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George the Rotund Ginger Cat pops in every few days now and manages to stay overnight and sometimes he doesn’t leave for a couple of days.  Since the day of the Great Leaky Red Stuff All Over The Dining Table Incident Mum has been very careful to not touch him.  She’ll stroke the top of his head and she even gives him a kiss now and then – to be rewarded by a huge rumbling purr – but she knows she’s treading on thin ice if she tries to pick him up.

There was a mystery after George’s earlier visits.  Mum would find evidence of wee in the bath and because I was the only one in the house I think Mum thought I was the culprit.  I’d like to wee in the bath because when I saw George do it, it looked good fun. But I know it’s not the thing to do really so I’ve never done it.

But George peed on our doormat by the front door as well – not just once – but a couple of times.  And it’s all because he’s quite lazy and once he’s decided to stay indoors he doesn’t go outside again for simply ages.

I like boxes and Mum often gives me an empty box to play in if I want to but she’s had to stop leaving them out and I can only have them under something called ‘supervision’ because she kept finding them full of wee. They have to be thrown out once the wee has been disposed of and they end up in the recycling bin.

I had this one box – it was great – perfect size for me to sit in and cogitate on world events and the price of fish – and Mum saw George sitting in it.  He looked so cute, she said, that she just had to take a photo of him.  Then she noticed the look of concentration on his face and she realised what he was doing. She tried to pick him up and he snarled and lashed out at her so she moved away. As soon as he’d finished the business in hand, she looked in the box – it was half-full of George wee.  She was furious because she knew how much I loved that box.

She opened the back door in readiness and got a towel which she managed to wrap round him and then, with him moaning and creating wriggly moves she’d never seen the like of before, she picked him up and put him outside. ‘Please go home George,’ she said, as she shut the door.

Another box bit the dust and at the moment I am reduced to sitting on the tower, looking out of the window while I try to think about things. It’s not the same, I can tell you. Guests like George should have better manners.  It’s just not cricket to pee in another cat’s thinking box.