A bloody cat tale

The cat has launched a valiant but doomed challenge for Ted Heath's record for the longest sulk in history. With every fibre of his being, flick of his ever so expressive tail and hunch of his shoulders he demands "what have you two done with the Little One". Well she's back tomorrow and that will leave him some decades short of Ted's back bench brood record.

At first he simply occupied space, indignantly. One morning he wandered the house for a good hour crying inconsolably. Then he took up residence on the ironing board (which means the cover needs de-cat hairing). When I took a chance during one of his loo breaks to fold that up and put it away he set up camp on the landing, outside the bathroom, where he stood a good chance of either tripping us up or being trodden on. There's definitely something of the martyr in the way he's conducting himself.

Over the past couple of days he's rediscovered the fine art of waking Him up by rattling his door handle until He's forced to get up and open the door. Once inside the cat curls up behind the door so that He has to squeeze his flabby bulk to get through for the urgent first thing in the morning pee.

There's also something rather malign in the way the cat's conducting himself. It will all be over some time tomorrow evening.