Years ago, I had a cat by the name of Celest. I acquired her when she was only a baby, turning up bedraggled and starving on my back door step one night. Oh she was all cute and innocent back then. The poor, stranded kitty. Little did we know that as she got older she would turn to a life of crime. If I had of known, back then, I would have tried some kitty counseling. An intervention. Something…
It all started when we moved back in with my parents. Perhaps she was acting out. Maybe it was all an attention seeking thing.
It started with the sock.
One, man’s sized footy sock.
Lying there in our back yard. We had no idea where it came from, so Mum just put it aside, thinking nothing more of it. It wasn’t long before another sock appeared in the yard. The next day, another. This was starting to get serious. Where were they coming from?
Then one day we saw the culprit. Celest was slinking home from another raid on the neighbours house with, yes, a sock in her mouth.
“OMG! Mum ! It’s Celest! She’s the sock-thief!”
Apparently the neighbours next door had three grown boys who were tradies and they wore two pairs of footy socks each with their work boots. Celest thought that these smelly, sweaty, socks were marvelous, and so she felt the need to pilfer. Pretty soon we had a basket of misbegotten socks. It fell upon my mortified Mother to confess to the neighbours about our criminal cat and return the loot. They thought it was hilarious.
Celest’s criminal ways did not stop when we moved to another house. Her booty became more varied, a child’s shirt, a small plastic giraffe, and underwear . But her main love was socks. She was always an odd little thing. She used to wait outside the bathroom door and when the shower was turned off, beg to be let in so she could rub against our wet legs. Odd.
Sadly, Celest died years ago after being hit by a car, but we always have a laugh when we remember our kooky kleptomaniac cat.
This post inspired by Dbs HERE