January 11, 2007
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While Elgar was out in the back garden this evening I committed cat adultery with Peanut, a cat who lives across the road but often hangs out by my front door. He’s a big purry kitty and meowed for a cuddle when I took the bins out. I caved. I was weak! It meant nothing! I was thinking of Elgar the whole time!
A lot of local cats hang out by my front door because the woman upstairs puts out cat biscuits. (Incidentally, I have no idea what Peanut’s real name is, I call him that because his tail is squirelly.) But Peanut appears to have started to chase the other cats away from these biscuits, despite him being about to explode from the strain his fat’s putting on his skin. Including, I’m afraid to say, a very timid black and white cat who escaped from its home at Christmas. I know this because the nephews of the owner knocked on my window last night to explain that they weren’t trying to burgle my house, they were in fact in my garden with a duvet because they were trying to catch this cat. I saw the cat again twice today, both times obviously wanting the biccies (it looks quite thin, poor mite) and Peanut’s chasing it off. I have the guys’ phone numbers and when I catch this cat (as I evidently live at Cat Central for Hither Green) I will call them. Haven’t quite figured out what to do with Elgar when I do catch the cat, or how I’m going to get Peanut to fuck off while I’m catching it, though.
I got Peanut to pose today (after I’d turfed him out of my flat. He and a tabby moggie are eyeing up my place as a potential new home). You can see how he’s probably carved a niche for himself as the prettiest, pamperedest cat in the neighbourhood and all biscuits and homes belong to him.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my own cat can hear Peanut outside and is torn between standing by the front door looking confused or attempting to trip me up by winding round my legs.