'No, I can't come out to the pub tonight. I'm washing my hair' I told everyone.
'What are you talking about? No one ever sees your hair!' they all said, making reference to my daily ninja bandanna wearing.
The truth is, it was a Saturday night and I was staying in as I needed to have to have some serious words with the cat. Tonight seemed like a rare opportunity when a) the cat was actually awake and b) it had been 7 whole hours since it had last hissed at me. Most of all, it needed to be told and tonight was going to be the night.
So I approached the cat, armed with some sardine and trout flavoured dry biscuits in case things got nasty and began the negotiations.
'First of all Cat, please, whatever you do, do not hiss at me'. I tossed one of the biscuits towards it by way of a peace offering. Then remembered that if it was going to hiss, the biscuit I'd just given it would make it's breath even more fishy than usual. Not a wise move on my part.
'And number 2, the tent that had been out of it's bag and lying in the corner of the lounge before we went away, is one of my favourite tents for camping. When you use it as a bed during the day when I'm out at work and you think I won't notice, I do.
Because tents are waterproof and when you claw it when you're doing your little cat thing, as I know you have been, it makes lots of little holes in it. So the next time I go camping and it rains, the tent leaks! Which is what happened while I was away.
So no more sleeping on the tent, OK?'
All things understood, I went off into the kitchen to make a drink. I heard the cat flap go and looked out of the kitchen window to find that the was cat scaling the edge of the tent I had put up in the garden earlier to dry, climbing with claws!
I shook my head. Why, oh why did renting the house come with a cat instead of a dog? Dogs are apparently man's best friend. What are cats supposed to be? Little devils? Probably why the tenants before moved out.