Mr G felt sorry for Flad yesterday so he rummaged in the dustbin bags which, unknown to him, contained fox poo I'd cleared off the lawn, retrieved the old, broken cat flap that Flad has been using for 11 years, and reinstalled it.
I went into the kitchen around 1 am to get some Bicarb for my post-curry indigestion (post home-made lemonade indigestion, too) and found one of next door's Bengal cats polishing off Flad's biscuits. He was sitting calmly on the other side of the patio door, watching her. She fled back through the cat flap. Now, please don't try to imagine the following scene as it may make you feel queasy, but I prostrated myself (starkers, it was a hot night) on the wooden floor, lifted the cat flap with a finger and called to Flad cajolingly. And woke up Mr Grumpy, he grumbled this morning.
Well, something worked. Either it was the sell of his old flap (in a manner of speaking), my nude activities or the example set by next door's cat, but this morning he was in the kitchen. I fed him (7-ish) and went back to bed for half an hour, till woken up by a huge council lorry collecting the cones it had left to mark where they had cemented in some new road drainage grids yesterday. I arose for the second time - and no cat. He had exited the way all cats are meant to exit. Hooray! The photo shows the efforts Mr G went to to install the new, spurned cat flap. Oh dear! You can't argue with a cat.
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