by Arlene
I hate the cat flap. It is far more trouble than it is worth. It directly relates to my purchase of a new sofa, so bear with me, the cat flap is important.
The cat flap
I have, for about twelve years, intended to have a cat flap installed, but never quite managed to get round to it. I had the cat flap. I brought it with me when I moved to this house. When I moved in to my last home in 2002 it was given to me by my brother, who had bought it and never had it installed, so passed it on to me. It then sat in the back of the garage for seven years, occasionally being thought about, but never being used. When I moved in 2009, I faithfully packed it up and promised that I would get it installed as soon as possible. I had it installed this year. It turns out that for some things, ‘as soon as possible’ means twelve years later.
I have had cats all this time, so there was really no excuse. Not always the same cats. The older cats have died, and new ones have taken their place, but I have never had less than two cats at a time, and since none of them have ever been exclusively house cats, having a functioning, installed cat flap seemed to be a good idea. It was not.
I have always simply let my cats in and out whenever they have wanted. Generally, they sleep most of the day and go out late afternoon, coming in and out during the evening. This was always something of a pain in the neck, since anyone who has cats will tell you that they can never make their minds up about whether they do, actually, want to be in or out. They usually want to be both in and out simultaneously and dither about an open door while you stand and wait. Whenever you make the decision for them it will always have been the wrong one, and it must be reversed immediately.
Don’t get me started on how many times they absolutely must go out, or be let in, at 2 and 5am.
Their active time, and the time they spend outside has always suited me. It keeps them away from the birds, and since I live in a rural-residential area they are quite safe on the road at night. It also allows them to hunt for mice, which otherwise would be trying to take up residence in my garage/shed/greenhouse/home. Mice are not fussy tenants. The cats also have litter trays, so if, for any reason, they don’t go out (and the Scottish weather is not enjoyed by many people, let alone cats) it’s not a big deal. The litter trays also stop them using my garden, and the gardens of my neighbours, as a giant toilet.
Why bother?
So why bother with a cat flap now? Mainly it’s because I’m not performing well at getting up out of bed and downstairs quickly any more. In the days before my back stopped being something which allowed movement, I could get up, let them in/out and nip straight back to bed in under a minute. Now, it takes me about five minutes to get out of bed, and that’s before I have to limp lopsidedly down the stairs, open the door and hobble back up the stairs. Throw my bladder into the mix and the whole thing takes about fifteen minutes. The result of this is that I decided that now, yes now, was the time for the cat flap to be installed.
I couldn’t find it. After quite a bit of prodding about in the shed, and poking about in the garage, I concluded that it was either in the loft, or lost. Either way, beyond my reach. This time though, I was determined. I was getting a cat flap installed. It would be a quick job for a local handyman, and it would help me get a decent night’s sleep. You’ve guessed it – it was neither of those things.
Not to be deterred, I bought a new cat flap. I had thought ahead and reasoned that I would need one with a spacer tunnel since my PVC door would be too thick for a regular depth. I was right as it turns out, but that didn’t make the installation any easier. The moulded shape of the door panel meant that the only place it could be cut so the flap would fit was about 14 inches from the bottom of the door. My cats would have to be standing on their hind legs to get their face level with the flap. I solved this little problem by adding a large square stone block to the outside step, which they could stand on to access the flap. Yes, it is a trip hazard and will surely cause me terrible injury in the near future, but I was having this cat flap installed and that was the end of it. I’m nothing if not determined.
The next problem was that the flap needed to be held from both the inside and the outside of the door while it was being screwed into place. Garry ‘the handyman’ (names have been changed to protect the innocent) could not be in both places at once, so I ended up lying on the kitchen floor holding the inside while he worked on the screws outside. No, I couldn’t just sit and bend over because that’s on the list of things my back now doesn’t do. Then we switched places, and I sprawled inelegantly over the step while Garry ‘the handyman’ worked inside. A full 90 minutes after we started, the cat flap was in place, and my real hatred of the thing began.
I should point out that it works, and surprisingly for my two cats – who may be the dumbest creatures in existence – they figured out how to use it. They now go in and out the thing all night. In and out. In. Out. In again. Then out. And when they come in, they bring little presents with them. The dead mice I can deal with. The maimed, twitching mice they really need me to come and see so they yell about until I get up, I can live without. The live, fully functioning, running and hiding mice I absolutely do not want.
