Sunday, 26 February 2017

The Ginger Yo-yo

The saga of Thug, aka Drang, aka The Purring Death, was drawing to a close. His owners kept him in for a few weeks to get him settle back in and our other cats relaxed again, even to the point of Ginge returning to a favourite night-time spot between the pillows, purring in my ear. It’s not perfect - Ginge and Piper have indicated their displeasure that their preferred point of access to the house through the fan-light window is now blocked, but it seemed like a sensible precaution,
As it turns out, an essential precaution. Thug is back, and he still doesn’t understand cat-flaps.
I had just got back from a day working in Plymouth, returning via Cornwall Farmers, and there was young Thug, eager and perky, just wanting to be loved. The fact that I had a van-load of sheep and poultry feed to shift was irrelevant.
In the end, we compromised – a certain amount of Thug-loving and then he got to follow me around as I carried 25kg feed sacks from van to store. That had to include heavy hints that I should open the back door, offer snacks, make sure the duvets were set right for wiping his paws – the usual. The hints got heavier when nothing was delivered. (This all suggested that an incident of scrabbling at windows at four in the morning a few days previously was probably Thug.)
In due course, the van was empty and, whilst Thug is a practising psychopath, he is also very loving and trusting (unless you happen to be another cat), so getting him boxed up and in the back of the van was easy. Then it was just a drive down the hill to drop him off.
The very next day... there was Thug, in search of love, food and a comfy bed. He was more wary about the van this time, but my partner joined the game. A bit of stroking and Thug was lured back into captivity and down the hill in the new Cat Taxi service, straight in to home, into the large bag of dog food for a snack. And I do mean in. For some reason, Thug is partial to dog food, and all the better eaten straight from the bag, leaving paw-prints on the inside just to show he was there.
After a few days respite... Taxi!
The incidence of Thug visits has dropped off. From time to time, I email his owners to give the Drang Report, which really ought to start with something like early heavy down-paws will lead to light outbreaks of violence later in the day. He still comes to visit, but for the last week my partner has been away with the van. No taxi service means that Thug has to walk home which has clearly taken the shine off things. OK, strictly speaking, Thug is not impressed with being driven down the hill. However, when he is hanging around, trying to get in, we can walk round the house and use the front door because he has worked out that the front of the house is the Cat Taxi pick-up zone. The reduction in visits is probably down to the lack of snacks and warm duvets to relax on.
Today, he was back again, wailing outside the window, wailing on the back door step, a terribly sad and mistreated moggy desperately in need of love. And other cats to bite. It’s nice to see him, I do miss him, but we have to keep discouraging him for the sake of the others. Ginge is still spooky, and insecure about her purring-gooseberry routine between the pillows, whilst Piper’s fur is just starting to grow back properly from the last time Thug bit him.
For now, we are all coping.

I can see Summer being a problem – doors and windows open, easy access for our visiting Ginger yo-yo.

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