The crime scene
Our living room. Contains the usual stuff, nothing flash but comfortable.
The crime
Criminal damage.
The victim
Our cost us quite a bit when we bought it armchair. Lives in a corner of the room looking out into the garden, tucked behind one of the sofas. About 13 years old. In generally good nick. Until now.
The evidence
The witnesses
"I swear it wasn't me".
"Nope, didn't see a thing".
The accused
Goes by the name of Bea. Three year old tabby. Looks like butter wouldn't melt. Has extremely sharp claws but categorically refuses to use a scratching post. Also has form: criminal damage to a stair carpet and wanton carving of numerous spindles on the staircase, both of which have only just been replaced (the carpet) and repaired (the spindles). And she ripped a shirt. Whilst I was wearing it. Oh yes, and she's been found guilty of GBH to quite a few butterflies. Has exercised the right to remain silent throughout the investigation, apart from mewling when she wants feeding/letting out/letting in, but this incident has all the hallmarks of her MO.
The verdict
Unanimous. Guilty.
The sentence
For her: non custodial with a requirement to undertake some sort of aversion/diversion therapy. Any suggestions?
For us: spending our savings on new seating. But only when the furniture scratching stops.
****
One of my Christmas presents was this very funny book. Well, funny if you live with/understand/love cats. This poem could have been composed by our resident delinquent :
SCRATCH
Scratch scratch scratch
Scratch scratch scratch
Scratch scratch
Scratch
There
It is done
Now gaze upon your sofa leg
And see an exact replica of Rodin's The Thinker
I mean, if you look at it at just the right angle
Anyway, onto my next masterpiece -
Turning your curtains into confetti
Really, I should have
my own gallery show