The Housemate suggested: A great topic would be how wonderfully you and TH are getting along. And how you never want her to leave… and how you have Kat back because TH brought another cat into the house and now Kat hates her. A lot.
So, TH has now been residing in Casa de Hails for about a month and a half, and we haven’t killed each other yet. It has, as I suspected, been quite odd having someone else in the house – but I think it’s good for me. Forces me to consider someone other than myself for a change. Also, it’s fun having someone to sit up late with, having deep theological discussions and also learning how to say “butt” in a Nashvillean accent.
The Kat issue could have put an end to the Happy Housemates situation, of course, as I am a jealous girl who does not take kindly to finding her beloved in bed with another woman. Happily, TH resolved that little difficulty all by herself, when she decided it would be a good idea to bring me a thoughtful gift. You can sense the sarcasm, here, and I want to make it clear that it is not directed towards the thoughtful gift (anyone, anytime… feel free) but the fact that the gift turned out to be a small and rather boisterous kitten. I still bear the scars. Quite literally – Kat flipped out and scratched the hell out of me.
We were sitting quietly in the living room, Kat and I, just minding our own business, curled up on the sofa, maybe enjoying a little light conversation, as we are known to do of a Saturday evening. Enter TH and a six-inch tall kitten. Scamper scamper scamper went the kitten, lolloping playfully across the floor. Kat shot off the sofa in terror and hid behind it. Moments later, her head appeared around the side of it, and she began to growl. Actually growl. I didn’t know cats did that. Not that there was much time to reflect upon this new discovery, for Kat suddenly pounced on the kitten, which hissed and spat in a manner that suggested it thought itself to be much bigger and more fearsome than it actually was. Much growling, scratching, howling and scuffling ensued, and, fearing a murder was about to take place in my own home, I dived in to extract the kitten from the scrum. TH helped in her own special way (sitting on an armchair with her legs pulled up out of claw’s reach and her head in her hands, squealing and trembling).
Blood everywhere. All of it mine.
“Give Kat some time,” suggested TH. And so we supervised the agitated Feline Housemates all evening. Kitten scampered a lot and Kat growled constantly, looking completely insane and sounding a bit demonic. At breakfast the next morning, I watched helplessly as TH cooed over the kitten, the kitten got its head stuck most endearingly in the back of a kitchen chair, and Kat sat on the stairs and growled. “I think,” I said quietly, feeling like a parent telling her child that the dog has gone away to live on a big farm forever and ever, “I think we have to return the kitten.”
“Awwww!” said TH, looking crestfallen. “Are you sure?”
I leapt off my seat to rescue the brave but completely witless kitten, who had wandered over to tease Kat and was subsequently being torn to shreds, accompanied by much howling and hissing. “Yes,” I panted as I emerged with a rather traumatised kitten, my face white, my arms covered in deep scratches, and my hands dripping blood, “I really don’t think this is working, do you?”
She couldn’t really argue with the blood. We returned the kitten (there was no need to explain why; the guy took one look at my face, arms and hands and said “Oh right,” and that was that) and purchased some Dettol on our way back. Kat spent the rest of the day glaring furiously at TH, and has not betrayed me by going to sleep in her bed ever since.
And we all lived happily ever after.