Mindy Hammond

Fur is flying at Hammond Towers as felines battle to be top cat...

We have three generations of cats, all tabbies – Twiglet, a short-haired, strangely short-tailed cat who is 13 years old and the grandma of the group; Frazzle, her long-haired daughter; and Frazzle’s almost identical offspring Ketchup, the baby of the bunch. Then there is Satchel, the only boy, a silver-tipped red Maine Coon – an enormous, long-haired creature who looks like a shaggy white lion.

Twiglet was once a much-adored lap cat, until she made the mistake of choosing Frazzle as the kitten she would like to keep. Frazzle soon began sparring with her mother, and just before her own kittens were due, turned on poor Twiglet so violently, the matriarch decided to spend a few days in the hay barn to avoid confrontation. The moment her confinement was over, Frazzle emerged ready for a fight. She ran her mother out of the house and became the banshee of Hammond Towers, while Twiglet set up permanent residence in the barn.

Meanwhile, Satchel, the most cowardly of lions, remained henpecked and equally terrified of Frazzle. So when Twiglet was under attack, her once-devoted spouse was nowhere to be seen. Indoors and out, Frazzle reigned supreme.

But Frazzle made her own mistake (I like to think of it as karma), as her smallest, weakest kitten has grown into a tiny powerhouse. It is Ketchup who now rules the roost, and even though she is half the size of her mother, she is always the victor in a squabble. She sleeps with the dogs (if she’s so inclined) and not only drinks from their water bowls, but will even shove Dimple Chicken out of the way to eat the poor pup’s supper.

While the dogs accept Twiglet and Ketchup as honorary members of the pack, Frazzle is universally despised. She may once have been as sweet as her daughter, cherished by dogs and cats alike, but that was a long time ago when

she was an affectionate little kitten, before she matured into a fiendish feline.

But Frazzle is no vicious, hissing creature. Ironically, with her long, lustrous fur, dazzlingly white chin and bib and enormous, sparkling green eyes she could have a modelling career as the ultimate “chocolate-box” cat.

She lies in regal splendour on the middle stairs, waiting to greet any human visitors with a sweet, melodious mew. If her ploy works, she will wheedle her way into the guest bedroom, and likely poo in their slippers.

Some years back, both Satchel and Frazzle began to go missing for days at a time. We couldn’t deny the cats access to the great outdoors, and inquiries with our neighbours came up blank, so the ritual continued, until a year or so ago.

Suddenly, their wanderings ceased, leaving us with an appalling side effect. From being the cleanest of house cats, they have become the dirtiest. If Satchel is caught short in the night, he will walk straight past the litter tray and do his business on the landing carpet. He has also developed an aversion to grooming, and with claws like flick knives, it would take a brave man with chain mail gauntlets to address his coat. (I have the wounds to prove it).

Frazzle, on the other hand, has taken to leaving me “messages” downstairs. She will only leave the house if I hunt her down and carry her, kicking and screaming, out of the front door. Then she does an impression of Dino, the dinosaur from The Flintstones, and immediately runs to the back door, flies through the catflap and is back in the hall before I’ve had chance to draw breath.

We can only assume that wherever the two cats were visiting, they learned to cope without access to either cat litter or the outdoors and the habit of a carpet as a toilet has stuck.

I’ve tried every cleaning product known to man, I’ve doused the areas in orange fragrance (which cats supposedly hate), I’ve even used surgical spirit, but any minor success has been short-lived. I’m bored to death of cleaning carpets and getting through more Marigolds than is healthy for one woman, so I had an idea. Their toilet habits were reset in a negative way, so perhaps they can be reset again? My plan is simple. Shortly, they’re going to find themselves in prison (or what we would call a cattery). They won’t see so much as a tuft of carpet for a couple of weeks, and it will become fairly obvious to them where the loo is. Satchel is going to have the full convict experience – just prior to admission he is off to the vet (if I can manage to contain him) for a tooth clean and bit of a crewcut. He has only himself to blame – had he kept himself groomed, or allowed us to do it, he would keep his flowing locks. Instead, he will just have to wear a striped jumper while he’s doing time to cover his embarrassment. In the meantime, our carpets will be professionally cleaned, Ketchup and Twiglet can enjoy a couple of weeks of peace and I can seek out a supplier of cat nappies, just in case.