The cat whisperer

Recently I had the interesting experience of being exposed to my boyfriend's mum's secret talent.

Before your mind goes wandering, it's nothing dirty, swingery or enough to give you nightmares. It's something quite erm... different.

I don't know whether you know this, but I'm pretty keen on cats. And so is she. So much so, that she has sort-of-gone-and-got-six of them.

But after years of knowing her, I have never realised the depth of the pure spiritual connection that she has with these animals.

She called me outside one muggy afternoon and said, 'Hey, look at this, Hannah'.

And I did.

She clapped loudly and called out 'WALKIES'.

Six cats, each one previously amusing themselves in various corners of the house with fake mice, licking themselves in an undignified manner and just plain sleeping, were instantly alert.

One by one they darted from their positions and slowly formed into a distinct line behind her.

She then opened the gate at the bottom of the garden and preceeded to 'walk them' around a path, all constantly in this line formation, like the pied piper of felines.


I tell you, I was in awe. My boyfriend was full of pride - which at the time looked a little like embarrassment and humiliation, but I'm sure it was pride.

No matter what I do, I cannot cause this effect with my two cats at home.

The cat whisperer is too talented for the likes of me.

Cats screw with your brain. Fact.

When I was 14, pubescent and gangly, we got Olly. Olly the cat was fluffy, adorable and when he looked at you, your heart melted like Vienetta in your nan's 35 year old freezer.


Then a few years ago, after Olly's companion died, we got Sophie.


And Sophie is actually out to get me.


Don't get it twisted, she's not violent, and on the outside she looks utterly harmless. Her claws remain firmly in her tiny padded feet and her teeth are only showcased when she yawns, but I can honestly say she is evil.


Why? You ask. Here's why. 


Example #1: The Stare-Glare. 

So here's the scenario. I walk in to my room and clock Sophie.

She'll be on the radiator just maxing and relaxing and I will look at her joyfully. An 'awwww' may even slip out of my mouth.

I will then turn away from her, content with her presence, and sit at my desk, writing or stalking people avidly on Facebook.

But there's no denying it...there is a dark prickly sensation creeping up my back as if someone is watching me....

I flip around as fast as my Argos chair can go, simultaneously thinking of a list of things I can use to attack potential intruder:

1) hairspray;
2) my hair brush;
3) a teaspoon out of my yoghurt pot, definitely left there for a good few days.

However, there is no one there. Just Sophie. 


I chortle to myself and casually glide back round to face the screen, sure in my mind that my darling cat is happily sleeping behind me.


But still, I swear I can feel....

I stop. This is ridiculous.

I turn slowly round on my swivel chair, breathing hard, like I'm expecting a man with a chain-saw to be sweating behind me...

And still, there's just Sophie. But she's not asleep. 

I lock onto her pensive, creepy ass glare and she just stares. Stares. With those slitty little cat eyes. Directly into my soul.

Then I turn the hair dryer on and she shits herself and runs out the room.

Hannah-  1 - Sophie - 0.


Example #2: The Murderer.

I was home alone the other night, minding my own business, watching some programme about penguins and how awesome they are, when Sophie comes in.

But she is not alone.


She walks right up to me, a poor bird in her mouth, gasping at his last breaths, and lays it next to my NAKED feet.

And I SWEAR, I swear she then looked at me and we had AT LEAST six seconds of intense eye contact.



Hannah - 1 - Sophie - 1.



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This is all a power game.

I'm watching you Sophie, don't you worry. I'm watching YOU. 


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Merry Easter

Merry Easter to one and all!

I'm going to keep hold of the pagan obsession with eggs and chicks and not give you a picture of Jesus but give you this instead:

Toilets, Work and Horrible Disasters

I have a terrible problem. And, like most fully grown real-life adult people, it's with work.

Don't get me wrong (especially you, Boss) I love my job.

But there is still one thing. One little thing that causes my blood to boil and my forehead to start sweating profusely.

And that's the toilets.

Urban Dictionary says this about a toilet:

1.	Toilet	1001 up, 112 down
	A place to sit and think. Also a good place to take a plop. "I'm going to go to the toilet and figure this out." buy toilet mugs & shirts

That's right, Urban Dictionary. Toilets are a place to have a little relax; some may say a place to think about the world and put it to right. A place to let your inhibitions (and bowels) go.

But my work's rest rooms ignore all previous rules about toilet sancdom. Nay, they get the rules, cock one leg up and pee all over them. Then, to carry on the analogy, throw the said rules down their cruel stained basins and flush with a powerful vigor only relative to the strenght of Lance Armstrong's lies.

Wow, what a mouthful.

These toilets are hellish for many reasons, but I've decided on the core three below.


1) The Walls.

To relax and allow toileting to become a calm experience, privacy is key. Privacy is in fact vital to this.

But, the walls on these cubicles are so painfully thin, you can hear the person in the next cubicle doing EVERYTHING, and I mean everything.

No one wants to hear Sandra from IT's Chicken Tikka Curry coming out, but I'm ashamed to say after one year at my office I can intuitively name dinners from the sounds coming from the toilet.

What can I say? It's a talent.

Due to this issue, us ladies have a secret understanding. When entering the toilet, if I have a companion in there, I nod politely at my toilet-associate, and thus the code begins.

Toilet code #1:
Flush the toilet before you have even unzipped your flies. 

If one flushes the toilet as soon as they get into the cubicle when another attendee is in the cubicle next door, it allows  the other person to let rip with whatever they desire to do. Pipe-noise and handle pumping included, I have worked out that this gives the Toileter 20 seconds of background noise. Those precious 20 seconds means that you can no longer fear over-hearing and being subjected to hardcore office gossip as the 'farter on floor five.'

Toilet code #2:
Put the hand dryer on. 

Even though the hand dryer has the power of a baby breathing on your hands, the tessid toilet agreement states that if you are by the sinks, you must put this on in order to allow the person in the cubicle to have a small ten second window of privacy.

Some kinder souls amongst us even attempt to dry our hands by this wheezy bit of warm air so that the companion in the cubicle can plop and read the entirety of War and Peace by the time the room regains its silence.


2) The Ability To Toilet

Or lack of.

My office is a standard one in a block of around ten companies. As far as I'm aware, child labour is still illegal. And we don't employ people under sixteen. So, using simple mathematics that means that ALL people in the office blocks are adults.

So why, please tell me why, can NONE of them use the toilet in the correct fashion?

I am fully aware that some people may have complications going to the toilet. But, all, all of the three toilets we have on offer have urine/floaters/shed load of toilet paper thrown all around them.

3) The Ability to Flush

Again, or lack of.

Last but not least, my office seems to physically be unable to use the device which is known as 'The Flush Handle'.

It's a small device, some may say lever, which usually resides on the toilet 'upper-deck' as I fondly call it. It's usually not that hard to find.

See I've always been taught that the toileting goes as follows:
- Sit
- Do
-Flush

It's a three stage process. If you miss out one of those stages then the whole thing goes to pot.

I mean....
- Sit
- Flush

what's the point in that?

-Flush
-Do

Far too complex, uniformly incorrect and leads to a powerful amount of 'splash back'.

So why do people miss out the last hurdle, the final step in three? It causes a great strain as one can never quite relax as to what they may find in the toilet bowel of nightmares.

The next person is then severely scarred from their toiletting experience by seeing the INSIDE OF ANOTHER PERSON.


I hope you feel empathy towards my toileting disaster. 

Tell me your thoughts - I need guidance!