We’ve created a monster.

By we I mean, of course, me.

Trixie – the cat that cannot be ours – is becoming something of a nuisance.

In a loveable, fluffy come-here-and-let-me-hold-you kind of way.

Basically, during the day, I can’t leave the house via the back door. At all. For anything.

Because as soon as the back door opens, Trixie is in.

She’s started darting in, with somewhat lightning speed, and digging in to Peppa’s food. Clearly when she’s chucked out of the house in the morning, she finds herself in the outside world and becomes hungry during the day. And our house gives her access to lovely, lovely feline foodstuffs.

Not that our feline foodstuffs are technically suitable for kittens, so I have to swiftly remove it from her general area. Which then leaves me with a small floofy cat in the house, still refusing to leave, but now a lot more vocal. She meows and generally wails and tries to work out where I’ve moved the food to. And she looks into the plastic boxes that house the tasty, tasty nuggets and bats at them with her paws. And then meows more and more.

But she won’t leave.

I threw her out of the house – well, threw is possibly a bit strong. Okay, I picked her up and cuddled her out of the house. I walked some way down the garden with her in my arms. I went further than I would normally because she’s sooooo fluffy.

And I put her down.

Pretty much before I could turn around she was back in the kitchen.

Yes, I could have shut the door when I left with her. But all that would have happened there is that there would have been two of us on the doorstep and when I tried to get in she’d have got in with me. And I’d have had to repeat the whole cuddle carry thing over and over again.

Which I did.

I eventually moved her on and she stayed in the garden.

I had an airer outside, with a few tea towels on. I would look out of the window, and one of the tea towels had come off and was lying on the patio.

I opened the door to go and pick it up…