Wednesday, 5 November 2014

Kitten the invisible cat

I am crouching furtively in front of the fridge. The shaft of light from my flowery torch aside, my subtlety is unsurpassed. Fear not, dear reader, I have not embarked on a new career as a surreptitious fridge engineer. Nor have I found a new and exciting way to eat cheese. I am paying my nightly respects to the newest and furriest member of our household, Kitten the Cat.

Kitten arrived with us a few weeks ago and promptly set up house behind the fridge, pretty much the only place in the flat to which we have no access at all. He could be doing anything back there. If you see flyers circulating for a speak-easy with Jazz, Catnip and Pussy, plus a convenient proximity to chilled beverages, please let me know. No, seriously. 

Pretty much the only contact I have with Kitten is cleaning out his litter tray and filling his food bowl after his nocturnal wanderings (when the humans are tucked up out of the way in bed). In some ways, we have skipped any preliminary small talk, and gone straight to sharing the house with a moody teenager who won't leave his bedroom.

Look! Here he is!

He really is there, promise.

Even though I have had about as much as interaction with Kitten as I have had with Richard Branson (although I've never cleaned Ol' Branson's toilet), I LOVE HIM. Kitten that is, not Branson. Although Branson's trains are pretty snazzy. I've developed the kind of relationship with Kitten that means that I text my Mum litter-tray updates complete with proud emoticons. Just like a mother excited by the contents of a child's nappy. I've become that person. And I'm not even a cat person. 

You see, it's not really his fault that he's a little antisocial. He's seven years old, and he's lived in the same house with the same people for his whole life and suddenly he's somewhere else and it's BLIMMING TERRIFYING. I get that, change is scary. If I could fit, I would also spend a large proportion of my life behind white goods. Soothing.

Plus, I think the fact that I'm not a cat person means that we have a lot in common. I am not a cat person, Kitten is not a person cat. We get each other on a deep soulful level.

I have always wanted an imaginary friend. Unfortunately, I have so much going on in the uncharted depths of my personality that any timid little imaginary friendship overtures are quickly drowned out by my spirited internal chatter. Kitten is like the ultimate imaginary friend, because I have an empty bowl every morning to reassure me it hasn't all been a dream. Like the scarf that the Snowman leaves the little boy in the Raymond Briggs story. Except that instead of an excess of knitted product of a morning, there's a lack of questionable meat product. And let me tell you, our imaginary cuddles are excellent. 

So I'm saying it loud, and I'm saying it proud, my name is Anna and I love my invisible cat! And if you're reading this Kitten and the Fridge is starting to lose its shine, I hear the sofa is pretty comfortable too this time of night...

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