Owning the most vocal cat in West Yorkshire, it was inevitable that one day we would need to invest in a cat-flap so that she could treat the house as the B&B most felines are accustomed to. Jon fitted it yesterday and together we restrained and prised her stubbornness through the microchip reader in order to enable the contraption to work effectively. She tried to escape of course, and after a few attempts did get the better of us. The long and short of it being, the microchip reader didn't want to work and now we're left with a cat-flap that has the ability to welcome every cat and his dog. It's fixable, though, so for now our rather errant cat can enjoy her freedom both inside and out.
From the inside, she stares beyond the confines of the garden, scouring the neighbourhood fencing, the dilemma of turning left or right and whose property she can peruse for whatever purpose she decides. From the outside, she looks in at the warmth of a family kitchen, the people whose hands that feed her pottering about, the chit-chat of familiar voices ringing out in the atmosphere. Her little world has expanded beyond the demands of confinement, the need to be outside where she roams the grass that's greener and the pavements that lead to adventure; or the inside where affection awaits, a cosy bed and the chaos of furniture and windowsills and venetian blinds that envelope her in security.
All she ever wanted was a forever family to love her, to cherish her, to offer her pleasant dreams and lasting friendship. She found it. We all did.