The mouse
This is why I ended up buying a new sofa. One night last week there had been some general movement in and out during the night. I was feeling quite pleased that I hadn’t received a little squirming and squeaking present during the night, until Amy and I were sitting quietly during the afternoon. The cats had been restless all day, which should have warned me that something was wrong, since the only thing they love more than their regular 4 meals a day, is their regular 20 hours a day nap. There was a mouse. I spotted it just before Mr Cat, and then the real fun began. After a few minutes of pouncing Mr Cat decided that he did not enjoy chasing the mouse when I was there, and Amy was jumping around trying to film it on her phone, so he disappeared out of the cat flap and into the garden. I fetched Purr in the hope that she would find and dispatch the thing, but it was a faint hope to being with, and it fizzled to nothing as soon as she was placed down. She too, preferred the garden. Now, it was up to Amy and I to catch it.
This is where the problem with my old sofa comes in. I have a large corner sofa which also pulls out into a double bed. I love it. It is about 12 years old, and we have had countless sleepovers, family film camping-in-the-living-room nights on it. It’s battered, and scuffed, but it’s comfy and you can sprawl on it. It is also big and heavy. This wasn’t much of a problem when I had a fully functioning back, but now I just can’t move it. Vacuuming under it is a problem, since I can’t quite reach all the way under, and that is a weakness that the mouse exploited. The mouse was, by this time, slightly maimed. Not fatally injured, but just injured enough to leave a little spray of blood on things (sorry, if you are squeamish, look away now, because this doesn’t end well).
The wee thing took refuge under the sofa. Amy and I began to poke at it with sticks to get it out, trying to corner it somewhere more accessible so I could pounce with a pot and release it back outside. Queue the mouse running towards Amy (hellish screaming), jumping in the air (even more hellish screaming), and running over her foot (screams from the bowels of hell). Amy jumped on the sofa and refused to come down until she knew where it was. Amidst the screaming I had lost track of where it went. So, rallying I put out a bunch of mouse traps smeared with some delicious peanut butter, and tried to drum up one of the cats to help. Both my cats had completely disappeared. I tried the old rattling the biscuit tin and opening a pouch of cat food trick, but they were having none of it. Clearly this was a learning experience for Amy and I, so armed with a bucket and a stick we began trying to catch it again. I started to move individual items and lift the curtains and Amy was poised to corral it towards my bucket. I was hiding in the folds of a curtain (smear of blood) and shot out from there, to under my desk. I am still working from home, so my desk takes up a corner of the dining room part of my living/dining room, and I have a filing cabinet and folders next to it. The folders I had been working on that day were on the floor.
I move the chair. No mouse. We move in. I ease out the filing cabinet and then the desk. No mouse. We move in. I pick up a folder. We lean in to see if we can spot the monster, and Amy screams like she is being disembowelled. Because she screams, I scream, although I have no idea what we are screaming about. I drop the folder and the beast scuttles out. Turns out the thing was hanging on to the inside of the folder and it was about 6 inches from Amy’s face. It shoots back under the sofa. At this point Kevin (Mr Cat’s best friend in the whole world) saunters in the back door with Mr Cat in tow. I grab him under one arm, poke the couch with my stick and the mouse makes a run for it. Mr Cat and Kevin spot the beast and it’s goodbye and goodnight for mousy. I know I was going to try to catch and release it, but I was taking any road available to me now, and I figured that a frightened, injured mouse was probably going to die anyway, so best if it was quick and not somewhere I would step on it.
The sofa
Since everything was disrupted, I took the opportunity to give my skirting boards a good clean and hoover behind everything. And I ordered a new, smaller, sofa. Actually I ordered the sofa and had a nice cup of tea and a sit down before I began the cleaning. Well, two cups of tea if I’m going to be completely honest, but it had been a very stressful half an hour.
Most people will buy a sofa by going to a shop and sitting on them. They will debate size, colour, material, function and how it will fit into their room. Not me, oh no! I went online, checked my bank account, filtered my search by size and cost and bought what was available for delivery immediately. When I make up my mind, I act. Unless it’s about installing a cat flap, and then I will ponder it for over a decade. I should probably think about the way in which I make small decisions and big decisions.
I ended up buying two small sofas. One is just a regular 2 seater, and the other is a small sofa bed. They are both big enough for Amy and I, and since Emily is away at University for most of the year that is really all we need. They are different colours, because being me I decided to buy what was on sale rather than what came as a matching set. What’s better than a sale sofa? Two sale sofas that cost less than one regular priced one. Since I have enough spare throws, blankets, cushions and curtains to furnish a small hotel the colour difference doesn’t matter. Now I just have to dismantle the old sofa and reorganise the whole living room before next week when they arrive.
Mainly Witterings 