An airy West London house with 3 terraces sounds like an ideal place to continue the writing in exchange for waiting for a delivery man. Well it’s ideal if you were prepared for a big cat with golf ball eyes that they have just acquired from a cat orphanage.
He followed me around as I snooped around the fridge and made myself a cup of tea – daring me to put on the owner’s dressing gown. Stretched out in front of me front side up suggestively expecting me to touch it and when I ignored him, tried to get my attention by first playing dead, then trying to dance solely on his hind legs – ok so the last one was mildly impressive but more freaky. How much attention does this cat normally get?
I contemplate dangling a piece of saucisson in its face before throwing it out of the window. And then receive a message from the owner asking me not to feed le chat as it is sick and too fat. What if the cat bites me I ask? No reply.
I sit down. The cat follows me. I stand to go use the bathroom and when I come out, the cat is sitting outside. This cat totally has issues. My phone rings and I’m saved by the bell. I take the call upstairs so I get some privacy. When I return the cat is sitting at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me – clearly it has been earwigging trying to get material for his own book no doubt. I open the laptop and it leaps onto the keyboard – damn this cat can write.