Following our trip to the vet last weekend, I am now in the middle of a silent battle with George.
Most cats have several spots they like to sit in: on the bed at night, sprawling around so that you have to make yourself small enough to fit alongside them; on a sunny windowsill in the morning, under a tree in the afternoon. George has one favourite spot at a time, sticking to the same place for several weeks before moving on to another one. He can be very determined when he decides on a new favourite spot.
In this case he has chosen my favourite chair, the one I do most of my writing in. It’s a very old chair which was handed down in my family and which I had re-upholstered and re-covered a few years ago to make it more comfortable and more attractive. It sits in the conservatory, where I like to write so that I can see the sky and the weather, and make the most of any available sunshine. I have all the books and magazines I’m reading and my writing notebooks and a stationery basket within reach.
He planned his campaign well by first taking up position on the back of the chair, where he waited patiently for some time until I got up from the seat and went into the kitchen. I came back to find him curled up on the nice white fluffy cushion, and it was obvious he had no intention of moving. I know if I move him from there he will just keep coming back, now that he has designated that chair his favourite spot.
I suppose I’ll just have to abandon all hope of finishing my romantic suspense thriller or completing the final edit of my murder mystery until he moves on in a few weeks’ time. Unless I can regain possession of it by stealth – but I have a feeling I am not as crafty or as determined as George is, so my chances aren’t very good.