Fatclap

When we got the new back door last week, one of the reasons was to enable us to have a cat-flap again. We had one back in Bracknell, but since moving to Norfolk we haven’t had a catflap at all.

This has meant that Psycho Cat sees us more as skivvies or slaves, who will get up at any time of the night in order to let the little sod out. In fairness, this usually means somewhere around 6 – 6.30 am, which isn’t too bad.  However, it’s not been unknown for it to be 3am, or 4am. Which is too bad.

When he’s wanted to go out, the cat has scratched on a chair in the bedroom, which is a woven-willow thing. It’s a noise that is just about guaranteed to wake me up, and he bloody well knows it.

Now, though, we’re finally back to having a catflap. Hindsight says that if we were to ever do this again, replacing the back door with one that’s cat-flap equipped would be a priority task, but well, it wasn’t. Those are, as they say, the breaks. Of course, in the two and a half years we’ve been up here now, Psycho Cat is feigning amnesia about how to operate a catflap.

He’ll learn. He’s not got any other options. We’re not letting him out the front door, or opening the back door for him. He will go through the sodding catflap, if it’s the last thing we do.

In fairness, he’s learning. When he was puking, he went out (and came back in) through it fine. I still had to push him out the first time (and got bitten for my troubles) but after that he seemed to be better about the entire thing.