So something happened the other day. Well, things always happen but this thing was definitely not supposed to be my fault.
I sat, unfortunately for me, on the worn and flat cushioned black leather sofa that really needs replacing. It was going on for about half seven, maybe eight o’clock at night. Nothing was on the telly so I put a Sons of Anarchy DVD in the player and settled down. I’ve seen the first two series twice already but there’s something about law-breaking bikers in leathers with guns that seems to get me… I don’t know what.
So I was just getting comfortable when Jethro; my almost two year old, rather sturdy Bengal cat starts shouting. Yes, shouting. It’s not really a sound like a human child would make and strangely enough it’s not a sound I thought cats in general made until my Mother brought home her Buy-One-Get-One-Free loons. But that’s another story.
I digress. I was perched on the three year old sofa listening to the hollers of the two year old cat, cursing my damned headache and ogling the men in leathers onscreen when my beautiful baby Jethro decides as I’m not ogling him, I should be.
Now this is really a game of intuition and above all, speed. He decides to do something naughty. You can see it in the swish of his tail and the tilt of his head. You subconsciously know this is coming because you are not paying him 101% attention. Really, you’re just asking for it. Truly, it’s your entire fault. The trick is guessing which item of collected ephemera is to be destroyed today just as he’s deciding it himself. Sometimes you make the right move and you save the IKEA vase or the picture frame from Wilkinson’s (with these, I’m not terribly lucky) other times you dive for the wrong item and end up smashing something or yourself, instead.
This time I saw it happen, yes slow-motion type vision here, I saw him make the decision. I saw him turn his beautifully furred and particularly well marked pedigree face. I saw the tail swish. I saw it, there’s no denying. I knew there was only one item on that mantel piece that couldn’t stand the fall. I knew it and yet I was frozen to the spot. Up he jumped, graceful as a newborn hippo walking on strawberry jelly. The feet grabbed the frame. He turned to look at me to check I was watching in abject horror and he twisted, more gracefully than that hippo move previously mentioned. Away from the mantel he flew, thumping on the floor and racing up the stairs. Down spiralled the brown, leather-framed, square, trendy mirror which had sat there for three months untouched by jealous paws. Crunch went the mirror on the cream marble surround. Screech went the jealous kitty’s mummy.
I’ve been told I claim the seven years bad luck for this as I’m Jethro’s mummy, I’m human and I’m probably to blame anyway as I wasn’t paying him the desired 101% attention.
Seven years bad luck, all because I have a weakness for bikers…