Cats, black dogs and men in hats.

Our new kitten is a bit loopy. She looked pretty calm at the rescue centre. Since we got her home she’s revealed herself to be, in fact, pretty frisky, pretty squeaky and pretty daft. She tries to get in the oven while the grill’s on, she leaps at my laptop screen anytime anything at all happens on it, and she attacks the kids’ toes when they’re eating their dinner.

Friends have cats that saunter, sleep, roll and yawn. Cats who allow you to poke them without trying to take your hand off at the wrist. Cats who don’t get brought home from outside the pub by nice young men at half past eleven at night. But somehow we always seems to end up with the hyperactive, high-maintenance ones. I’m starting to wonder whether I’m drawn to them without even knowing it, or whether – more worryingly – I MAKE them like that. Hm.

In life I find certain similarities between the people I gravitate towards, even though when I’m drawn to them I don’t know that thing about them. If that makes sense. For example, I seem to root out people who play fretted instruments, men who wear hats, those who weren’t allowed to watch ITV as children and the moderately depressed. I bear no responsibility for the first three traits, and hope I’m not the cause of the last.

So maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the same with cats. The kittens are loopy BEFORE I get my hands on them. I am not to blame.

Thank God for that.