What Women Want

Anyone taking the time to read this needs to know a few things about me.

A. I don't like cats.
B. I had a recent infestation of rats in my attic.
C. I have a thing about Redheads with big bottoms.

All three of these admissions have become intrinsically linked and serve as a simple equation to the reason I now have a kitten living in my house.

A plus B multiplied by C equals D

D equals, me now having a kitten living in my house.

If you're interested what follows is a short tale of acceptance, compromise and the power of women.

My neighbourhood at night is run by a large, aging, tatty looking ginger tom cat called Brian.
Possibly feral as no one in the street has admitted to owning him or to take responsibility for his actions.
We have named him Brian due to his odd way of meowing, which he does outside my bedroom window every night. The noise that comes out of him sounds like this,
Bwwwwwwwiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaannnnnn.
A bit like Micheal Palins lisping Pilot in the Life of Brian.

When he's not trying to keep me awake he likes to spend his time rogering every female cat within a 5 mile radius, his most recent conquest being my neighbours cat.

Cue a lot of interest from the female residents of my house in the 2 kittens now living next door drawing them inexplicably in like a magnet.
I say 2 kittens as the cat gave birth outside, and brought them back over the space of 48 hours. I think Brian might have eaten the others.

With my wife perched on my lap in a low cut top and acting rather coquettishly, I could sense what was coming next quicker than a animal running for the hills prior to a Tsunami.

'Im not having a cat, and that's final' I pre-empted trying to air some masculine authority.

A marketing campaign then ensued, with the possible benefits of owning a cat listed thus.

1. They kill rats for a past time.

2. Its been proved that cat owners are less at risk of heart disease.

3. It will give our daughter some responsibility having a pet to care for.

4. And they're sooooooo cute.

My retort being

1. So have I for the last 2 weeks, quite successfully I might add.

2. That's total bollocks, im sure a 60 benson and hedges a day smoking, pork pie eating, beer guzzling couch potatoes arteries won't be magically unblocked by owning a cat.(that's not a description of my wife by the way, just a point of reference.)

3. She can gain responsibility by saving up her pocket money and buying her own cat in 20 years time when she moves out.

4. No they're not. Im immune to their feline charms.

But not a womans.
Batting her long eyelashes at me and wriggling said big bottom on my lap I made the mistake of saying

'Look, I'll think about it'. which in woman speak translates to 'Yes, definitely'

Coming home last week and finding a tiny little black ball of fluff sat on a cushion in my chair, confirmed that I was obviously mistaken and had actually whole heartedly agreed to having one.

Anyway a week in and my life is one of being randomly mugged by a small kitten, who seems to take great pleasure in climbing up my trousers, onto my back, then perched on my shoulder and viciously attacking my face.

My 4 year old boy and daughter were given the task of naming it, and they are currently debating whether it should be called, Big Poo Butty Butty or Henry The Eighth. (4 year olds current obsession and Daughters current favourite bit of history.)

I refer to it simply as that cat.

So a tale of acceptance, compromise and the Power of Women?...
...Ive accepted that when faced with the mighty adversary that is a wife there is no compromise.

Being such and ardent cat hater and now having one I started to question my core beliefs, maybe I don't really know what I want or believe in.

Maybe I wrongly judged male cat owners
Maybe I do like Glee, Girls Aloud, mineral water, woo- woos and nice shoes after all.

Maybe i haven't a clue what i'm talking about.