Feline spooky!
Moving house started out as a cat-astrophe for my moggie Annabel, but help was at hand. By Tara Hudson, 29
Huge green eyes and long black fur greeted me as I peered into the cage. ‘This is Annie and she’s been here the longest,’ said the woman at the cat rescue centre.
‘People like to take selfies with their cats and black ones simply aren’t as photogenic as tabbies or tortoiseshells,’ she added.
‘That’s so sad,’ I said to my husband Mark. ‘In that case, we’ll take her.’
We changed her name slightly to Annabel, because it suited her better, and she settled in well, although she wasn’t the friendliest cat. She liked to sit next to me, but rarely on my lap.
Things changed dramatically when we moved from our flat in Walthamstow to a house in Bermondsey, south London. I knew cats were territorial and didn’t like change, but I wasn’t ready for Annabel’s extreme reaction.
‘Come on, Annabel, in you go,’ I said coaxing her into the cat carrier as we were about to move. Suddenly, my furry friend lashed out scratching my hand badly and leaving me howling in agony.
‘Ouch!’ I cried. There was blood everywhere as I ran to grab a tissue.
I quickly clipped the cat box shut and put it in the car, hoping the journey would calm Annabel down.
On arrival, though, not only was she miaowing in terror, she’d pooped and wet
herself too. Poor thing must be so upset, I thought.
As I let her out into the bedroom, she dashed to the bed and cowered underneath, hissing when we went near her. Over the next few weeks, she remained so stressed that I noticed some of her fur had started to fall out.
We also had to put her food bowl under the bed, as she wouldn’t come out even to eat.
‘This isn’t a life for a cat,’ I said sadly. Then one day, three weeks after moving, I was browsing online for second-hand furniture.
‘Wow, look at this dressing table set,’ I said to Mark. It was 1960s and a bargain at £150. I immediately bid on it and couldn’t believe it when I won!
My only concern was how Annabel would react to upheaval in the bedroom. Once the dressing table was in position by the window, I opened the drawer and was surprised to find a fabric bag. Inside was an old photo of a girl and boy as well
as some embroidered fabric, silk scarves and letters. The cross-stitch on the fabric said ‘Maggie Mounsey’. Had she been the owner of all these things?
Just then, Annabel suddenly poked her head out from under the bed. She jumped up, sniffed the dresser… and started purring!
‘She hardly ever purrs!’ I said to Mark astounded. My terrified, scratching cat was so much calmer.
Not only that, she was curled up on the bag, as content as could be!
‘Let’s leave her and see if she’s still there when we come back,’ said Mark.
That night, instead of retreating under the bed, she plonked herself between me and Mark and slept soundly through the night.
The next morning, putting on my make-up at the new dresser Annabel sat next to me, purring.
I’ve now framed the picture and I leave the bag out for Annabel to sit on.
I’m not sure what’s going on but the spirit of Maggie Mounsey is definitely having a cat-hartic effect on Annabel.