I used to work with someone who, whenever he did something wrong, said “The devil made me do it”. It was an old family saying, and became a standing joke with him and his children.
Recently, Matilda has started being a little monkey. Having started off frightened out of her skin, she’s now coming to terms with the house. Although she’s still a little wary, she’ll find us if we’re in another room, and often comes to get us from the dining room if she thinks we’ve spent too long over dinner.
Also, now that we can no longer reasonably contain her downstairs, she’s starting wandering onto other floors. We try to discourage her, and she always looks a little guilty if I spot her walking back down the stairs.
Last week, we lost her completely. After some exploration, she was discovered curled up on our bed. She tried her best innocent “I didn’t know I wasn’t allowed” look, but wasn’t fooling anyone.
Yesterday, we lost her again. My first thought was: “She’s on the bed, little sod”, but no, she wasn’t there. Nor was she in any of the other upstairs rooms, outside, in the cellar, in the attic. I started another round of slightly more frantic searching, and noticed that the door to the wardrobe, which I was sure I’d closed, was now open…
Sure enough, out came the cat. She’d ignored us when we first came in the room, ignored us calling for her, and was obviously hoping not to be found.
I blame the scary stone cat we found in the garden. I swear that as she scuttled down the stairs with her tail between her legs, Matilda shot me a look that said “It’s not my fault. The evil cat made me do it…”