Feet

There’s something about feet that I find deeply disturbing.  Gibbs, here by the way. Welcome to my new column.  You know that I am worried by the black trainers that Mum wears when she goes out.  She always puts them on in a different room to where I am but when she walks past me to get her coat out of the cupboard, I dash out through the catflap to safety.  I know that Mum would never hurt me but some people are less kind than Mum is.

The trouble with people is that they’re unpredictable.  Especially when they have shoes or boots on.  They could be just sitting down watching television and if you fancy a paddle on their lap, as I like doing, that’s when they can lash out with their feet.  And you land up in the next room with a bad pain in your side or tummy if you’re not careful.

Dad gave Mum some new white things that she calls ‘slippers’ for Christmas.  When they’re in the shoe mountain, I know they won’t hurt me at all.  But when Mum puts them on her feet, they are scary and big and fluffy.  I get palpitations and my whiskers stand to attention and I’m on alert in case those white things come my way.

Mum has been wearing something called ‘flipflops’ throughout the summer.  They’re pretty non-threatening and you see more of Mum’s feet than the ‘flipflop’, but our weather has turned really cold just lately.  When I got up this morning and looked out of the window, it was as if the decorators had been in and painted everything frosty white.  It shimmered and sparkled with the soft glint of the sun upon it, like millions of diamonds scattered all over my garden.  So Mum went to the shoe mountain looking for the slippers.  She put them on and her feet looked like two enormous fluffy white monsters.  I just knew they were coming my way and were going to tread on me or eat me.

Casey doesn’t seem to mind feet.  Perhaps his old people were kinder to him than my old people were.  Perhaps they didn’t talk to him with their feet the way mine did.  That’s why I began looking for a new home when I was so young.  Kevin, the vet that took my dangly things, said I was only about 2 years old at the time, which would have meant I was out looking for new digs from when I was about 4 months old.

I’m glad I found Casey because he told me about Mum.  He didn’t tell me about the feet though but I know that if Casey isn’t bothered by Mum’s weird shoes or slippers, then in reality, neither should I, but old habits are hard to break.

Perhaps my New Year’s Resolution for this year should be to try and accept feet – and what they have on them – in the knowledge that living with Mum I am safe from all harm and danger.  What do you think?

Thank you for reading.

Love Gibbs xxxx

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