Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales
Chris looks back fondly on how it all began – his first day of cat-sitting
Those who read my column regularly will know that I glide effortlessly through my working days as a catsitter, with never a problem or mishap along the way. To anybody nodding in agreement… you’ve never read my columns before, have you?
I mention this because yesterday my wife Lorraine, who likes to refer to herself as “long suffering” though I don’t know why, brought up the subject of my very first day as a cat-sitter.
When I set out that first morning, who could have guessed that before lunchtime, and at the home of the very first cats I’d ever visited, a bathroom door would be hanging off its hinges, and the entire contents of the fridge shredded and destroyed?
So how could simply nipping in to feed cats end in such unmitigated disaster? I’ll do my best to explain without triggering post-traumatic stress.
I’d been booked to visit a pair of Maine Coons named Al Capone and Dillinger while their owners took a break. Maine Coons are interesting cats. For one thing they’re big – think of the largest longhaired tabby you know, and then expand the image by 50%.
Even their name is interesting; coming from the mistaken belief that the breed originated from a mating between raccoons and, of all people, Marie Antoinette’s cats, upon their escape to America on a boat that Marie sadly missed, losing her head as a consequence. Genetically impossible of course, but a great myth.
Anyway, Capone and Dillinger’s owners have one golden rule. Never, under any circumstances, leave Dillinger alone with the fridge, because his default habit is to eat anything edible and destroy everything else to confirm it was inedible.
I left Dillinger alone with the fridge. I achieved this feat
One golden rule: never leave Dillinger alone with a fridge
by leaving the kitchen door open while quickly nipping to the adjacent bathroom, hotly pursued by Capone who seemed to have attached himself to my left ankle. Why I felt the need to lock a toilet door in an empty house I’ll never know, but I did.
Everything was fine until I tried to reopen the door and the lock fell clean out the other side, meaning I’d just imprisoned myself in a toilet.
I tried every which way to open that door, while Capone watched, bemused. Eventually I slumped to the floor, admitting defeat. Then I heard strange noises.
Capone and I stared at one another in horror, listening to the now unmistakable sounds of Dillinger munching his way through half a packet of raw bacon, four eggs and some very expensive cheese.
Eventually I had to kick the door open. The only other option was two days in a seven by six room with Al Capone. What else could I do?
All that was left was to find a way of explaining to my first ever customers why I felt the need to kick their bathroom door down.
Not the best of starts then, but it’s always nice to be able to go home at the end of the day, sit down with a cup of tea and offload all your troubles, isn’t it?
And Lorraine was certainly more than impressed, I can tell you…