Cat-sitting

Sophie and Scott have trusted me to look after their furry little darlings for a week. They are off to lose their landlubber status, learning to sail in far-off exotic Dunoon. Rather than add this to their blogs, I use the opportunity to start posting.

So I am looking after Holly, Rumpole and Elvis. My psycho-kitties are being cared for by my mother (Pesky Critter par excellence).

Saturday, visit 1: Holly decides she hates my guts, hides under bed. Does a very good impression of implacable hatred mixed with heartbroken dismay. Elvis comes in for a scoff, then back to the garden. He is determined to get every frog in the garden, and can't be distracted by pleasantries. Rumpole is fat, friendly and easily won over with a smart bit of ear-rubbing. Back home, my lot pick up the scent of strangers. I am shunned.

Saturday, visit 2: Holly changes her sulking venue, choosing the garage roof instead. Very Strangeways-here-we-come, but Scott is a Morrisey fan and she can't help being influenced. Elvis assures me there are several hundred frog corpses in the garden. I strongly suggest they stay there. Rumpole becomes fascinated by the invisible mouse in the kitchen. I consider exploring with a torch but my nerve fails me. If I find a real one, I'll have to do something. With three cats in the house, that seems like unnecessary work. Back home, my lot are still having hissy-fits, at least the dog is still my pal.

Sunday: Holly returns to underbed sulking for a while. At some point she considers that I sound suitably forlorn and broken, and becomes my bezzie mate. It might have something to do with the frantic game of 'chase the silver paper ball' - I'm horribly unfit, and I think she enjoys my pain. Rumpole joins me on the sofa to watch 'Dr Who' as I recover. Another cat turns up. It is the stray Boyfriend Cat, all bootfaced and hopeful. Easily fed and easily pleased. I like him.

Monday: Fight off migraine and head for the daily visit. Elvis is the king of the sofa, Rumpole is all cosy in a box near the dining table. Holly comes downstairs to greet me, but makes it clear I am not worthy. She just wanted to be quick off the mark when the food goes down. Elvis is a greedy little so-and-so. But I get a little feline sympathy, and am tempted to throw a sickie and stay with them tomorrow.