Not a Cat in Hell’s Chance

We’ve been toying with the idea of getting a cat for a while. Ok, more than toying – I really wanted one. I had a list of potential names (but we were fairly settled on Sally Cinnamon) and was researching different breeds and their temperaments most days. I also thought a family pet would be great for Eris, seeing as she’s an only child.

A couple of weeks ago our friends were going on holiday, so we volunteered to be their number one top cat-sitters. Not only would we get to look after the most adorable and affectionate feline I’ve ever met, it would be a good little practice run for us!


So this is Pip. I’m her Godparent now.

Eris adored her. She followed her everywhere, and by ten minutes of her being at our house said “I really like her, I think I want one.” I think Pip was rather sick of being stalked, tbh.




Kittchen sink?



I’m so sorry.

She was super mischievous.

I didn’t get a photo, as it was a full-on panic moment, but one night when we were chilling out, watching telly, nearly passing out in a Dorito-coma, she tried to jump and climb up the fireplace and into the chimney, like some kind of mad reverse Santa Claus. I nearly shat myself.


She started collecting my post for me, which I found hilarious, because it seemed like such a dog thing to do.


And she seemed to see things nobody else could see, which also made me shit myself, because what was she seeing? Ghosts? Ghost cats? Ghost mice?


What I haven’t mentioned yet is that this whole time, I was ignoring my pain in the arse of a pet allergy. I assumed as I’d got older this annoying infliction had maybe gone away. I’d been round to my cat-owner friends’ houses and not suffered with more than a sniffle. I’d be fine. It was only one week, anyway.

But of course, I was wrong. By the second night of her sleeping on the end of our bed I couldn’t breathe. I felt like my airways were closing up like a venus fly trap – it was terrifying. Then my eyes went. I had a permanent sty thing going on, they were bloodshot and in short – I looked like a crackhead.


But I’d fallen in love with her, so I let myself wheeze away, let people assume I was in dire need of rehab, because who cares when you’re getting kitty cuddles? And I needed as many as I could get before she went home.

I even managed to get selfie with her. A terrible selfie, but still a selfie.


So, are we still going to get one of our own in the future?

See title.

It’s upsetting and rubbish, because we all loved looking after a cat, but in the end my allergy was too severe and hard to handle. I’ve had to break this news to Eris, who was less than happy, but as long as it’s not a change to her routine or the announcement which is “bedtime”, she can manage to get over things when distracted/bribed with chocolate.

I guess I’m glad we did this before rushing into getting one. I’ll just have to pester cat-owner friends a bit more.

I’ve stocked up on Piriton and have a feeling I’m about to become that woman who visits your house and ignores you in favour of your pet.

“Can I pop round at 7?” – “Sure, we need a good catch up!” – “You can pop out if you want.”




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