The house move is coming to a close, for which I am extremely grateful. Other Half and I had decided to leave the cats at the old house until we'd moved all the furniture, this saving them the additional stress and emotional trauma of listening to us grunt and clatter around and swear profusely. The cats are not known for being particularly forgiving when it comes to situations where they feel they have been wronged, and they usually let us know in some small way, like weeing on our favourite sweaters or pooping in our shoes, or generally ruining soft furnishings in what we like to refer to as "kitty fever". So it was with caution that I opened the door to our old house on Wednesday last week to find...nothing. Roland and Giles were both sitting in the hallway expectanly, staring at me with big, innocent eyes. Hello mother, their eyes seemed to say. We've missed you and haven't ruined anything in revenge for leaving us alone for a few hours. We wouldn't do that. We love you. Honest. And I was fool enough to believe it.
I'd fed them their dinner and was about to exit the room when something caught my eye. It was a brown circular splodge of about 4cm across, on the front of one of my speakers on the countertop. I used these for playing music from my ipod, and they were not exactly cheap. Closer examination revealed the substance to be poop. I was furious. I was outraged. I was...impressed. Firstly, it was half way up the speaker, so the perpetrator would have had to actually back up onto the speaker before rubbing its kittybum all over my expensive technological equipment. This was new. This was tactical revenge. We'd obviously raised them well.
Roland raised his head and gave me a smug look. Giles' face was firmly buried in his foodbowl. And I knew instantly that Roland had masterminded this whole scheme. Giles, bless his little paws, is barely smart enough to know if he's on fire or not, so he may not have been involved in the planning. He had obviously carried out the mission because the poop was at about the right height. I reached these conclusions quickly and, feeling very much like Sherlock Holmes, went to consult Other Half.
Me: Roly told Giles to poop on my speakers and he did.
Other Half:... I'm sorry, what?
Me: There's poop on my speakers. I'm pretty sure the cats did it. Unless it was you.
Other Half: (looking at me hard) Clearly it wasn't me.
Roland swanned into the room and took up position on Other Half's lap, purring and looking as wide-eyed and as cute as possible.
Other Half: Don't call the cat a dillhole.
Me: Fine. Bastard cat, then.
Both Roland and Other Half glare at me.
Me: Why my speakers? WHY, ROLAND, WHY?
Luckily, I think I can take the front off and clean the poop away. Its just another item in a long list of My Possessions That Have Been Ruined By Cats, which so far includes the cables for my Wii, mobile phone chargers (yes, plural!) and various shoelaces. The worst part is they have a mountain of different cat toys to play with, and yet, given the opportunity, they will immediately and unerringly head for the only choking hazard/electrical cable/cleaning substance in the room. I feel like this is all probably good training for having children some day. At least they won't poop on my speakers. I hope.