Not your average cat story

The Incredible Guiltless Life of a Cat

And why I want to be one

It’s 3.27 am.

I know this because I’ve just looked at my clock. Something has woken me up.

I leave the window open at night for air. It’s covered with a fine wire mesh to keep out moths, mosquitos, and flies.

The noise is coming from the window. Something is trying to get in. A rat?

I live rurally and all sorts of shit wanders about here at night. My neighbour was once woken up by a badger feeding on the Bircher muesli he leaves by his bed, so he doesn’t have to get up in the morning to eat his breakfast.

I asked him how the badger got in.

He said it must have climbed in through the window.

‘Can badgers climb?’ I asked suspiciously, smelling the dead stench of four-day-old wine on his breath.

‘Of course they can climb,’ he replied. ‘Do you think I’d make that up?’

According to The Badger Trust, badgers can climb: up to three feet. Whether they can scale an 18th century maison de maître to a third floor window, get in, and start munching on Bircher muesli is open to some serious debate…

The sound at my window though, rattling the mesh like a maniac desperately trying to get in and slice me and my wife into bushmeat, isn’t a badger.

It’s my fucking cat.

‘Can you hear that?’ I whisper to my wife.

No answer. Ear plugs.

I’m alone then.

I get up, and at the window see the six-year-old shape of my half feral, half mad tabby clawing at the mesh.

‘What are you doing?’ I scold it softly. ‘What’s wrong with the cat flap?’

Rapid meowing.

I realize the problem.

We recently changed her cat feed to an inferior type. I say inferior, I mean cheaper. Inflation is running at 8% here, and I’m skint. No more €10 bags of cat food my friend.

Although that’s nothing compared to my other neighbour, who buys bags at €30 a pop.

‘What’s in it,’ I once joked. ‘Turkey dinners?’

Their eyes narrowed as they told me their cat that looked like a fluffy cushion was on a diet of zinc and magnesium enriched salmon.

I asked if their cat was one of those AI pet robots, but my clumsy British humour didn’t go down well, and I sensed I wasn’t going to get invited to their garden party this year.

I cut my losses and left, and went to the local store to buy my furry friend a bag for €1.99.

‘We all have to make sacrifices,’ I told the cat as she gazed up at my stash of beer and wine.

Yeah, right…she snarled.

So this is where we’re at. She’s banging on the window at half-three in the morning, even though there’s a perfectly functioning cat flap.

What was I to do?

Nothing.

You see, that’s it with a cat. There’s no point in doing anything. With a dog, you can scold it or thrash it, and the next time it’ll bow its stupid head and droop those saggy ears, and say sorry for stealing that prime cut of steak you left on the counter.

A cat knows no shame. It doesn’t do guilt. They are supremely guilt-free creatures, and I love them for that. I wish I could be a cat. Sleep, eat, kill rodents, wake up, annoy the fool who feeds me, and feel no guilt whatsoever. Imagine that? I can.

Memo to God: In the next life, I don’t want to be a human. Make me a cat.

Saying that, using the long thin pole I use to retrieve objects that have fallen behind the radiator, I poke my feline friend in the stomach to get her away, so I can go back to sleep.

Don’t worry, I live in a bungalow; she won’t fall.

My cat whines, then disappears. Only to reappear at the window an hour later to wake me up again.

This time I’m more brutal, and soak it with water from my bedside glass. Cats don’t like water, and I don’t like being woken up, you feline motherfucker!

The next morning, I wake up.

‘Everything, OK?’ my wife asks, just as the cat slinks in and settles innocently on the bed next to her. ‘You look tired.’

‘I’m fine,’ I reply. ‘Bad dream.’

Thanks for reading this feline (bastard) inspired piece. For more non-animal based pieces, check out some of these below:

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