I grew up with cats. That an understatement. We had cat's in every nook and cranny of my childhood home. Plus there were dogs, the occasional rabbit, guinea pig, gerbil and tropical fish. We were more Gerald Durrell than Gerald Durrell himself.
Last night we went to dinner with The Spaniards. I'd asked the florists to put together a bunch of red and yellow flowers as an appropriate gift. I guess yellow, pink and orange was close-ish.
They have a cat. A fat cat. In times past it has been known to visit the office and make itself comfortable. When here it ruled the roost. It certainly rules the roost at home. When we arrived it was very pleased to have the extra attention that two guests meant. But as the evening went on, its ears went down and tail began wagging as our conversation got more animated and Gordy felt unable to postulate his own views. Attempting to regain the centre of attention involved jumping up all sorts of places that he shouldn't. But clearly in his mind it wasn't enough. So as we sat at the dining table, he casually swaggered to one side of the room and pee-ed everywhere. There was a slight air of panic from our hosts as they cleared up. There was a short burst of hysterical laughter as The Cat's Mother and I spied the peeing feline move to the other side of the room where it then squatted and dumped the contents of its bowel on the floor.
Ignore cats at your peril.