’s OK, Peter. It’s good to make someone laugh.
I have peed in some unusual (and very public) places during my life, including out of a train window on a commuter train with no on-board toilet. But I managed to survive my whole schooling without wetting myself in a class. There were some kids who were always having ‘accidents’ though, and a girl at secondary school who regularly threw up in the corridors. The school caretaker had a big box of sawdust put by, especially for her.
Best wishes, Pete.
Willow looks quite innocent … but then … they all probably do 😉.