Cold, dry and bright days are my favourite kind: no sweat, no rain, and everything outside looks glorious. We were lucky enough to have had such a day last week so, naturellement, we had to ruin it by carrying a screaming cat through the park and paying £124 to be told that there’s nothing wrong with him.
(Well, that sum of money was for a combination of the consultation, the steroid shot and the ruinously-expensive-but-joyously-infrequent flea, tick and double-arse-worm treatment. We didn’t pay the whole thing just for the advice, but you get what I mean, non?)
On the way there, we saw a pretty tabby cat sitting on the roof of a neighbouring house. And, when we returned, we saw that she was still there:
My stupid brain thought that the sun was casting a shadow next to her but, in actual fact, she was deep in telepathic communication with a tuxedo comrade:
When I shared the photo on my family’s WhatsApp group chat, my sister said, “Is that house in [name of street]?”
Me: “Yes, that’s right. How did you know?”
Her: “When we visited for Christmas, we walked past that same house and there were FOUR cats on that roof.”
Oh. Mon. Dieu.
Have we found the epicentre of The Mothership’s mysterious workings? Or are there many similar places around the world where her feline minions gather to telepathise? Please let me know if there has been any similarly suspicious feline activity in your neighbourhood.
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