Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales

chris recalls his past experience of trying to erect a gazebo with the unwanted help of one of his furry friends…

Ireceived orders from Lorraine to erect a gazebo the other day. Amazingly, I managed to do so without incidents or mishaps whatsoever. So that’s the end of this week’s column. Hope you enjoyed it.

However, it reminded of an earlier gazebo assembly, and a certain cat’s “help”. You guessed it – Brum. The earlier gazebo was of a much more complicated design than the pop-up affair I’ve just completed. It came in a flat pack, and as with most flat-pack items, the assembly instructions were an exercise in disinformation. Having decoded the first section, a huge skeletal framework of interconnecting poles gradually formed around me. Or fell around me mainly.

The poles were all slightly too short. Every time I connected one, another fell out three metres behind me. My constant companion Brum sat on our garden wall, gazing down at me, ears pinned back in annoyance at all the metallic clangs as each pole hit the ground.

Finally, even though the connected poles were pretty precarious, I hauled a large fitted cover over the bars. Having shrouded myself three times, it eventually slipped into place. At last, I stood proudly inspecting the new white roof above my head. I stopped for a moment and smiled at the twitchy eared silhouette of my tabby friend as he washed atop the wall, clearly visible through the thin fabric covering. All that remained was to secure the covering to the poles.

My smile faded as the silhouette started doing something it really shouldn’t. Its backside raised and wiggled, its nose pointed towards me. The stupid cat was about to leap down onto the new white rooftop that had suddenly appeared before him. Brum’s jump preparation routine gave me a little time, but not enough.

As I lurched towards him everything seemed to go into slow-motion. I raised a helpless hand to the sky as the shadow of an airborne cat loomed across the white canvas above me.

Then there was mayhem. The unsecured roof caved in about my ears, metal clattered around my feet and a gazebo-cloaked loony-cat smacked into my face.

All this seemed to annoy Brum. I found myself embroiled in a fist fight with a 3-by-4 white sheet as Brum fought to free himself. As ripping sounds joined the general cacophony of clanging poles, I realised he’d broken through.

As suddenly as it began, everything was still. I sat in absolute dejection, wearing my gazebo palace. There was a scratching noise and a corner lifted. A scruffy tabby face appeared and looked at me. I stared back for a few moments and laughed, despite myself. With a bit of determined squirming, Brum forced his way fully inside our makeshift tent, sat on my lap and began purring.

And that was that. A man and a cat at peace with one another again, beneath a 3 by 4 white sheet, amid the ruins of an almost-gazebo.

Chris Pascoe is the author of A Cat Called Birmingham and You Can Take the Cat Out of Slough, and of Your Cat magazine’s column Confessions of a Cat Sitter.