That’s exactly what it was like.
It was just like the raptors throwing themselves at the electrified fences in Jurassic Park.
We’ve just had a good couple of minutes of activity at the cat flap. And when I say we, I mean Peppa and myself. We’re both here, inside. Peppa’s curled up happily beside me on the couch but a couple of minutes ago she was up and alert listening, as was I, to the sounds coming from the kitchen door.
It’s the bloody cat.
It’s been a week or so since I implemented the one-way system with cunning Peppa opening device on the cat flap and we’ve lived an interloper free existence. I’ve not heard or seen anything of the elusive feline criminal. But tonight it’s back, and it’s testing the fences.
It’s been playing with the cat flap. Worryingly so, I would say. It didn’t sound like the sound of a cat just bashing into it like a fricking idiot. It sounded methodical and probing. Like it was looking for a weak spot.
I didn’t see the flap move, though. And I did get up to investigate while the sounds were sounding. I didn’t see it move. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t even see the offending cat through the perspex flap, as though it was off to one side, sizing up the door and how the flap fits within it.
But it was definitely there. Or something was there. Or nothing was there and it is a fricking ghost. It’s one of those three options. Definitely one of them. I don’t know which, though. Well, I do. It was there. Just out of sight to me at that time, but still within a good paw’s reach of the flap in question.
I don’t like it. I don’t like that it’s doing this. It’s like it’s learning. I don’t want to have to bust out the other lines about the raptors in Jurassic Park…