Making the Cat Laugh (32 page)

To friends who haven’t got one, I always say, ‘Get one.’ I mean it, no hesitation. Yes, they are selfish. Yes, they moult. Yes, they yowl a bit in the night-time and they make it difficult for you to go on holiday. But they make it up to you in so many ways. For one thing, they can sometimes be persuaded to pose with ribbons around their necks. And for another, they are absolutely fascinating to watch. For example, mine spends hour after hour just staring at a big box in the corner of the living-room, not moving an inch, but silently grinding her teeth and tensing her muscles as if to pounce. I have said it before and I’ll say it again: I am convinced they can see things we can’t see.

For about three years, actually, I had a pair – a male as well as a female – but the male disappeared one day last summer, as abruptly as he arrived, and I never found out what became of him. Run over, possibly. Or locked in a garage by mistake. The sense of loss was awful (that’s the problem with getting too
attached). They are so frightfully independent, yet incredibly stupid at the same time, so they run into danger while you sit at home worrying yourself demented.

Anyway, my dilemma was: should I get a new one immediately (friends said, ‘Get a younger one this time’)? But I was worried how the female would react; she might resent it. Certainly she got a bit thin and straggly when he first disappeared, and clawed at the windows. But now she is back to sleeping twenty hours a day, and quite often buries her face in a bowl of food, so I think she has probably fallen on her feet.

I have had her for six years, and she still surprises me. Her only unacceptable habit is that sometimes during the day she will suddenly drop whatever she is doing, dash for the door and disappear; and then an hour later return with all sorts of inedible rubbish – vegetables, pasta, washing-powder – which she dumps on the doormat, looking pleased with herself. It happens about once a week.

Evidently this is standard behaviour, especially from childless females, and I ought to respond magnanimously to these offerings (‘Muesli, how lovely’) rather than offend her. But it is so clearly a throwback to some primitive hunting-and-gathering instinct that it unsettles me completely. I just don’t like to face up to the fact that, you know, deep down, she’s an
animal.
‘Look what I got,’ she trills, and starts spreading the stuff on the floor. ‘Oh yuk,’ I say. ‘Why ever did you bring home
yoghurt?’
And I give her one of my looks.

Sorry, there’s not much point to this. I just thought I’d fill you in. A couple of years ago, you see, she read a pile of books called things like
Catwatching
and
Do Cats Need Shrinks?
and learned some quasi-scientific nonsense about cat behaviour that has honestly given me the pip. For example, she now believes that in the cat world it is a sign of friendship to narrow your eyes. I ask you. Round eyes means aggression, you see; while slitty eyes means ‘I’m just a sweet old pussy-cat
and I’m your friend.’ Several times a day, then, she catches my eye deliberately and then squints. It gives me the screaming ab-dabs.

But on the other hand, how sweet of her to try to get an insight. She read somewhere else that cats respond at some deep atavistic level if you lie on the floor, chest up. So she does this, too, and although I have no idea what atavism is, I certainly appreciate a nice thick warm body to lie on, so I clamber aboard, no problem. And this is how I think I will leave you, actually: with me snoozing happily on my pet.

She is happy, lying here chest up, eyes a-squint, for she is cocooned in the pitiable belief that she is practising cat psychology, when in fact cat psychology is practising on her.

These columns first appeared in
The Listener
,
The Times
and
Woman’s Journal.
At
The Listener,
where I was Literary Editor, Alan Coren encouraged me to start writing a column called ‘Margins’; his successor Peter Fiddick was, I think, too scared to stop me. As for the numerous columns from
The Times
, I owe a great debt to Simon Jenkins and Peter Stothard; also Brian MacArthur, Brigid Callaghan, Robert Crampton and Jim McCue. At
Woman’s Journal,
Deirdre Vine and Cherry Maslen regularly ring up laughing after receiving my columns. Luckily, this is the desired effect.

This book is a tribute to Kate Jones at Hamish Hamilton, who read all the cuttings I could find, allowed me to laugh like a hyena at my own jokes, and then did all the heavy brainwork. If anyone calls this a scissors-and-paste job, Kate will be very cross. Finally, I must mention Cara Chanteau, formerly of
The Listener,
who warned me in 1987 that if I once became associated professionally with ha-ha jokes about cats there would be no turning back. You were right, Cara. So right.

LYNNE TRUSS
is one of Britain’s best-loved comic writers and is the author of the worldwide bestsellers
Eats, Shoots & Leaves
and
Talk to the Hand.
Her most recent book is
Get Her Off the Pitch!
She reviews for the
Sunday Times
and writes regularly for radio.

Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

With One Lousy Free Packet of Seed

Making the Cat Laugh:

One Woman’s Journal of Single Life on the Margins

Tennyson’s Gift

Going Loco

Tennyson and His Circle

Eats, Shoots & Leaves:

The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation

Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of Everyday Life

(or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door)

A Certain Age: Twelve Monologues from the Classic Radio Series

Get Her Off the Pitch!: How Sport Took Over My Life

For children

Eats, Shoots & Leaves:

Why, Commas Really Do Make a Difference!

The Girl’s Like Spaghetti:

Why, You Can’t Manage Without Apostrophes!

Twenty-Odd Ducks: Why, Every Punctuation Mark Counts!