I overheard, as I was partaking of my morning ablutions, the neighbours discussing the habits of one Trixie Cat.
One of them is Trixie’s owner, the other the neighbour in between us. Trixie’s owner, since getting Trixie, has complained she’s unaffectionate, never comes in for food and is an absolute terror. And then proceeds to shout at her repeatedly, so it’s not really any wonder.
This morning they were discussing how little she likes to be stroked. Doesn’t like it one little bit, apparently.
Spin forward a couple of hours – I am outside trying to get the shed into some semblence of order as autumn and winter draw in. Trixie is with me. Unaffectionate, hateful Trixie. We’re hanging out. She’s wrapping herself between my legs and getting in the way, I’m wondering who else must be using our shed because I don’t understand how it can be so full again.
I don’t understand this view other people have of Trixie. She’s an absolute darling when we hang out. Peppa hates her. But other than that she’s golden. She accompanied me as I put the bin out this morning – running on ahead and waiting for me to catch up. Then joined me at the front door to come in for a nibble of some food.
I didn’t let her in, although often she likes to come through the front door of our house just to use it as a convenient short cut to the back. She came back round the house and we teamed up again I gave her a few cat biscuits to thank her for the company and we just hung out.
Doing everything that, apparently, she won’t do.
Particularly the stroking. She bloody loved the stroking.
Maybe it’s all the shouting she’s not so keen on.