Cats of St Albans, beware…

I’m sick to death of cats right now.

Well, a particular group of cats.

My garden is not in a good state right now.

It’s, how can I put it, in limbo.

I just need to find some time to tidy it up, and get something growing.

So in the mean time, I have to put up with watching cats use it as a dumping ground.

Literally.

I’ve tried to find the sign in cat language that says “please feel free to defecate here” but to no avail.

My kitchen looks out on to the garden so when I’m washing up or cooking, I witness their performance.

All I can do is wave my hands about like a demented monkey while they sit there staring back with their beady, judging eyes.

I’d open the big kitchen window and thump it shut to scare them, as they run off with poo still being crimped out.

They got used to that too quickly.

In the past, in a previous house, I bought a sonic alarm to scare them off.

That worked for about 1 second.

I’ve tried running out of the door but they scarper before my size nines do a Jonny Wilkinson on them.

I even do a good impression of a hissing cat, which used to work.

But they now stare back at me like I’m a moron.

Guess I would look like one to a cat.

So what’s next?

Feel free to put forward any suggestions.

I’ve ruled out limpet mines.

I might get into trouble.

With JJ soon to be crawling around, it’ll end in disaster.

And I don’t want him coming back into the house with what looks like chocolate all over his hands, in case I’m fooled into licking it off.

I think I’m going to buy a super soaker.

Cats hate water.

Especially when aimed at them.

I’ll let you know how I get on.

Say hello to my little friend.