Another cat tale
Many moons ago, shortly after getting rid of the psycho ex, a friend of mine bought me a kitten as a girlfriend replacement.
It was a lovely little tortoise shell with a white belly and feet.
The friend had arranged this a couple of weeks in advance, so by the time I come to collect kitty the friend has become the new Mrs EvilM (13 years later and still going strong).
Anyway, together we named this mad ball of cuteness Scatty as she, quite frankly, was.
The new Mrs EvilM lived in Borough (south London to those not in the know), so I had to pick up the little kitten and bring it back to my place in Rainham (this was back in my National trust days).
So, I gets to sarf London to pick up kitty and I'm presented with a cardboard box with newspaper cellotaped over the top. I'm assured kitty is sleeping and is quite secure in the box.
Mrs EvilM was late for work, so after handing me the box she ran off to the station leaving me to follow very slowy and carefully indeed (I didn't want to wake up the kitty).
I managed to get to the station without the cat waking up and all seemed well until I started going down the escalator. The box started moving and shaking in my hands followed by a loud wailing noise.
What happened next should have been predictable enough to me, but I was young and foolish in those days. Remember the part in Alien where Sooty comes out of John Hurts stomach? It was a bit like that, this kitty launched itself through the newspaper in a bid for freedom. I managed to get one hand to it to try and push it down. Instead, it ran up my arm, onto my shoulder and then on my head.
So I'm going down the escalator (during rush hour) with a crazy kitten howling, wailing and pissing on my head. It had sunk it's claws into my skin so I couldn't get it off until I'd got to the bottom and put the box down. Then with both hands I was able to peel it off and shove it back into the box. I had to cover it with my coat before I could contain it. Funny how there where hundreds of people going passed, but none of them stopped to help (maybe they couldn't see what with the tears in there eyes from all the howling laughter - thank god this was before camera phones).
Luckily it calmed down a bit and when we got on the tube it was happy to sit in the box and have it's head stroked by a couple of kids all the way home.

Scatty died last year of heart failure. It was a bit of a shock as she'd reached the age of 12 without ever slowing down one bit. Crazy little thing never did grow up much in size and used to follow me about everywhere (and drove me mad in the process).
Still miss her loads *sniff*



poof
(EvilMeister, Tue 12 Jun 2007, 18:10, Reply)