Confessions of a Cat Sitter
Chris Pascoe is the author of A Cat Called Birmingham & You Can Take the Cat
Out of Slough, and a columnist for various UK & international magazines.
He’s also a cat sitter…
I read a piece in the paper recently, about a US
tabby named Sal being summoned for Jury Service.
Sal’s owner Anna was quick to respond to the
Court’s mistaken request (probably originating
from Sal’s entry under ‘Pets’ on a Census form),
explaining that Sal would be unable to participate in
any trials, on account of her being a cat. Anna also
added, tongue-in-cheek, that she didn’t think Sal’s
grasp of the English language would be quite up to
it. However, somebody in the halls of power didn’t
read Anna’s reply very carefully, because a second
letter duly arrived, insisting that Sal’s reasons for
abstention were inadequate and that she MUST
report for jury service. It was also pointed out that
jurors are ‘not expected to speak perfect English’.
I think it was only a call to the local press that
prevented the jury being made up of eleven citizens
of good character…and one short-haired tabby.
All this put me very much in mind of an all too
frequent problem of my own. It’s not that I often ask
cats to pass crucial verdicts on criminal trials - hardly
ever in fact - but, it would be true to say that I’m
no stranger to the misunderstanding element of the
above story. Misunderstandings are something I do,
and I do them very well indeed.
Take this scenario for instance. I’d been looking after
a young ginger tom named…Tom…for a first time
client. All had been fine and Tom and I became firm
friends, but on my very last visit I arrived to find
he’d been sick on the bedroom floor and duvet.
This was no major problem in itself – cat vomit is a
huge part of my life (and I bet it’s not every day you
hear somebody say that) so I simply prepared Tom’s
dinner and cleared up the unpleasant mess while its
perpetrator happily ate. What was a major problem
was the note that I left for my clients. With hindsight,
I now realise that there could be much better ways
of phrasing a summary note:
‘Hi, welcome home. All well here, except for a
couple of sick incidents in the bedroom. There may
still be damp patches on the bed and carpet when
you get back.’
On the way to my next job it suddenly occurred to
me that this note was very open to interpretation,
but by then I’d posted the client’s keys back through
20
their letterbox. I haven’t
heard from them
since…
Another
misunderstanding
involved clearing up
another nasty mess.
A regular Siamese
charge named Willard
has a slight diarrhea problem. Well, it’s only a ‘slight’
problem, if you consider rocketing bucket loads of
projectile diarrhea up kitchen walls to be a minor
thing. I tend to make Willard’s visit my last call of the
day, as the cleaning up operation can often take a
very long time. On this particular day, I completed all
my visits and carried out my chores, including doing
a little grocery shopping for my wife’s elderly ailing
father, before paying an exceptionally gruesome visit
to Willard’s.
Arriving home that day, I called out ‘hello’ to my wife
who, unbeknown to me, had just been discussing
her father’s poor health with a group of coffeeafternoon friends
‘Hi Chris,’ Lorraine called, ‘How was he today?’
‘Ugh, don’t even talk to me about him,’ I called
back, ‘The smell was disgusting…diarrhea
EVERYWHERE…up the walls, the cupboards, all
over the fridge…I reckon he must just run around
spraying it everywhere for fun!’
I’ll long remember the looks of horror when I
walked into that lounge!
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