Last night, I sat in my living room and noticed my little cat watching something in the corner of the room very intently. I got up to see what she’d found and it was a HUGE spider. Historically, I’m not great with spiders. My reactions tend to involve yelling, climbing on furniture, screaming for the man of the house to come and rescue me etc. etc.
Memorably, I once had a ‘boris’ so big in my bedroom, I moved to the sofa for several nights, hoping it would go away. It did not. Eventually, after about a week and at 3 am, it crawled up the bed and onto my hand and I, in one smooth move worthy of a 12-year old Russian gymnast, went from lying down asleep to standing screaming in the opposite corner of the room.
You get the picture. However, these days I don’t live with a woman/spider rescuing hero. I knew I had to deal with it myself. I’ve had quite a lot of practice in getting large insects out the house since Matilda, the cat, took to bringing in dragonflies several times a day.
I got my special glass and cardboard (always best to have a kit to hand) and ably got the spider into it’s moving pod. I put the spider outside (I threw it and then jigged around to make sure it wasn’t attached to me, before running back inside). Then I thanked the cat for bringing it to my notice.
End of story, yeah? NO.
Last night I dreamt (began a fabulous song and a more famous book) that God came to me and told me my cat had to go on a quest. She – and another grey cat I didn’t know – had to travel to a distant land and be placed on a cushion in the reception room of a very, very bad man who happened to collect cats. My cat had been chosen because she was super clever (which I already knew). They were to listen to his plans and report back. The cats – God told me – would not return from this trip.
I was kinda upset, as I suppose most of the parents of God’s soldiers have been over the years, and so God made one small concession. He said she could choose to come back to me, but if she did, she would be mean and unloveable and he showed me the form of a spider. I knew what he meant and I told Matilda that she should come back and I’d love her as well as I could and I’d care for her forever.
Yeah… weird shit, right?
But I do love my furry baby enough to take her back even if she had four extra legs and six extra eyes. I just might not enjoy snuggle-time as much.
Of course, in the real world, this is all unlikely to come to pass (God likes ‘come to pass’ rather than ‘happen’) as Matilda’s on a curfew and her cat flap closes at 6.15 pm these days, not re-opening until 7 in the morning. I mollycoddle her, everybody says so.