Looks like I don’t need to join the New Zealand Police to get some better work stories.
This afternoon a visitor came to reception to tell us there was a tiny black and white kitten stuck up on the wall. By the time my colleague reached the carpark, it was gone.
Just before work ended I decided to take a look. Another colleague cut up some ham from the tea room as an enticement and together we walked down to the woodshed.
We had a quick look and couldn’t see or hear anything. Nothing seemed to be hiding amongst the logs or around the fence at all.
Then just before we threw in the towel we heard a tiny mew. At first it seemed like it was coming from under the woodpile, but after some investigation (and much heaving of logs on my colleague’s part!) it was clear there was no kitten in the shed.
So I walked around the back, where a line of neatly manicured bushes outlines the edge between the carpark and the stone perimeter of Mount Stewart. I heard three of the loudest mews I’ve ever heard, but it still took us another ten minutes to find the kitten.
I was convinced it was in the bush and we squeezed behind it to pull apart the branches. Then, behold! We found a pair of tiny eyes looking back at us from the bottom of the bush.
At this point I had to radio for assistance. When I put my hand anywhere near the little guy we were given spits that might as well have come from a leopard. Many expletives ensued.
When reinforcements arrived armed with an apron, I tried to grab the kitten out. It managed to escape out the back of the bush, but made the mistake of backing into a corner between the wall and the woodshed.
More spitting and hissing from the tiny fluff ball, but it was no use. I had him (her?) and cuddled him (I’ve now decided it’s a him) into my jacket.
By the time we reached reception he had settled down and was getting a great many pats! Staff stopped by on their way out the door to have a peek, too.
But we couldn’t keep him. The next thing to do was decide what to do with him tonight. I’m not allowed pets in my rented house. Most of the others have dogs. So we called our resident cat expert – a volunteer on the estate – who came down with a cat carried.
Tomorrow kitty will, no doubt, be visiting his new temporary home – the local cat rescue centre.
Good luck little kitty!
Then I drove home, stopping at a Marks and Spencer on the way. And, don’t you know, Peter Dinklage was walking in as I was leaving with my heat and eat Steak Pie. Perhaps he stabbed a Stark today? But I can safely say that we both have some pretty awesome work stories!