Rescued from abandonment in an inner city tenement, T.C had the nerve to spend 15 years sneering at home cooked organic chicken from his perch atop a red velvet cushion wedged against a boiling radiator. He did what he liked and didn’t give a toss what anyone thought of him.
No more grumpy hungry face at the door as soon as you put your key in the lock.
No more endless pestering for food, the tap of incoming paws on the kitchen tiles as soon as the wrapper comes off the chicken.
I can sleep soundly in my bed knowing that I will not be woken at 3am with relentless plucking at my duvet so that I am forced to stagger up, open the back door and suggest “kindly” that pesky puss goes out even though he has already changed his mind
I can eat my toast at 6am and not have to watch (“stinky pinky”), cat one leg stuck in the air, licking his genitals.
There are no more howling draughts as every door in the house surrenders to feline head butting, gapes open and is never shut.
Sam will get a full nights sleep as the scratching of claws on his bedroom door has stopped.
I will not hear, “FUCK OFF T.C!” bellowed into the midnight air ever again.
All is quiet on the western front. Peace at last. Hmmm….