Ruby Grimshaw’s cat isn’t the outdoorsy type

I wish I could explain to Bella, my cat, what a time of extreme discomfort – if not absolute hell – is in store for her. She has not yet recovered from when my handyman Nick used to arrive every day with his little mutt, Molly. Bella would throw herself through the cat flap before he had finished knocking, and since then any bang on the front door elicits the same reaction from her. When the coast is clear or she realises that the visitor is not a noisy builder or anyone with a dog, she will creep back inside.

Bella, by birth, is a feral cat, but she refuses to admit to it. She was born at the riding school in a stable, which makes one wonder why she wasn’t called Noel or Mary or even Gabby (Angel Gabriel?). Daughter C calls her Fat Betty, which is a little unkind. Bella hated the great outdoors and refused to sleep in the cosy little bed built for her in the barn. Unfortunately the owner had a cat allergy so when Bella sneaked into the mobile home and hid under a chair, his eyes would start streaming and Bella would quickly be discovered. Which is why I said I would have her.

“She does not believe in exercise and adores food, sleep, laps, fires and hot water bottles”

I can still remember the ecstatic look of unbelief in Bella’s eyes when she saw an open fire for the first time. She realised there was a cat heaven. She does not believe in exercise, and adores food, sleep, laps, fires and hot water bottles. She only goes outside to do her business, and only as far as is absolutely necessary. After the recent snow I went into the garden and found a flower pot only a few yards from the back door. “So that’s where you’ve done your jobs!” I said out loud, as people do who live on their own with cats. “And that’s not the only place!” came an aggrieved voice from over the fence. I’m so glad I remembered to give my neighbours a Christmas card…

So when the builders arrive to do my room-in-the-roof next month, Bella is going to have to take to the garden during the day for about six weeks. The thought of having builders in, the roof open to the sky and March winds whipping through the house does not appeal to me, either.

Would anyone offer a room to a charming old biddy and her cat for six weeks? We’ll bring our own cat tray.