Behind the facade

To those on the outside, our life is completely normal and sane. The only small hint of any subversion of suburban life is the slobber-encrusted, battered cat flap blemishing an otherwise well-presented house in a sought after area of the town.
Denied the opportunity to scare the wits out of passers-by to the extent I used to enjoy, I now take great pleasure in startling visitors to the front door by poking my distinguished platinum snout through the opening. Interestingly, one of the girl’s friends has had the same idea and rather than ringing the door bell when she comes, sticks her head through the cat flap and shouts. One day, this is going to lead to trouble, I know it.
In between all these comings and goings of dogs and small humans, the occasional cat slips through. Very fast. Once inside, the external facade of peace fades to the mere trace of a memory and you’re lucky if you can find a quiet corner anywhere. My favoured place in front of the French windows in the sitting room (previously the dining room that no one used and was blissfully quiet) is now taken up with their tent. This is obviously not a good thing. However, every cloud has a silver lining as they say and this particular one has an outer one made of heavy duty canvas and an inner tent with sewn-in groundsheet. See how brainwashed I’ve been? Anyway, the tent goes when they go and when they go, the old lady comes to STAY. Yay! Five days of sympathy and food. No walks – probably – but this only compounds my plight and I will be elevated to almost angelic status for the duration. Happy holidays indeed. Only five days to go and counting.