Poor Ninja, she’s just not a people person.
Our recent trip to Gran Canaria did us no favours in her affections. I blame English Dad for bumbling the initial attempt at putting her in the cat carrier (in his defence, she did plant all four paws around the edge of the little door and arch her back whilst attempting to bite him too… he had no choice but to let her go). After that we spent a good half an hour chasing her around the house until I finally squashed her, snarling and hissing, two handed against the lounge carpet, yelling ‘bring the cat box! Quick!’. In the end we had to upend the box and plop her into it, unceremoniously and from a bit of a height (it was the only way without losing several digits… As it was I suffered several scratches and a bite to the hand).
All this trauma, added to a week in the cattery (’she’s been an angel’, the cattery manager mumbled, unconvincingly, without looking me in the eye and simultaneously relieving me of 80 quid) means that she now eyes us warily from the corner of the room and manages to duck any attempt at being stroked or touched in any way unless she can actually see a sachet of cat food being opened, in which case she’ll suffer a small ear scritch, just as a small ‘food tax’.
We’ve decided she needs a friend. ‘It might bring out her mothering instincts’, someone on twitter said hopefully, while we all rolled around laughing. ‘She might kill it’ said someone else, while we nodded thoughtfully… ‘maybe we could buy it some tiny body armour?’ suggested the dude.
Anyhoo, we’ve decided on a Bengal, as we think they’ve got strong personalities, which you’d probably need, being the Ninja’s household minion… and we’ve chosen this little silver spotted girl (obviously she’s too tiny to leave her mum yet).
I want to call her Moët (properly pronounced, with the ‘t’), but I imagine she’ll end up being called Slash or Barry something if the brethren get their way. Wish her luck.