The Truth About Cats And Duvets

One of the many, many fun elements of owning a cat comes when you want to do something which is, on the surface, ridiculously simple.

Like, say, change the bedding.

But you can’t because there’s a cat on them. And that car refuses to leave. And when you try to pick her up to move her she rolls onto her back and goes all floppy which leaves you with no way of actually picking her up which won’t result in her sinking teeth or claws into your flesh because you have pissed her off no end by trying to wrangle her.

So, being the cunning onion I am, I orchestrated a plan. When Peppa left to go and do whatever cats do outside – protect their territory, poo, pee or generally mooch – I went upstairs to change the bed. I pulled the door shut behind me to prevent her following.

Haha! I am a genius.

Sadly – and not for the first time in my life (or the last) – I neglected to appreciate the chaos that Caroline could cause. In this case, the storm and not my mother. But the name, I think, is certainly no coincidence!

I had the windows open upstairs, because it was ridiculously warm in the house for whatever reason. Unbeknownst to me, a rogue gust of wind had passed through the house, down the stairs and blown the front room door open.

Because, round about the point where I had the sheet and pillow cases changed but hadn’t yet started on the duvet I received a visitor.

Who, almost as if she knew what I was doing, proceeded to jump up on the bed and lie down, rolling on her back in what we interpret to be a greeting of happiness as seeing us but, in this case, was just her being a grade A git-wizard.

I shifted her pretty quickly though. Because I’ve learnt a lot about Peppa over the past few months. If you show an interest in really trying to do something, she will need to come and have a look with you, try and help and generally cause chaos. Not that you should have to think several steps ahead of the game when you’re making a bed, making contingency plans to distract a cat with fake computing in order to finish the job.

And then when you do finish and grant access to the bedroom once more, she walks in and looks at the bed in disgust before settling down into her little basket thing that she usually lurks in at night so she can leap out at my feet and trip me up if I get out of bed for a wee.