Cats… like supporting England
Whisper it quietly: I’m not really a massive fan of cats.
Don’t get me wrong, the furry fellas can really get to you when they give you the big eyes.
But if it was entirely up to me, there would never have been three moggies living in the Lewis household.
If you haven’t guessed by now, this isn’t a post from any of the furry chopped boys themselves – although sometimes I think Archie would appreciate a bit more peace – or, of course, from Michelle.
Yes, it’s me. Big bad Dad. Craig.
But before you send out the kitty cavalry, I’ve stolen today’s post to tell you how – despite the fact he’s a perennial pain in the posterior – I can’t help but rush to the rescue of the boy Oscar when he’s injured.
That’s because however many times he wakes me up at 5am with his foghorn meow, however many times he decides he wants to go out the second I finally sit my bum down after a day at work, and however many times (and there’s many) his furry antics or loud purring (not in the Archie category, of course!) get me out of bed, I’m a sucker for a poor defenceless animal.
For anyone who has been stuck in a My Three Moggies free zone for the last few days, our brave boy was the victim of what could only have been a disgraceful ambush from a very large and powerful animal – probably a lion or even a elephant.
This crazed beast had the temerity to set foot on Oscar’s territory, and although it no doubt received the pasting it deserved it did manage to get a few blows in first.
So the vet was called into action, Oscar’s poor face had many a stitch and he’s on the road to recovery.
When the cats are at their most vulnerable the urge to help is impossible to resist, even for a grumpy old man like me.
The reason we ended up with three moggies was, of course, because neither Michelle or I could leave a poor, battered, one eared, slightly overweight cat called Mr Chips at the rescue centre.
These days we call him Archie.
So for the last six days, I’ve been up until midnight, woken up at 6am and sleeping standing up in an attempt to get a convalescing cat, who desperately wants to go back outside, to lay down and get the sleep he needs.
It’s not been easy, I can’t say I’m not dreading another six days – that’s how long we have before the stitches come out – of Foghorn Oscar in the house; but to see his face healing so quickly has been worth it.
When I watch my favourite sports teams, there are periods of intense frustration and times I want to throttle them.
But it is all worth it for that winning moment. You would put up with a lifetime of Gareth Southgate penalties for that.
And I guess it’s the same with cats really.
Those big eyes are worth all the 5am wake up calls. Just.
So, I guess I must be a fan really. Just don’t tell anyone.