Chris Pascoe’s Fun Tales

Chris’s niece got more than she bargained for in this cat-and-house game…

Iwas once asked by a prospective catsitting client, “Do you do ever move in with the cats you visit?” I had to admit I’d yet to meet a feline customer who’d inspired me to that level of commitment, before realising that the enquiry related to house-sitting.

Unfortunately, with the exception of a week every year when we house-sit for some Cat Protection pens, house-sitting isn’t a service I’ve ever been able to offer. I should just point out that we don’t actually move into the pens (that would be a bit crowded) but rather into a big house alongside them.

However, last month, for the first time, I was able to offer house-sitting, courtesy of a young lady named Isobel who’d been approaching me in search of catsitting work for over a decade. A client rang one day, pondering a switch to house-sitting as she felt her three tabbys needed more regular attention in their old age. Isobel rang three minutes later, saying she’d consider house-sitting work. The coincidence proved too much to ignore.

Isobel’s job interview was quite short.

“So, you feel you’d enjoy working with cats, Isobel?”

“Yes, Uncle Chris. I’ve been asking you since I was 8 years old, so can we dispense with the formalities?”

My client’s three tabbys need more regular attention now

I’d known Isobel her whole life, which is often the case with nieces, so after a long introduction to her new tabby housemates, Ridgemont, Spotford and Medford (odd names, I know – they’re the surnames of the Witches of Eastwick!) she settled in for a week’s on-site catsitting. Her main instructions were NO houseguests, and “never attempt to carry Spotford”, as although Spotford may look innocent, she can be “a bit of a one”. I knew this for a fact, because I once attempted to carry Spotford.

I kept in telephone contact with Isobel throughout the first two days, much to her annoyance, and despite her sounding like she was going down with a heavy cold, all seemed well.

On day three, I decided to pop in to see my employee and her coven of long-haired tabbies, just in case…

When Isobel answered the door, my jaw dropped in amazement – the girl in the doorway was unrecognisable from the Isobel I’d dropped off three days previously. Her face seemed to have swollen to twice its size, her puffy red eyes were streaming, and her left arm was covered in plasters. She squinted and blinked a few times before managing to recognise me.

“Isobel, you tried to carry Spotford, didn’t you?”

Isobel nodded glumly. “And you’re allergic to cats, aren’t you?”

So, I’m writing this column from my first ever house-sit, Spotford at arm’s length.

Never employ family members. Especially ones with cat allergies.

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