Mar 8, 2021: The Cat And The Scat

I think we’ve broken Peppa.

Because of the interloper of last year – the one that, when going to work was still a thing – came into our house and pissed on Carole’s bag – we got a litter tray and tend to shut Peppa in of a night, so she just hangs out on the couch getting angry with people (me) using computers to the point where she will physically attack for such crimes as typing or using a mouse.

She hangs out on the couch and if she needs to, during the night, she’ll do whatever she needs to do in the litter tray. It’s a good system. It works. I mean, it didn’t stop her vomiting on two duvets last week, but that’s a different tale of late night new duvet purchasing because no-one wanted to sleep with the smell of cat food vomit wafting up their nostrils.

But anyway, I digress.

When daylight comes, we get up and uncover the cat flap. Peppa can then go in or out as she pleases. Which she does. She potters outside to have a mooch round the garden, check out the new car and then sit on the front room windowsill until we let her in through the front door because she’s too sophisticated to come back in the way she left. Or we ignore and she’ll come in the cat flap but you know she resents it.

And then she’ll nip into the cat litter tray to do whatever business needs doing.

Even though she’s just been outside.

I think she’s now considering soil to be below her when it comes to needs of the toilet. Not for her a muddy hole. No, she would prefer a smell-encasing bed of particulate matter to do her business on.

In the greater scheme of things, actually, that is better in a way. There’s less muddy claw action taking place. There’s definitely a difference between a paw which has just walked on muddy soil and a paw that has dug a poopin’ hole in the aforementioned soil. And we are definitely seeing less of the hugely muddy paws than we used to. There are fewer muddy trails across the table tops. Or across me. Or the duvets, new or otherwise. It’s a blessing, I guess.

It’s still just a bit weird though. Like we’ve cultivated her to only enjoy the world of indoor toiletry.

Or – and this is the theory I’m working towards – cats are a lot cleverer than we think. Like, they know everything. They understand everything.

And, basically, Peppa is getting a huge kick out of my shovelling her turds into a nappy bag like I’m playing one of those raffle games where you have to dig about in seeds or whatever to find the tickets.