Cat Nappies

By Laura Yates on Oct 18, 08 08:07 PM

My worst fears have been confirmed. The Moll (the suspiciously fat, tortoiseshell cat) has found a special place on the living room carpet, all of her very own, to quietly piddle all over.

I've had my suspicions for a while now - a lingering smell every now and again, usually whenever she'd been locked in. I'd been searching the carpet for damp patches but hadn't found anything until yesterday when I picked up a carrier bag from the corner of the room and it was dripping wet.

And if that wasn't enough to prove what she'd been up to, today, she was actually seen doing her business.

She has to go. It's a decision I've been putting off for a long time. Each time I suspected something I'd let her off, 1) because I couldn't quite prove it and 2) because I'd always told myself it wasn't really her fault. Which it wasn't, until today when she wandered down and didn't even attempt to ask (in her own cat like way) to go out.

If we could have a cat flap, I wouldn't be writing this blog. We used to have one, a really fancy one with a magnetic operating system and everything. But one day we had to lock The Moll out, and, The Moll being The Moll saw this as a challenge and did nothing more than smash straight through it. This rendered the locking mechanism useless and opened the door for loads of Tom cats to wander in and do whatever they felt like while we were out.

This was annoying enough when they'd make a desperate run for the back door whenever I came home, but it got to a point where they'd saunter down from upstairs after I'd been in for half an hour, followed shortly by a very sheepish looking Moll who couldn't quite look me in the eye.

Having a load of cats doing the no pants dance all over the upstairs was the last straw. The cat flap was decommissioned. Short of fashioning some kind of nappy out of The Kid's terry towels we now have two choices. Get a litter tray or find The Moll alternative accommodation. I'm not having a litter tray. Even if I didn't mind cleaning it out all the time I couldn't risk The Kid digging around in there whenever my back's turned.

The Moll will be better off somewhere else. She can't spend half her life being locked out, or being all but over-armed out of the back door whenever I get a whiff of something suspicious.

So there it is. The Boy has spent the last couple of hours wailing about it (good to see the drama lessons are paying off then) and I've been texting everyone I know to see if they want a cat. The Moll is to go and live in a house that already has a cat, a litter tray AND a cat flap.

As the boy pointed out it's like getting rid of a member of the family, but when faced with the prospect of scrubbing the carpet every day he conceded that she'd be better off somewhere else.

Doesn't make it any less sad though.

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