The Four Little Seymours are not bad kids. OK, they have their faults, like we all do. A lot of the faults are tech-related, or revision-related – you, know, the usual kind of stuff.
Luckily, we are yet to experience the horrors of narcotics, or the “Can my boyfriend stay over?” dilemmas that often plague unsuspecting parents, for it is at that stage we realise that we really are venturing into the kind of territory we’ve only before witnessed from the other side… in other words, it feels like yesterday that I was sneaking out of bedroom windows and going commando in Lycra dresses to nightclubs.
I digress.
I fear, though, that it is all about to change, because this very evening, one of my charges has been nothing less than a reprobate. Staying out for hours, being moved on from various locations, sofa surfing, begging. Loitering outside (and inside) M&S, harrassing the customers. The final straw came when said reprobate was… wait for it… brought home in the back of a marked police car.
I. Am. Mortified.
The culprit is not, in fact, one of my little Seymours of the human variety. Thank the lord and long may it last. Neither is it Big Seymour who, in spite of his historical penchant for driving fast in Subaru Imprezas, has rarely drawn the attention of the cops. No, it’s one of our more recent additions, Ezra Kevin Seymour, our young cat.
Ezra, or Ezzy, as he is known, is a tart. He loves food, and he adores people. Often, where there are people, there is food. Or fun.
Early this morning Ezzy set off, leaving his brother Gomez Bob, behind. Gomez slept the day away on a sunny sofa, whilst Ezzy did the rounds. Now, in recent weeks, he has visited the lady down the road and made a nuisance of himself by landing on her head whilst she slept, been incarcerated at the vet’s for a day after being handed in by a concerned villager (he was under their car, meowing in his convincing way) and had to be collected from the most beautiful dwelling I’ve ever seen late one evening, as he was looking like he didn’t have a house to go to. (Or at least, he preferred that one). But this evening, when he was driven home by two police officers, I must admit that I started to wonder how most cat owners do it.
They just go where they like! Even without invitation. They cross roads! With no knowledge of the highway code. They visit homes – and shops! With no means of buying anything. They plead hunger and disorientation! And they’re convincing.
And then, when they still refuse to return home, they get bundled into the back of a black Mariah (or whatever it is now) where they proceed to crawl on top of the officer’s head all the way back.
The again, maybe it’s just Ezzy.
I must confess, I do worry about him. He is a beautiful cat – a mini leopard, really. And an unusual colour, too. Every time the phone rings or pings, it is now statistically likely that it will be a call from a vet, or a neighbour, or the manager of the local Marks and Sparks. (Or the police!) But Ezzy is also just a cat, regardless of his great beauty, and cats like their freedom. I don’t think I could face keeping him locked up.
Ezzy is now fast asleep with his brother, GoGo, blissfully unaware of the trouble he has caused, and the tax payers’ money he has used up with his impromptu police escort. He doesn’t worry about the dangers outside, or whether it is polite to enter someone’s house without being introduced. I have no doubt he would have made his way home on his own eventually – he has done so many times before. It’s just that, on this occason, he was arrested before he could do so. I am determined not to let him stress me out: he is a joy really, and we love him. But how do other people have cats and cope with the worry of theft, road acidents and whether they’re making a nuisance of themselves in a street nearby? Or is it a case of, if you love them, let them go..?
In any case, having cats is an excellent cure for control freaks like me. You simply have to take it day by day.
And get insurance.
And a collar that reads: “I’m Ezzy. I may look cute, but I’m badass. I have a criminal record.”
Right, I’m off to see if Amazon does such a thing.
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