A writer needs companions. Meet mine.

Ellie and Lola raiding the fridge

Ellie and Lola raiding the fridge

I was tricked into these two by a crafty rescue centre person. I had just moved into my bachelorette pad and wanted a cat for company, so rang a local shelter to enquire about a sweet little three year old tabby who’d had a traumatic life, thinking I was doing a good thing by wanting to home an adult cat.

‘Oh no’ said the lady, having never met me. ‘I don’t think she’s right for you. However, I have two five month old kittens here who I think would be perfect.’

So off I go to meet Tiger and Angel (as they were originally called), “sucker” written on my forehead, and yes, they were super cute little balls of fun, so I foolishly handed over a donation and brought them home.

Two days.

Yes, two days is how long it took for those fluffy little bastards to destroy my house.

Favourite vase – Crash!

New sofa – Scraaatccchh.

Carpet – ‘Well hello new litter tray’.

They had to go back, I knew they had to. But then they looked at me with their big dark eyes and I realised in that moment that I was stuck with them for good.

So we have learnt to live together with a little compromise.

Lola jumps on to the kitchen worktop, I shout at her and put her on the floor, turn my back and she gets straight back up there. I buy a new rug, Ellie pisses on it. I shout at her and she defiantly pisses on it some more. The rug moves out.

My clothes are a magnet for cat hair and have holes from their claws, the towels are shredded and my glass dining room table has become their race track. Ellie on top of the table, Lola underneath as they chase each other round in circles.

And when they’re done playing they eat me out of house and home.

Whiskas say eight out of ten cats prefer their food. Well, mine are apparently the two who don’t. In fact, cat food goes out of the window the second human food comes into play and I have had to lock myself in the bathroom before just to get away from the little vultures so I can eat my dinner in peace.

Ellie is a weirdo who runs to the car to greet me each night I arrive home, chattering about her day so loudly that sometimes the neighbours stare. She wakes me up every morning at 6am by meowing the house down, is obsessed with Austrian smoked cheese and hiding my hairbands and thinks the hoover is an evil monster that is out to gobble her up.

Lola is a weirdo who like to get on top of my wardrobe and jump Indiana Jones style on to the bed. She spends much of the day hanging half out of the cat flap, much to the amusement of the people in my cul-de-sac, likes to have a five minute snuggle under the duvet with me the second I wake up and insists on drinking the glass of water I take to bed rather than the stuff in her own bowl.

We have been together for six years now and would I change my monkeys?

Never in a million years.