A Cat Called ‘Littley’

It was Littley who chose my home and moved in - I had really very little to do with it.

For three rainy nights, I had arrived back from rehearsals, to find a small black and white cat (well, not more than a kitten really), sitting by my front-door, with his head bowed – literally wet to the skin.

The first night, I closed the door, telling him to go home. The second night I did the same - and then proceeded to have  insomnia through worry…

…‘Did he have a home?’ ‘Who were his owners?’ ‘Did he have owners? Was he just a stray?’

I drove home on the third rainy night and had to admit to myself that I hoped he would be waiting for me,  I couldn’t see him at first and my heart sank.  So - the pouch of cat food I had bought on my lunch-break wouldn’t be needed after all.

It was a foul night and I felt really depressed as I locked the car and jammed my hat down against the rain and the blustery wind…and then I saw him, crouched in a corner by the door, wet and bedraggled.  He dashed into the front room as soon as the door was open and shook  himself (remarkably like a dog I thought),  A ‘sniffing-everything’ investigation of my downstairs rooms followed, during which time I got things together for his (and my) supper.

The pouch of cat-food was eaten at high speed, followed by a saucer of milk. The latter was a big mistake – show me a cat that’s got the cream and I’ll show you a cat that’s got acute diarrhoea.

After eating his fill, Littley continued his exploration of the house and eventually  settled down to sleep in a cardboard box full of tax receipts. He looked so small and vunerable – and that’s how he got his name.

Two old towels got dumped in my waste-bin the following morning, watched by a guilty-looking cat – well, it wasn’t his fault and at least he had done it in my downstairs toilet!

After breakfast, consisting of a cup of tea for me and another pouch of cat-food, bought hastily from the local shop, I set off for rehearsals with the image in my rear-view mirror, of a little cat sitting on the pavement outside my house, watching my departure.

I tried to rationalise the situation as I drove : I admitted to myself that I wanted the cat to stay (heart) but that my theatre-touring lifestyle, plus the fact that I still thought the owner might turn up, made the decision to   ‘adopt’ him very difficult indeed. (head)

In the end, the heart won.

(Next post ~ Got a Cat? Get a Catflap!)