Ah, just look at him. What a cute little fuzzball! So sweet, so innocent, so harmless…
… yeah. Right.
Buttons is growing up; he’s now a teencat. Living with a teencat is like sharing the flat with a werewolf, only worse. At least George in “Being Human” cleaned the sink; all Buttons does is chewing open the toothpaste tube and spreading its content.
One good thing: he’s sleeping more than one hour per day now. Then again, it probably doesn’t make a big difference to the woman whether he kicks her out of bed at 5am or 5.15am.
Also, he put on weight. That’s another good thing: we don’t have to worry he might get stuck behind the toilet bowl anymore. Then again, he’s heavy enough to flush the toilet now. And he figured out how to do it. And does it. 5, 7, 10 times a night.
That’s not funny. As soon as I’ve curled up in my basket and am about to fall asleep, a suspicious “tac… tac… tac… whooooosh!” sound is coming from the direction of the toilet. It’s followed by a series of frantic “tactactactac!” and wild cursing coming from Buttons, who doesn’t have the patience to wait for the cistern to refill.
And when he’s not flushing, he unrolls the toilet paper from its holder. Which reminds me: last week, he discovered where the woman hides the kitchen rolls. Kitchen rolls are great. Three layers of soft, comfortable, luxurious paper. And if you think about it, kitchen rolls are nothing but huge, giant toilet rolls…
I woke up at 3am and decided to check if the woman had forgotten to lock the box where she keeps the cat treats. Hey, it happens. You can’t blame a Charlie for trying. And what did I find in the living room (which had been carefully hoovered and dusted only hours ago)?
Yes, yes, I know. I’m old and wise and should know better. But – tissue! Kitchen paper! Soft and nice and shreddable! To quote Oscar Wilde: The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it!
Buttons and me yielded and played “snow storm” for the next couple of hours. I wasn’t surprised that we got icy glares when the woman got up.
The kitchen-roll-incident was only the start of Buttons’ Little Week Of Horrors, though. The next day, he smashed the bedside lamp – not his fault, though, he couldn’t know the cable he ran off with was attached to it – and while he was at it, he pushed a priceless family heirloom off the table. It was a fruit bowl dating back to the 1950ies, and I always thought it was a present from somebody who really hated the woman’s grandma.
As Emma is the only cat Buttons shows some sort of respect for (she’s 18, you don’t argue with little old ladies), she held him a stern lecture on the dos and don’ts when sharing a place with a human. Buttons looked remorseful, apologised and promised he wouldn’t touch fruit bowls from the 195os again.
All fine and good, but then he discovered the eggs. I’m sure he had only their best interests in mind when he decided to help breeding them.
Have a wild guess how that went. While the woman took the mop and wiped Humpty Dumpty off the floor, the neighbour arrived to see how cute wee Buttons was doing.
“Give us a cuddle, will ya?”
Of course he would – she was standing right under the Japanese lamp in the corridor, after all.
Emma announced she’d put Buttons up on ebay. The woman is on her fourth cider.
Me? I’ve locked the door and re-watch the final episode of FlashForward. Maybe I’ll figure out what’s going on this time. It’s difficult to concentrate, though – “tac… tac… tac… whooooooooooooooosh!”
Tip: cats like Buttons who were separated from their mother at a very young age – Buttons was one week old when he was abandoned – need to learn cat etiquette and customs from their “tin openers” – us. It’s very important to get informed how that’s done – blowing at a kitten when s/he’s playing too wild or biting is the equivalent to a cat hissing. Firmly put two fingers on the kitten’s forehead (not too firm, though; you don’t want to hurt them); it’s where a cat would put their paw to say “stop”. Never yell at a kitten or hit it (especially not the latter, I hope that goes without saying!) – Junior wouldn’t understand what’s going on, and you’d only end up with a confused cat. And broken plates. And an icy glare from Charlie.
If you like Charlie’s stories and would like to support the animal shelter where he and Buttons came from, please take a moment and click the donate button. Every contribution helps and is very helpful. Thank you!