Today

I've just got back from taking my cat Abby to the vet for her flea treatment. In order to get her there I have to plan a little campaign, Firstly she has to be lured indoors the night before. Then, while she eats her supper, I block up the catflap and put out cat litter. She is then confined to the utility room for the night.

Excursions to the kitchen during the night or next morning have to be carefully managed or she'll dart out and scarper, not to be seen for 2 days.

This isn't always successful and we have more than once had to cancel appointments with the vet or cattery because she's simply hidden herself somewhere.

Putting out the cat litter is more of a precaution than anything else, since she hates using a tray and by the time morning comes is holding it all in! No wonder she looks cross. Then I have to pop her in the basket and I'm all set. She's been having the flea treatment all her life so has no idea what it feels like to be eaten alive by fleas. Otherwise she'd be more grateful.

In My Day

I had my first proper cat when I was at art school. I think my flatmate actually thought of the idea but then couldn't cope with the house training and had made no provision for weekends and holidays. So Ariadne became mine by default.

She was a little stubby tabby with bight eyes and placid temperament. Because of my flatmate's attitude, when I went home for the weekend, Ariadne came with me. This involved a journey by train and bus. She became very relaxed about journeys in the cat basket. At holiday times, I had to manage suitcase, sewing machine, sewing box (I was a costume design student) and Ariadne at Worthing stations, sometimes changing at Brighton, and getting the bus at East Croydon.

On one occasion my half-brother invited me to spend a week with him and his family in a chalet at Blue Anchor Bay in Somerset. I enquired of British Rail about tickets for a cat. Learning that I would have to pay half fare if she travelled in the compartment and unwilling simply to leave her in the luggage van, I bought a ticket for me and hoped for the best.

I got on the train at Paddington. In 1970, the train took 4 hours to get to Taunton, then you changed to the local line (later closed and then reopened as the preserved West Somerset railway). I climbed into my compartment - there was only one spare seat. I took Ariadne out of her basket (which I then put in the luggage rack) and sat her on my lap. The ticket man came round "Got a ticket for that cat?" he said. I looked suitably blank and he probably decided he hadn't got time for the paperwork, because he said no more.

At one time I had visit the loo. I put Ariadne down on my seat and went off. When I got back she was still there, calmly keeping my seat warm. And not a single person in the compartment said a word. The journey home was a repeat.

Anyway, Ariadne had a lovely time at Blue Anchor Bay, hunting under the chalet (which was a stilts on the beach).

I'd like to teach Abby to travel to Brighton with us.