Not Left Behind By The Cat

Since I became an alternative cat burglar (I let myself into people’s houses when they are away, and play with their cats), kitties have featured large in my life. I have a feeling in coming months I may be posting on different breeds, different types of litter… but this tale only really features cats as an aside. The punch line has little to do with them. Honest.

Some years ago when they were emptying the then infamous Holly Street estate, with the intention of knocking it down and building it better, I found an abandoned cat, crying outside a row of boarded-up houses. I took him in, thankfully keeping him separate from my own cats, as it turned out he was infected with the rather nasty cat virus FLV (which can be vaccinated against…). He was also elderly and had a failing liver (which in cats can be caused by a few days without food…). After a few weeks I had to take the hard decision to have him put to sleep. On my way home from the vets I found a wooden box, just right for a planter for outside my flat. I carried it home, the red stain on it covering my hands. In my head it will always be Amos’s box.

It did get planted with flowers a few times. But money seems to have got shorter and shorter. So like many people I ended up with a box of empty soil sitting outside. It was not to stay empty… a neighbour’s cat starting using it as a toilet. Cleaning it out was not a nice job, and including throwing out a lot of the soil. After which I covered it with a board and forgot about it once more. A few times I noticed the ‘lid’ knocked half off and cursed other neighbours coming by as I pushed it back on.

Then those neighbours complained about the smell... Actually I suspect their toddler took the top off (she’s into everything…) and they were horrified. Because it’s somehow acquired another load of poo. Maybe the cat got in those times the lid was half off… but I’m not totally sure. Anyway, another round of cleaning up, another layer of soil chucked. And here’s where it gets strange. Because along with those distinctive red rubber bands from the post man (maybe he was the one left it open… don’t you just love it when the postmen leave litter?) there was, buried quite deep, an unopened 3 pack of condoms, expiry date 2006.

I did wonder if it was some subtle insult to myself. But then it would have made more sense to put them through the door. Or did some teenage lad plan a tryst outside my door, hiding the goodies for his girl. Or maybe there’s a pervert around with a thing for leaving condoms in plant pots. We’ll never know. But I think I’m going to throw out all the soil and start with fresh…