Why I Moved House for a Cat

Most people wait until they have a house before they get a cat.

Not me.

This is the story of how we came to adopt Tail, and, coincidentally, how we also came to have a house.

When I finished university, I moved back in with my parents for a while. I knew that I wanted to move out at some point, and I knew that I wanted to get a cat, but I wasn't in a rush.

One Wednesday night at about 1am, three months after I moved back home, I was sitting in my parents' living room using the computer. (I was awake at this time because my brain still thought it was a student.)

Suddenly, I saw a torch beam flash across the curtains.

My first thought was that we were being burgled.

"I must apprehend these felons!" I said to myself, courageously wiggling my toes in my fluffy slippers.

Being careful not to make a noise, I put my dressing gown on and unlocked the front door.

I was immediately confronted by two excited children, who were running in circles round our front lawn, whooping and giggling and generally having a whale of a time. Inconspicuous was not what they were being.

"These are not very efficient burglars," I thought.

It is a sad reflection on society when even the crooks cannot master their trade. I thought about slipping them my purse and some jewellery, just to give them a head-start.

"Excuse me," came a voice from under the hedge, "I'm trying to catch my kitten."

"Oh, I see," I said, my faith in the criminal underworld restored.

A lady, presumably the children's mother, crawled out from under the hedge and shone her torch further up. There, sure enough, was the back end of a kitten, flailing inelegantly in the midst of our leylandii.

It had a tail of immense proportions.

"Wait a sec," I said, "I've got some cat treats inside."

My parents didn't have a cat (my dad is allergic), but several neighbourhood moggies liked to pop in from time to time and it would be rude not to feed them.

I located the treats, along with a better torch, and returned to the front garden, where the lady was swiping in vain at her kitten's posterior.

The kitten did not seem overly concerned by this; in fact, it appeared to be making itself at home.

The treats didn't help either.

"Shall I just grab its leg?" the lady said hopefully.

My knowledge of cat parenting was not very advanced, but I was pretty sure it was not good practice to yoink infant felines by their appendages.

"Erm, I wouldn't," I said, and had a think. "Look, how about you give me your phone number and I'll try to entice it down in the morning? It'll be tired by then."

The lady looked at her watch. It was almost 2am.

"OK then," she said, and jotted her name and number on a scrap of paper. Then she and the boys went on their way.

I could swear I heard the hedge emit a small sigh of relief.

The kitten was clearly an expert on evasive manoeuvres. There was no getting at it tonight, so I went to bed.

The next morning, I was greeted by a curious sight. My mum had scattered some grated cheese on the path for the birds, and the escapee kitten was tucking in with delight.

Once it had had its fill, I scooped it up and took it inside. Then I dialled the lady's number.

"I have your kitten!" I said triumphantly when she answered.

"Um, can you hold onto her for a bit?" said the lady. "I'm a bit busy at the moment. I've got to get the boys to school and then there's the shopping and the... Can I come at about 10 o'clock?"

"All right then," I said.

While we were waiting, the kitten decided to explore. It assessed the dining room and the kitchen before eating a few cat treats and casually falling asleep in the cupboard under the sink.

Not long after 10am, the lady rang our doorbell.

"Come in," I said. "She's sleeping in the cupboard."

The lady looked a little surprised by this, but then seemed to remember that I had found her under my hedge, and said nothing.

I showed her into the kitchen.

The kitten had woken up to see what all the commotion was about.

I reached into the cupboard and lifted her out. I passed her to the lady.

"I bet you're so happy to have her back," I grinned.

"Oh, until she escapes again," said the lady crossly. "This is the third time we've found her in your garden."

"Really?" I said. I hadn't seen any kittens about recently. "Where do you live?"

The lady told me her address, and it was at least a mile from our house.

"Wow!" I said, impressed. "How old is she?"

"Hmm, I don't really know. Three or four months, maybe."

I looked at the kitten with new respect.

"We need to find a new home for her anyway," the lady sighed, "our other cat doesn't like her."

An idea started to form in my head. But I didn't have anywhere to keep her.

"I expect you have lots of friends wanting to take her," I said.

"No, no. We're going to have to take her to a shelter next week. We're going on holiday so it has to be sorted out by then."

I nearly offered to take her on the spot, but I knew I couldn't. She couldn't live here.

The lady left and took the kitten with her. Well, that's that, I thought. I hadn't even given her my phone number.

I tried to forget about the kitten. She'd be snapped up in a rescue shelter. People love kittens.

Then one snowy December day, I saw a familiar silhouette outside the front door.

It was freezing outside. I opened the door and let her in.

The kitten scampered to her cupboard, squawking with happy recognition.

I didn't think twice. I dug out the lady's phone number and called it.

"Have you found a home for your kitten yet?" I gabbled, not bothering to say who I was.

"No," said the lady, "But it doesn't matter, she's gone missing again anyway."

"That's because she's in my garden again," I said.

"Oh," said the lady, realising who she was talking to. "I don't suppose you want her, do you?"

I did. I did. I wanted her very much.

But, of course, it was impossible. There were lots of reasons why it was a bad idea.

"Yes please," I said.

"Ah, that's good then. You'll have to take her today because we're going away tomorrow morning," the lady said. "I'll bring her things round later."

Her 'things' consisted of a pink bed, a pink collar and a big metal cage.

"The cage stops her escaping," the lady explained, wrestling it out of the car. Then she handed me a pack of chocolate biscuits and half a carton of milk. "This is what she eats."

She cast a last glance in the kitten's direction. "The boys will miss her," she said sadly. Then she drove off.

I looked dubiously at the cage. Then I folded it up and put it away in the garage.

I put the pink bed in the kitten's cupboard, but she ignored it.

I remembered I needed to tell my parents what I'd done. It wasn't going to be a fun conversation.

"She can't stay here," they said, once they had finished pulling their hair out and drinking strong coffee. "What were you thinking?"

I don't know what I was thinking. What could I do? I desperately wanted to give the kitten a home, but I had no home to give her.

I would need to find one.

Luckily, my boyfriend was visiting at the weekend anyway. We'd been vaguely talking about moving in together, but we weren't expecting to do it straight away.

"When we get our own place, can we get a kitten?" I asked him, testing the waters.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said. "Kittens are expensive, and -"

"What about this one?" I said quickly, and deposited the kitten on his lap.

The kitten did all the right things. She purred, and she did her big cute eyes, and she was extra-specially careful to sheath her claws.

My boyfriend adored her.

From that moment on, we were a two-person-and-one-cat family.

It was glorious. The sun was shining and the grass was green and we had a kitten. Everything was perfect, apart from one minor technicality.

Our family was homeless.

We spent the whole weekend on the phone to estate agents, viewing flats and doing sums. By the time my boyfriend went back home, we'd signed a contract and were due to move in two days.

That is how we came to live in our landlady's converted loft.

We've come a long way since then. We've acquired Mouth (that's another story), moved house and changed jobs.

But Tail is pretty happy with the way things turned out.

We have never fed her chocolate biscuits, but she does like the odd lump of cheese now and then.