Sharp-eyed readers or those in the know will have spotted a couple of things in the photos from my last post which will make more sense after this one!
I’ve wanted a cat for a very long time – my family have had cats on and off for at least the last ten years, and when I moved out I missed having them around. For a while I did have an illicit pet mouse in my room in college (somewhat an inadvertent acquisition when my neighbour bought one and then discovered she was allergic to rodents…) but as adorable as Stilton was, she was not very good at cuddling.
For the last month or so I’ve been wrangling with the RSPCA, who were very helpful but for various reasons not very efficient, and the upshot is… please welcome Paige!
You can’t see from the photo, but Paige is missing her front left leg due to an argument with a car, which is why she was available for adoption and also why she was suitable to live in a flat with no easy access to the outdoors: she has to be an indoor cat these days. She has a very sweet lolloping gait and doesn’t seem remotely perturbed by the absence of a limb. She’s also incredibly friendly and within minutes of her arrival was coming to me to be petted and purring at me, before settling down to have a good wash. Her foster mum, who very kindly dropped her off at my flat since I was having trouble finding an available friend with a car at short notice, was reluctant to leave and told me that she’d considered keeping her permanently. I’m very glad she didn’t though!
I had a terrifying moment about two hours after she arrived; we’d been curled up together on the sofa but she hopped off, I assumed to go and get some food or use the litter tray. After a few minutes I looked to see where she’d got to, and saw… nothing. She wasn’t in the kitchen, she wasn’t in the bathroom. She wasn’t under the armchair or behind the bathroom door or exploring the back of the desk or underneath the chest of drawers. I even looking in the washing basket, even though she couldn’t possibly have jumped inside without me hearing, and the wardrobe, despite the fact that both doors were firmly shut. No sign of her. I started to panic, and wondered for a brief, mad moment whether I’d actually hallucinated her arrival entirely (fortunately the adoption paperwork confirmed that it hadn’t all been a dream). I rang my stepdad in a panic, hoping that his thirty years of cat-ownership experience might provide a few suggestions I hadn’t thought of, but he couldn’t think where she could be either, once I’d confirmed that there wasn’t space under the bed and all the windows were shut.
Finally I thought of one last place to check and moved my guitar, sunhat and violin from underneath the folding-leaf table. And there she was, having a snooze in the back corner. She must have shimmed underneath the violin, which was resting on the table legs, and decided it was a nice place for a nap. It took me a good twenty minutes to calm down.
Happily she’s now settled on a much more visible place to do the majority of her sleeping. Unfortunately, it’s also my preferred place for sleeping, but I have a feeling that I might be sharing from now on.