So you know how you take some random crap up to your bedroom to place neatly into its designated spot in your immaculate cupboard (aka stuff into an overflowing drawer), and there’s a cat curled up on your bed and you say to yourself, “How peculiar.” Because:
1) You talk to yourself a lot
2) You love the word peculiar
3) You don’t own a cat
Then the cat opens an eye, yawns, stretches and completely ignores you. So you say, “Hey puss, time to go home.” And the cat opens its other eye, looks at you in that ‘do-you-know-who-I-am’ way that only cats can pull off and you realise that this cat ain’t going anywhere.
So you decide to pick up said pussy and carry it outside, but halfway down the stairs the cat goes completely limp and hangs from your arms like a sack of potatoes. Worried that you have managed to murder a poor, innocent creature you gently place the cat on the floor only for it to shoot back up the stairs like a bat out of Hell. You then spend over an hour chasing the feline equivalent of Usain Bolt from room-to-room. The cat, deciding this is great fun, plays the cat version of hide and seek. Eventually, you fall into an exhausted heap on the living room floor and scream at your nemesis, “Take the damn house, it’s yours!”
The cat then flicks its tail, puts its nose in the air and walks out of the back door. You then spend the rest of the day cleaning up enough cat hair to stuff an average duvet. This overfills the vacuum, which explains the smell of burning rubber that’s been searing off a layer of your lungs for the last half an hour………..AND THAT’S WHY I NEED A NEW HOOVER!