Neighbour seeks adoption

A dead bird has been deposited on my front doorstep. I have my suspicions I know who left it there.

I found it when Jeanette came running down the path and knocked on my door to ask if I could move my car to let the firewood delivery truck down the lane.

I stepped over the rather unappetising little grey mass of feathers and went to move my car. A charming, attractive young woman - hardly my idea of a traditional wood chopper - jumped out of the delivery truck to acknowledge her thanks before manoevering down the lane and restocking our woodpile.

Back to my doorstep and the mystery of the dead sparrow, and all the evidence points to the mangy cat that lives in the end cottage.

A couple of weeks ago, my mother and her friend Allan came to visit. I gave a small dinner party to introduce them to my friends, and invited Dawn and Jeanette. It is a bit of a squeeze to get five of us round my dining table designed for four, but we manage.

A jolly evening with lots of chatter ensues. I serve miniature haggis, beef casserole and poached pears with raspberries. All washed down with wine or whisky, as your taste prefers.

When it comes time for the guests to leave, I open the front door and let out a screech.

There is a large brown cat sitting on the doormat, staring fixedly into my cottage. She (or he) does not move or appear startled at my sudden appearance and the light that floods over her (or him).

Mum, Allan, Dawn and Jeanette all peer around the door at the cat, who remains motionless, despite she (or he) being the centre of attention. I don’t much like the look of him – he has a ferocious glint in his eye. If I open the door too wide, he might try to come in, or leap on one of my guests, clawing at them. His fur is all matted. He might even have fleas.

I shut the door while we consider what to do.

“I think it’s Elaine and Ronnie’s cat,” says Jeanette. “They inherited it from the previous owners. It refused to leave.”

“Well, what’s it doing here?” I ask. “I’ve never seen it before.”

I open the front door again, imagining he (or she) will have tootled off by now. Nope – still there: silent, stationary and staring at me rather fiercely - with mad intent, I fear.

Finally I take the bull by the horns – or rather, the moggy by the ears – clap my hands loudly, and ‘shoo’ him (or her) away.

It is then safe for my guests to leave with Jeanette and I leading the way by torchlight down the path, prepared to fight off the local domestic wildlife if necessary.

End of story? Perhaps not. Cats, like elephants, have long memories and a snubbed cat is not a cat that you would care to have as a neighbour. Which is why I think today’s little gift of a half-chewed bird is from the mangy moggy.

My theory is that she (or he) wants to be adopted by me, and this is just the second stage in her carefully thought out charm offensive, having discovered merely sitting it out on my doorstep was a miserable failure. She was obviously attracted to my cottage by the party, rightly concluding that food, a warm fire and a cosy bed would be on offer on the other side of the door.

I am not fooled. Not remotely. Today’s Scotsman has a cautionary tale for any person thinking of unlawful cat adoption.

When Smudge went missing, his owner Nickie was heartbroken. When Smudge rocked up home six months later, she was delighted. That is, until the Macdonalds who found Smudge and looked after him during his sojourn away, even re-christening him Oscar, tried to claim him back.

The Macdonalds are heartbroken, cannot sleep and have health problems associated with losing Oscar/Smudge. Their dog, Hamish, not previously a cat lover is also ‘inconsolable’. Meanwhile Nickie is making it plain she has no intention of relinquishing her pet kitty again.

Passions are running high, mediation has failed, the custody battle has escalated and is now being fought out in Stornoway Sheriff Court.

So right now I am going to give the moribund wee birdie a ceremonial burial in the garbage bin. I like Elaine and Ronnie too much to risk giving their cat any indication that his (or her) crush on me may be reciprocated.