Gary

We inherited Gary from the people over the road when they moved overseas. His name was Puss then and it’s a wonder he’d come and join us given my partner used to throw water over him when he’d sit at our front door and yowl at 2am just to check we were awake.

I wanted to call him Graeme but I couldn’t sell that to the kids. Gary is Sponge Bob Square Pants’ pet snail who meows – so we settled on that.

I’m putting out there right now – Gary is a slut. There isn’t an open for inspection in the street where you can’t find him stretched out on the display furniture waiting for all the neighbours to ask pertinently “Who’s is that cat!?’ before they bang on about how much he hangs out at their place. I don’t own up.

But it came to a bit of a head late last year when we hadn’t seen him for weeks because he’d pretty much moved in with the elderly lady down the road. We don’t let him sleep inside and okay, with the chaos at our place it’s hardly conducive to a napping lap cat. However, he is our cat, so we asked if they could please stop feeding him and letting him sleep in their constantly 24 degrees-warm house.

A couple of weeks later, and still no sign of Gary, but one of the elderly lady's sons knocks on the door. The cat has a sore foot and needs to go to the vet. Tempted though I was to suggest they take it to the vet and have the bill as well, for once, I showed restraint.

I asked the vets advise. Tricky, he said. Either give them the cat or put up with it. Gary has character, we like him. He sits on the letterbox when he hears my car so he can ‘surf’ as I swing open the gate. He’s our cat god damn it!!

I had planned to post a photo of him – he’s big and orange – but naturally, I can’t find him.

So, thoughts? Here are some options as I see it:
 A. Let it go. He clearly hates you all.

       B. Put your foot down and claim him back. You’re paying the bills.
 C. Suck it up. Pay the bills – after all you do work!! Think of the joy he’s brings others.
 D. Fix the problem. Have him put down.