Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
And the cushions thing was getting out of hand, frankly. Natalie has two hobbies when
the weather turns: she picks up animal poo (actually a year-round occupation) and turns the
humble cushion from a soft-furnishings accessory into an interior design plague. I swear,
when I die I will be neither buried nor cremated but stuffed into a fabric case and just left on
the sofa for all eternity. People will pop by and exclaim: 'Ooh, that's a nice cushion! Is it a
Cath Kidston?'
'No. It's my dead husband.'
The place had become like the children's ball room at Ikea, only full of cushions and inten-
ded for use only by adult Laura Ashley fetishists. It had become impossible over the last few
years to sit on a chair or settee comfortably; every seat had piles of cushions on it. It was
taking half an hour to get to bed because of all the cushions that had to be removed from the
duvet beforehand; and woe betide anyone who puts them back in the wrong place. I had to
start taking pictures on my phone of sofas and beds before I used them, so that I could get the
myriad of cushions back into their rightful spot before a straggler was spotted and blame was
apportioned.
We lived in fear.
And it wasn't just the cushions. My slippers, recently imported beautiful suede, paisley-lined
moccasins, fell apart the minute I put them on. The cats, it seemed, had thought it would be
a bit of a wheeze to just chew all the stitching off and then leave the things looking intact
- but would they listen as I told them off? Of course not, because they were watching the
football on the television. They were, all three, lined up in front of the screen watching the
football until, at half time, they all marched off and started fighting. It seems we've got cats
that in some strange twist on the Hindu concept of reincarnation used to be 1970s football
hooligans! Thérence meanwhile was developing his own brand of chaos. He had started hid-
ing things. He had hidden one of Maurice's slippers and though we turned the place upside
down it could not be found - equally vanished without trace was the blue toilet cleaner con-
traption that sits in the loo. Where was he putting these things?
Pierrot was constantly sneaking into the kitchen and eating the cat's food; a refreshing
change actually as, in a bizarre supplement to his not inconsiderable diet, he had taken to
eating the cats' excrement. Filthy animal. I mean, where's the dignity in that? He's part King
Charles spaniel for God's sake, is this how far royalty has fallen? Perhaps we'd misjudged
him; maybe he was just trying to help Natalie by collecting up some of the poo on her be-
half? Either way, it was disgusting. You didn't mention that in the 'Circle of Life' did you, Sir
Elton?
Toby felt harassed as well, as firstly Thérence would pull his tail and then the cats, moment-
arily taking their eyes off the television, would jump on his back and try to ride him. He's a
sweet-natured dog (thick, but sweet-natured), so rather than harm the cats or even warn them
