I have been studying, with some considerable interest, the “Grumpy Cat” syndrome. You may, or may not, have heard of it but I assure you I haven’t made it up.
Apparently as the Lockdown gradually eases and more people go back to work; as children return to school; as car enthusiasts hit the used car sales rooms; and avid golfers, tennis players and other Sporty Types brush up on
their bat and ball skills - there will be unforeseen consequences. Consequences , moreover, which none of the experts lined up for our doubtful delight at the daily Downing Street press briefing has so far touched upon as far as I can tell.
Apparently our cats have become accustomed to our being ever-present over recent weeks. There is always a trouser leg on which to sharpen its claws; a lap to squirm on; someone endlessly
prepared to throw tinsel balls around for the purposes of chasing after. The research (I don’t know who carried out this research, I suspect that somebody made it up in the interests of filling newspaper columns with some Coronavirus-related sweet relief)
suggests that left once again to their own devices, our puss cats are about to turn very, very grumpy indeed.
Okay, you are requesting a rewind, I can tell - when,
you ask, did I acquire a cat? Surely, you are thinking, had I owned a cat (or had a cat adopted me, more likely) then it would certainly have featured in the Daily Blog from time to time. It might even have merited its own blogs occasionally, rather like those
which Faris the Rascal used to compose before he became a little too grown-up to have his name taken in vain. I still miss his unusual take on life...
true - I don’t own a cat. I did once own a cat which Mr B gave me before we were married. I called him the Duke of Wellington, or Boots for short, and I left him with my mother when Mr B and I were married. I am not sure how far my mother appreciated
What I am thinking is that, while I don’t have a cat, I do have Mr B. He has become accustomed to me being around all the time over the last
eleven weeks; how will he take it as life slowly returns to near-enough-normal? Will he become the human equivalent of a Grumpy Cat?
I therefore decided to follow
the government guidance which had changed somewhat suddenly to say that people who are shielding can now venture out, either with a member of their household or one other person. No mention, please note, of a Grumpy Cat. A short trip out each day would acclimatise
Mr B to my occasional absence, hopefully averting Grumpy Cat Syndrome. Today’s trip, I told him, would be just along the road to see how the wedding garden at beautiful Field Place has blossomed since I last visited. I only wished, I said ruefully, that
I was strong enough to get him out of the house in his wheelchair so that he could enjoy the garden with me. I would take lots of photos, I promised, and I might even manage a bit of video with running commentary.
Mr B said he wasn’t that bothered about having a trip out himself - but that he was really, really pleased that I was going out. To prove his point, he kept asking me every half hour or so, when exactly I was going.
I gained the distinct impression that he was looking forward to some peace and quiet without me.
“While the cat’s away....” the thought
sprung into my head. But that couldn’t be right, could it?
Wouldn’t that make me the Grumpy Cat?