So, today , as I cleaned the third cat turd from the bathtub in as many days, I decided that things really couldn't carry on as they are. No, we didn't rehome the cats; I went to the petshop for a catflap to fit our current cat hole. They didn't have an exact fit, so I settled for a large cat/small dog flap, stocked up on a few other essentials, arranged a second mortgage to pay for it all, and left the house.
We came home, and I opened the catflap box to discover the instructions consisted solely of indecipherable little pictures. And a circle which I needed to cut out of the door. Our current cat hole is U-shaped; I'm not sure why a U-shaped flap needs a round hole, but hey ho, I have a saw and I'm not afraid to use it.
Unfortunately I'm not especially competent at using it either.And after a lot of huffing and puffing, and a fair bit of polystyrene blowing across the garden, I decided perhaps fitting cat flaps not my forte, and that I could probably live with a cat hole for a little longer. So, I left the hole unblocked and waited for the cats to discover it.
And they did. Grolly was the first; she went out, ran in circuits around the garden, sat down in the wet grass, rolled a few times to get thoroughly muddy, and then bounded in to sit on my lap (something she never does) to tell me all about it. Great. One cat hole, one wet and muddy cat, and now one wet and muddy lap too.
Gotcha went hunting next. And decided he really was a Forest Cat. A very happy, very stuck, Forest Cat.
So after he'd cried for rescue, I scrambled up after him and tipped him out. Wondering as I did so why I was letting a cat not known for his ability to groom himself mix with moss, lichen, and mud. I'm still thinking on that one.
But, after their tree adventures, they both bounded around the garden for another twenty minutes, looking more like excited puppies than cats, sniffing everything, running back to check we were still around, then bounding around and over and under things again until the clank of dinner bowls indicated there might be better things inside.
The girls had a good time too.
Little Fish beetling in and out to report on progress and tell tales, Mog outside for a while and then inside to plot evil deeds.
And now both cats are sitting on the windowsill, watching the leaves blow around outside but no longer desperate to chase them. No signs of outdoor widdles either, but hopefully they'll discover this pleasure shortly.