People who own multiple cats

People can never stop at just the one tattoo. First off,  it’s a little Chinese symbol on the hip, then a dragon on the neck, and before long one decides it would be a nice idea to go leopard-print. For some people with a fairly common mutant gene, the same is true of cats. These people begin with an innocent little Tigger, and soon enough their houses, fridges and cupboards are entirely populated by all the loneliest looking moppets from the shelter, curtains are threadbare and visitors are greeted with the phrase ‘mind the litter tray’.

Steering clear of the old cliché about mad old ladies, the people I know who go for the feline-collecting option tend to be sane young women:

My friend Jodie has Cleo, the cat who was bright enough to build a Honda advert-style assault course to open a cupboard door and get to her cat biscuits, and Benjy, who is daft enough to get into a fight with his own tail and lose.

Sarah, my cousin, has Alan, Louise and Cordelia. These cats, I believe, were purchased to make up for the loss of a labrador called Bennie, and even with such awesome names, do not quite fill his great, lolloping paw prints. (I could tell you about Bennie’s gay affair with my Uncle’s Sheepdog Flash one Boxing Day in the middle of a sitting room where an innocent game of ‘The King of the Golden Castle’ was taking place, but that’s another – albeit worthy – blog topic altogether).

Finally, there’s Eleanor, who you may recall as being the Shoe Queen of Coventry from blog 1. She had three little kitties growing up and often rebuffs my attempts to make her see a cat’s true, selfish, Machiavellian nature with a tale of how her favourite moggie was once loving enough to lick away her tears when she was a sobbing teenager (I did not have the heart to say he was probably thirsty).

This cat is not your friend.

These people are sane, at least, until they start trying to communicate with the little rascals, when they sort of melt into a lip-wobbling, tongue-clicking, finger-rubbing jelly-people. I have no idea who first stated that this odd charade was the best way to communicate with the little devils, but as far as I can see they are just as disinterested in their owners when they are treated this way as when I brush them aside with the back of my hand whilst keeping my eyes fixed on the X-Factor.   

Conclusion: Multiple cat owners are, as the cliche goes, eccentric. Not because they are old and single, but because they chose such monstrous creatures as pets. Their eccentricity can thus be measured on a scale of

one cat (loveably squiffy) to ten cats (certifiable).

That’s how Helen…. Cs it.