THE LIFE AND TIMES OF A RUBBISH BIN CAT – PART 2

When I think back now, it must have been hard for Sonny, a once free and almost feral cat, suddenly thrust into rural living, and made to toe the line with rules. I had rules for inside animals. For our dog, his bed had its place on the floor of the lounge and Ozzie knew his place. The cats could sleep on the couch or a bed but not allowed on the kitchen bench or table for any reason. How could Sonny know this? For the past seven years he’d been eating literally on the table, helping himself to a flatmate’s dinner. He had much to learn.
We first heard about Sonny’s rubbish antics from an irate neighbour. For weeks there had been a spat of rubbish burglars making a huge mess along our street each Monday morning. People assumed a dog was the culprit and we gave Ozzie some hard looks and a search as to how he might get out of our well fenced yard. The man yelled down the phone. “It’s your bloody cat. I just caught him. If I had a gun, I’d shoot him!” and hung up.

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