We are hoping grumpy cat Gertie will keep us on as staff - Susan Morrison
Dogs have owners, cats have staff and our son was very much the major domo for Gertie, our old black cat. He was also her best mate. She followed him about all day and curled up on his bed at night.
She adored him. Still does when he visits. But now she is left with two considerably less satisfactory humans to do her bidding and we would not get a good reference.
We fill her food bowl with the same stuff her previous butler put down. Gertie transforms into a bratty TIkTok foodie influencer presented with a disappointing smashed avocado on sourdough. And yes, cats can sneer.
Her water bowl is a source of constant disappointment. She stares balefully at me while I’m trying to watch Slow Horses. I miss major plot twists because I have to go refill a bowl which turns out to be full.
Even when we do top it up, this water is clearly sub-par. She’ll plonk a disdainful paw into the bowl and then shake it vigorously, drops flying in all directions. Mainly my direction, actually.
At night, she prowls the house looking for her pal. She wasn’t a particularly noisy cat, but lately she has, as young people would say, found her voice.
It's a remarkable combination of howl, meow and the burbling sound mother cats use to communicate with kittens. It's quite sweet, but not at 2.15am.
She’s convinced we’re hiding him somewhere and since she used to find him primarily under a duvet, she thinks he must be there. This means climbing over both my husband and me.
For a small cat, she’s got a bit of heft to her. She can actually push me over, then settle on my chest, green eyes levelled at mine. I know this, because my eyes are well open. Then she purrs loudly while generating gigawatts of heat. It’s the menopause in feline form.
Once she is sure I am fully awake and overheated, she slopes off, back into his empty bedroom to do a bit of howling.
I can’t get mad at her, though. I know how she feels