A Cat Called Merlot

It’s Friday. The flat is quiet. I call the woman I share my life with, Queenie. It’s not real name but it’s what cats call their significant human. Anyhow, I digress… I decide to borrow Queenie’s lap top whilst she is out on her  walk, to do my Blog. It’s an Apple. Not a very imaginative name, I feel. I have a brief window of opportunity before she arrives home to feed me and join her friends for an online dance party. It’s a noisy affair, where everyone talks over each other before throwing themselves around their kitchens for half an hour, to dreadful music. It’s their way of keeping in touch and keeping fit. It’s my cue to exit through the cat flap until it’s over.

I’ve decided COVID-19 is a bit like cat flu with a touch of insanity. Whilst the government is slowly lifting their lockdown rules, things apparently won’t be back to “normal” for months, if ever. There was a moment of panic at the start that nobody would be left to open the tins or pouches but thankfully infection rates are slowing, so I won’t have to learn to hunt again. I was sitting on the wall opposite the pharmacy only last week and watched people ‘social distancing’, in queues. I’d like to point out that cats invented ‘social distancing’ and at least we’re good at it! Knowing how humans love a queue, they must have been in their element. This one went on for miles and they stood in it for half the morning in silence, with their strange face coverings, bad hair and with a deranged look in their eyes. At this rate, I reckon ‘lock down’ might well result in ‘lock up’ for some of them.

Queenie sat down in the afternoon to watch the news. I sat on her lap whilst she raised her voice at the TV. Is it my imagination or do all the Ministers look the same: shifty and terrified? They keep referencing Sage. Where is he or she? The big blonde one with the floppy hair is back in charge so we can all rest easy… He’s had another child but nobody’s quite certain how many litters he’s had, to date. Still, who’s counting? Certainly not the Chancellor of the Exchequer as he’s too busy! All the while the news was on, Queenie kept wobbling around with agitation and it made me feel motion sick, so I gave her a bit of a nip to show my displeasure, jumped down and went out.   

When I came back in, she was on Zoom with her writing group. As usual, I was paraded in front of the camera so everyone could bill and coo. I just glared and listened to them reading their creations aloud, thinking I could teach them a thing or two. 

Yesterday evening, I popped down to see my girlfriend, Lola, who lives in the next road. I met her on the  feline dating app, YOWL. Like me, she’s a tabby but delicate as a flower. She’s not in. I hope the young grey and white who lives a few doors down isn’t trying to muscle in. I’ll have a word when I next see him trotting across my garden with a cocky look on his face. Disappointed, I stomp off home to find Queenie comfort eating, half way through a packet of chocolate biscuits and on a second glass of red wine. She’ll need to dance more, that’s for sure or she’ll end up obese. At least her lap is spreading as her thighs are expanding, which is good news for me. Wondering where Lola is, I settle down on the back of the chair and stare gloomily out of the window.