The saga of Thug, aka Drang, aka The Purring Death, was
drawing to a close. His owners kept him in for a few weeks to get him
settle back in and our other cats relaxed again, even to the point of
Ginge returning to a favourite night-time spot between the pillows,
purring in my ear. It’s not perfect - Ginge and Piper have
indicated their displeasure that their preferred point of access to
the house through the fan-light window is now blocked, but it seemed
like a sensible precaution,
As it turns out, an essential precaution. Thug is back,
and he still doesn’t understand cat-flaps.
I had just got back from a day working in Plymouth,
returning via Cornwall Farmers, and there was young Thug, eager and
perky, just wanting to be loved. The fact that I had a van-load of
sheep and poultry feed to shift was irrelevant.
In the end, we compromised – a certain amount of
Thug-loving and then he got to follow me around as I carried 25kg
feed sacks from van to store. That had to include heavy hints that I
should open the back door, offer snacks, make sure the duvets were
set right for wiping his paws – the usual. The hints got heavier
when nothing was delivered. (This all suggested that an incident of
scrabbling at windows at four in the morning a few days previously
was probably Thug.)
In due course, the van was empty and, whilst Thug is a
practising psychopath, he is also very loving and trusting (unless
you happen to be another cat), so getting him boxed up and in the
back of the van was easy. Then it was just a drive down the hill to
drop him off.
The very next day... there was Thug, in search of love,
food and a comfy bed. He was more wary about the van this time, but
my partner joined the game. A bit of stroking and Thug was lured
back into captivity and down the hill in the new Cat Taxi service,
straight in to home, into the large bag of dog food for a snack. And
I do mean in. For some reason, Thug is partial to dog food,
and all the better eaten straight from the bag, leaving paw-prints on
the inside just to show he was there.
After a few days respite... Taxi!
The incidence of Thug visits has dropped off. From time
to time, I email his owners to give the Drang Report, which really
ought to start with something like early heavy down-paws will lead to
light outbreaks of violence later in the day. He still comes to
visit, but for the last week my partner has been away with the
van. No taxi service means that Thug has to walk home which has
clearly taken the shine off things. OK, strictly speaking, Thug is
not impressed with being driven down the hill. However, when he is
hanging around, trying to get in, we can walk round the house and use
the front door because he has worked out that the front of the house
is the Cat Taxi pick-up zone. The reduction in visits is
probably down to the lack of snacks and warm duvets to relax on.
Today, he was back again, wailing outside the window,
wailing on the back door step, a terribly sad and mistreated moggy
desperately in need of love. And other cats to bite. It’s nice to
see him, I do miss him, but we have to keep discouraging him for the
sake of the others. Ginge is still spooky, and insecure about her
purring-gooseberry routine between the pillows, whilst Piper’s fur
is just starting to grow back properly from the last time Thug bit
him.
For now, we are all coping.
I can see Summer being a problem – doors and windows
open, easy access for our visiting Ginger yo-yo.
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