Ok, if you’ve read any of my previous posts, or know anything at all about me, you’ll be very aware I am cat-obsessed. But I’ve sunk to a whole new level.
Yesterday I almost stole someone else’s cat.
I didn’t, but I wanted to. I was in my room with the window open and I swore I heard meows. At first I thought it was just my crazy kitty brain fooling me. But then I realised they were real. I ran downstairs to locate the source, and discovered a tiny tortoiseshell up a tree across the road. She came to me immediately. She was loud and thin and anxious.
Like the obviously unstable person I am, I hoped she wasn’t wearing a collar so I could keep her. I know, I know, it’s horrible of me. Cleo never wore a collar, but if anyone had stolen her I’d be livid. Anyway, Lily did have a tag, which told me she was Lily and had a phone number. I called her and she followed me straight into the house, bold as brass. Straight to the kitchen and up on the bench, too. I called her owner, who thanked me and said she’d been missing for a few days. While we waited for him to arrive, Lily roamed the house, acting like she owned it. He turned up way too soon and I had to hand her over with hopefully-not-obvious reluctance.
She was adorable. I was thrilled to see a cat in the house again. I am This Close to Giving In and getting one.