Since it transpired that Ambridge wasn’t going to keel over and die immediately from her heart condition (probably thanks to the vast sums I wrenched out of my credit card and waved at the vet), I have been able to climb down from my mountain of angst and start preparing her for a life outside my panicky, weepy clutches.
Ambridge, just to be contrary, has become incredibly needy. If she isn’t sitting on you, she is following you around going “LOOK AT ME! LOOK – AT – ME!”
This, combined with her fondness for cupboards, leads to some terrifying surprises.
The plumber came yesterday to fix one of Twee Flat’s numerous problems, and bless her for adoring cats. This was particularly useful when she was lying under the sink fixing a leak, only to have Ambridge attempt to fall asleep on her stomach.
Despite being almost constant, the cat’s sleeping arrangements grow ever more demanding. In the morning she starts burrowing under the duvet and tries to nap on my wrists, which is all very picturesque etc etc but a complete bugger when you’re trying to read the paper on your phone.
I wonder whether the neediness comes from the fact that she has recently been unleashed on The Outdoors. As mentioned in Saga: part 1, her previous owners kept her inside, so I had a Sureflap microchip cat flap installed for her to go and ponce about bullying cars while I was at work.
While the nice man had installed the flap, I decided to try Ambridge out with a trip out of the window and onto the neighbour’s conservatory roof. She went out quite happily and then got stuck and begun to cry. As mentioned before, her cry is akin to a thousand miserable people singing the Les Mis score at full volume. She also forgot how her legs worked, staring blankly at my encouraging gestures to jump back through the window. Instead, she refused to move and started to wobble, despite having all four working legs to balance on.
Seeing that her IQ had fallen to levels that even Jeremy Kyle would struggle with, I went into the garden and very, very slowly lured her down the garden wall by jangling my keys. She couldn’t manage the small jump into the garden, so I lifted her while she looked utterly crestfallen.
Unsurprisingly, the inital cost per wear of the catflap was enormous. I tried luring her through it with food. And not with food. And shoving her through. But eventually, I lost patience and shut her outside one day while I had a shower. When I came out of the shower, she was sitting at the door glaring at me with all the careful disinterest of Elizabeth Taylor sizing up somebody’s wife.
She got it in the end, and hasn’t got stuck on the roof since.