I suppose it has only been a matter of time before there would be a confrontation between Peppa and the kitten from another litter. They have met, briefly, when Trixie first came to the street and was a timid little black ball of fluff who, essentially, terrified Peppa and drove her into hiding.
Since then, Trixie has got a lot bolder and has started being a lot more ballsy about making a run for our back door every time she hears it open. In fact, last week when she basically made herself at home for a couple of hours while I dealt with the furniture rearrangement and generally dust storm that meant I had to open the windows, Peppa came downstairs and played merry hell about the smell of another cat in the house despite Trixie having been gone for several hours at that point.
Since then, their paths have crossed in the garden occasionally.
But today Peppa really excelled herself when it came to defending her territory against the young interloper.
As Trixie meandered into the kitchen, Peppa was just pushing frosted leaves around the garden. And then she clocked that there was an intruder in the mix and moved, slowly, up the garden. Trixie, meanwhile, went back outside and sat on the patio. The two cats neared each other and began the traditional cat-based anger technique of hissing at each other, coupled with occasionally guttural meows designed to generate fear in the target animal.
And that did cock all. Apart from scare me, thinking I would have to carry Trixie back to her owner’s house with clumps of fur missing and a shredded ear when it all kicked off.
But I needn’t worry. Because both cats, for all their loudness and bluster, are chickens of the highest order. And, in some ways, Peppa is an idiot. Which didn’t help.
She ran at Trixie, in a brave move designed to startle the young whippersnapper into returning to her allotted stomping ground.
It didn’t work. I mean, Trixie did move.
She just moved into our house.
Which is even more the domain of Peppa than the outside world.
If you look at it another way, imagine our house was a castle. Trixie was the attacking army and Peppa the defenders. What Peppa did was drive the attackers into the very place the defenders should have been defending thus giving the advantage away in one fell swoop. Haha, the attackers shout, now we are in your castle. And they shut the doors and pull up the drawbridge. Meanwhile, outside the castle, the defenders are liberally using the word “bugger”. It was that. But with cats.
It’s insanely hard to remove a cat from your house, and return her to the outside world, when your cat is barricading that cat’s exit in an angry way. In fact, in an even angrier way than when the outsider was outside because now she’s inside. And that’s just even worse. In the end, the situation was resolved with some distraction and the positioning of a large human between the two as they more or less swopped places. I’m fairly sure Peppa is convinced that Trixie was long gone. A foe, bravely vanquished. Because she swaggered in like she was cock of the walk.
But if you looked at the flower pots to the left of the door, behind a tuft a wriggly grass, there was a little face with yellow eyes, just watching. Plotting. And waiting for the back door to open again…