Fur from the Madding Crowd

One of the delights of having a little ball of fluff helping you out when you’re renovating, is that the little tinker tends to pick up anything small, and wander off with it. Particularly as this little small creature is in training to become a good ratter, and so likes to wander off with pens, screwdrivers, and once even a small hammer to take into a corner and chew to death.

Bluebelle, the Blue Point Himalayan cat

Right now I’m at the stage when I need to put a door back on the East wing bathroom. For some reason some anonymous idiot decided that it made sense to have an open plan bathroom; even more nonsensical when you consider that there are two open plan offices in the laundry at the back, and so everyone can hear when you go.

It is however rather impractical in a normal house: plus, the little ball of fluff tends to stick her head into holes in the floor, drains, and pretty much anything else she can find to play with, in between the usual bursts of eat-play-sleep, eat-play-sleep until the cows have, literally, gone to sleep.

So, to get around this, I needed a door, and the same idiots who took it off, also left it leaning against the wall in the West Wing: it’s a perfect fit, or would be if they hadn’t taken off the door jam, and replaced it with some fibre board from Bunnings.

A little bit of jiggery-poker with a spare bit of trim from the gents loos, freeing up the hinges with 3-in-1 (a lovely oil from the UK, that thankfully Woolworths in Australia import at vast expense) and back pops on the missing door.

Bluebelle: up on my shoulder, like any good cat

Alas, one other thing was missing: the door handles have small grub screws to hold the handle in place: they also look very much like a grub to a young cat, who after playing with it (you know, to ensure it is dead) for 20 minutes or so, when asked to hand it back, inconsiderately ran up the corridor with it between her teeth. I finally cornered her in the dining room, where with nowhere to go, she took one look at my trouser leg, jumped up it, dug her claws into my chest, and with a monumental effort launched herself onto my shoulders, where she sat like a rather contented parrot.

With a rather satisfied grin, she opened her mouth, and out popped my grub screw. I thanked her, as I was staunching the flow of blood from the large open wounds in my legs.