Tuesday, 19 January 2010

In response to irresponsibility.

Last night I was fed a mushroom wrap in my sleep. It was really tasty but it turns out it had egg in it. Doh. Here's another cat story.

Floyd, as previously discussed, opened my heart and mind to cats. I didn't have another serious cat relationship for quite some time after her. Every time I befriended a kitty in the street and gave it a tickle, it felt like a one night stand. All I really wanted was love.

The next cat I gave my heart to was Ninja. She belonged to my old housemate, a sixteen year old Ukranian girl who was a massive wanker. She regularly cooked a stack of burgers in the steamer! Who does that?! A cat in the house was controversial and a breach of the tenancy agreement but it was nobody's business but hers so we let her take the fall for it whilst we enjoyed the novelty of having a pet.

Ninja, for want of a better expression, was fucking mental. Her name confused us at first, especially the way in which it was said, "Neeeeenja-neenja-neenja-neenja!", but it was soon understood to be quite a fitting name. She was a ninja. She was like a bloody exocet missile, always running and never walking like a sensible kitty should.

I wish I could tell you all her funny little mannerisms but I don't recall them so well. She liked a good fuss, but then so do I. The whole point is that Julia treated her like dogshit. She fed her either too much or too little and a lot of the time she fed her frozen peas because she had spent her food allowance on clothes. We bought Ninja cat food and the meat eaters in the house parted with ham and chicken and all sorts. We looked after her and gave her the attention she didn't get from her owner. I remember when Ninja was terribly lethargic for a few days. She never, ever stopped for anybody so to see her sitting down was just crazy. She had an eye infection that looked pretty grim but when I suggested Julia should take her to a vet, she picked up her cat by the scruff of her neck, looked at its shitty, oozing little eyes and informed us "it's fine" and then locked the poor dab in her room away from our tender loving care.

When Julia went to Liverpool for 3 days and locked Ninja in her bedroom, giving only Benny the key to go in to feed it once a day, I went a bit mental. I called on Katie, the patron saint of kitties, to help me take action. We spent, shit, I don't know how long calling Ninja out of a third story window. We had to bully her off the ledge. We chased her from car to car as she hid in fear and we ran after her down the street. Just as she was about to jump a wall to the street below, I grabbed her tail and stuffed her into Katie's cat box (that's not a metaphor). Call it tough love, or something. Katie drove me to the train station and I caught the train to Bridgend with Ninja. When I got to my mam's, I had to go out with her and I left Ninja with my brother, instructing him NOT to let her out of the box. Needless to say, when we got home she was running riot and had pooped on the living room carpet. Muggins here cleaned it up.

I then took Ninja to my friend, a serial cat lover, a few streets away from my mam's. It took her a little while to settle in but she fucking loved it there. She would go on late night adventures, strut in at 3am and curl up with him under the duvet. I remember being at his house and looking out of the window to see her stuck on the church roof, perpetually meowing. That was funny. They were the best of friends and he absolutely adored her. She went missing for a little while but she came back. Then she went missing again, right about the time China China came to Bridgend, never to be seen again. Poor Ninja. At least she was happy.

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