Now books are strictly out of bounds and she has had to console herself with large overdoses of catnip. But at least the first editions are safe...
Friday, 2 November 2007
A Book-loving Cat
Rosie, my small female long-haried tortoiseshell has aquired a new vice. It's books. No, she hasn't learned to read. With a brain roughly the size of a small garden pea, it took her about seven years to learn how to open doors, so reading is just a tad beyond her. For some reason however, after being surrounded by books for many years she has just discovered that they smell, er, interesting. She has always had a strange fetish for smelly socks and shoes; in particular walking boots after they have been tramped through mounds of ripe cow-manure send her into paroxyms of delight. And now she has developed the same feeling about books. Lately I have had to rescue a few rather battered specimens which were unwisely left lying around and fell foul of her not so tender ministrations. After being rubbed against ecstatically, drooled over and chewed the poor things were shadows of their former selves.