'My name is George and I'm a serial cat flap abuser.'

‘My name is George and I’m a serial cat flap abuser.’

Strictly, speaking that’s not true. My name ISN’T George; I’m actually Marmalade, or ‘Marmie’ for short if my real owner is being all lovey-dovey with me. And none of this would have come to light if Mrs Mews – Casey’s Mum – hadn’t taken me to a vet because she was concerned about my health. 

Mrs Mews (I couldn’t bring myself to call her ‘Mum’ because I do have a Mum called Rachel who’s really a nice person) had to stand in a queue for over two hours to see the vet only to be told they didn’t do diagnostic stuff, just annual booster injections and microchipping.

The vet, however, could see that Mrs Mews was concerned about me so she did give me the once over, and she voiced her own concerns about a few issues. That’s when she discovered I had a microchip. The vet wrote the number down and when we got back to the house, I was given some dinner – of course – while Mrs Mews tracked down my owner – Rachel. We live just behind the alleyway at the bottom of Casey’s back garden and it came to light during a conversation Mrs Mews had with Rachel, that I visit several houses in our two streets.

My Mum, Rachel, said she hadn’t seen me for nearly a week. She knew I visited other neighbours in our road but she hadn’t known that I came over to the Daily Mews office, or the Lazypaws Guest House for Discerning Felines as Casey informed me – rather snottily, I thought at the time.

I’m now on house arrest. I have to stay in and the cat flap has been closed up as suggested by Mrs Mews. The indignity of having to use the litter tray again is something I’ll have to deal with but it is, apparently, only for a couple of weeks. Then I might sneak back to see if Mrs Mews has forgotten me or if Casey has any leftovers that he’d like to donate to my  stomach.

But that Isaac Newton bloke was one clever man, wasn’t he? If it wasn’t for him, I might never have met Casey and Mrs Mews, or met the neighbours and availed myself of their cats’ leftovers. And who ever invented the microchip deserves a headbutt although, truth to tell, I was rather enjoying my adventures and if I hadn’t been microchipped, I probably would have stayed with Casey and Mrs Mews. There’s nothing wrong with my proper house though, although there had been some building work going on and I hated the noise and the disruption to my beauty sleep. There’s only so much a chap can take so I took to rambling after my breakfast to see where I’d end up.

All’s well that ends well, though, as I’m back with my two fellow felines and the dog, and the children, and Rachel, of course. And it’s good to be back.

‘My name is Marmalade and I’m a reformed <paws crossed behind my back> serial cat flap abuser.’

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