In case there was ever any doubt about the outcome, the cat won.
The original plan was to keep her indoors for at least a couple of weeks to make sure that she knew where she was after the big move back from my parents' house. It was a plan that the cat was always going to hate, especially after spending nine months enjoying a large garden in rural Buckinghamshire backing onto some fields. It was a battle of wills in which there was obviously only ever going to be one winner.
A short but effective campaign of pitiful yowling followed, accompanied by a lot of fuss about having to use a litter tray and some tactical charging about the house in an apparently permanent fit of pique at the manifold indignities imposed upon her.
In short, we gave up. There is surely nothing that can convey disapproval more effectively than a cat looking at you sternly with her ears slightly pinned back to indicate her distaste for you and her dismay at all your evidently cruel and unreasonable rules.
In the end, she escaped; leaping through the rungs of a stepladder as it was dragged -- too slowly! -- through the front door. When she was recaptured, after a short struggle, and dragged back inside, she made such a fuss by her cat flap that we ultimately gave up and just let her out. We locked the catflap again that night, but one final campaign of yowling incessantly in front of it made sure we didn't try that one again the following night.
It was all over. She'd won. Several days ahead of schedule, the cat can come and go as she pleases again. She doesn't go far, and actually spends most of her time indoors anyway, or within about 15m of our front door, but that was never the problem. The point is that she is CHOOSING to stay indoors and isn't being FORCED to by her cruel and unreasonable owners.
We had our revenge this morning though: worming drops.
How people manage to cope with teenagers is beyond me. I can't even manage to control a cat. She has me wrapped around her paws and everyone knows it.
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