DISCLAIMER: THIS POST CONTAINS CATS. MANY, MANY CATS.
Today I have to say goodbye to Rushdie the cat, his owner Chloe has decided to re-home him permanently. It's not fair to keep moving him around and she won't be ready to take him again until September at the earliest- that's a lot of new people and new neighbourhoods to get used to for a little cat.
I don't want him to go though, he's the perfect flatmate. I wish I could stay here with him instead of New Flatmate. She's hardly been here this week, so every night it's just been me and Rushdie. As I come home, he jumps in through the window, meowing at me about his day. Sometimes he follows me round the flat just meowing at me. I don't understand exactly what he's saying, but I get the general gist of it.
Mostly he is telling me about the local #CATS- the scary black cat with the scarred face and the fluffy Tabby from next door who sometimes pops up at the window and watches me while I sit on the couch, feeling awkward and pretending I haven't noticed...
The downside to Rushdie using the window as his cat flap is that some of the other cats have been using it too. Last Sunday I was lying on the couch like a dirty potato*, when a random cat leapt in through the window. At first he stayed perched on the window, sussing out the situation. Then, when he realised I was in no fit state to move or even make shoo-ing noises, he bloody came in and went for a wander round.
I was recovering from Friday night (which carried on until Saturday afternoon) and couldn't even summon the energy to flap him away. Do you ever get so hungover that you feel as if you've left your body, and you're actually floating a few inches above yourself, like a thick fuzziness, while your body just lies there below you, looking rank and smelling of petrol for Some Reason?
Well it was like that. (Maybe that's why they call it a Comedown, because as the day goes on you gradually descend back into your body until you feel halfway normal again.)
I felt so weak, that all I could do was document the whole thing with my shitty Blackberry camera...
The Cat That Leapt In Through The Window
The cat leapt in through the window.
"Ha!" he said, triumphantly, "Fucking knew I could make that jump"
The cat looked back at how high he had jumped.
"Not too shabby." he said to himself.
The cat noticed me on the couch, floating above my dirty potato of a body.
"Hang about." he said.
"She ain't gonna do anything." he said, before dropping down on to the window ledge.
Then he stopped for a minute, wondering if maybe he had misjudged the situation.
"Nah, she's fucked." he said, before going into the kitchen to eat Rushdie's food.
(Any children's book publishers- GET IN TOUCH. I'm thinking Primary School, I'm thinking Literacy... It could be the new Biff and Chip.)
On Thursday I came home to find the fluffy Tabby from next door in my bedroom, having a nosy between my bed and dressing table. I love how whenever I surprise a random cat in my flat, they look at me, alarmed and outraged, as if I have walked into their private abode uninvited.
The freakiest one is Twilight Cat, who is sometimes sitting on the window ledge in the living room when I get up in the middle of the night with Rushdie. I don't know why Rushdie makes me get up in the middle of the night to watch him jump out of the window, but he likes to meow in my face and sometimes bite my elbow to wake me up, so I always obey.
It's really surreal wandering into the living room with Rushdie behind me, to see another cat sitting there. It's happened three or four times. Maybe he is a magic cat.
Looking at those pictures, I think Twilight Cat is the same cat that came in on Sunday.
I realised I have been talking about cats for a very, very long time. I'm hungover and so there is no limit to the nonsense I could write. I could literally sit here all day, typing out every mad thought that comes into my head.
Why did I start writing this post?
I'm going to miss him. He sleeps on my bed with his paws over my leg, or else he curls up next to my head, meaning I have to squeeze against the edge of the bed. I would happily squeeze up forever though, it's nice having a little cat in your bed.
Every night when he senses I'm about to get into bed, he jumps on the covers so he can sleep next to me, or he settles down on top of me if I lie flat. If I leave the room to brush my teeth, he sits up and looks at me as if to say, "Where are you going? I thought we were going to bed."
Perhaps I am becoming a bit obsessed with Rushdie.
Last night I drunkenly posted two photos of him on Facebook, accompanied by a misspelt caption about much I 'lobe him' and how I will never 'roget him'. Then I posted the same photos FOUR TIMES with different captions, because each time I thought it hadn't worked.
I woke up at 6am this morning in a panic. Last night I got really drunk with people from work and couldn't remember if I'd done or said anything embarrassing. I was definitely doing my Liverpool accent... and laughing insanely loudly- probably at my own jokes.
I should go now. My New Flatmate is hovering around with some bread I asked her to get for me.
She got really drunk last night and was sick on herself. Her girlfriend who is ten years older than her now isn't speaking to her. I've got no time for 'couple shit'.
New Flatmate has found it really difficult to replace me, because her girlfriend doesn't want her to live with another lesbian- 'in case they sleep together; a straight boy- 'in case he tries to sleep with her'; or an attractive straight girl (her exact words)- 'in case New Flatmate tries to sleep with her'... She's only allowed to live with a gay boy.
So what am I then, New Flatmate? A gay boy or a hideously unattractive straight girl?
Fucking grow up.
Oh god. I better get dressed and hunt out Rushdie's cat box.
*one of those ones that comes caked in dirt and no matter how hard you scrub it, it still tastes a bit gritty when you eat it)