I am reminded that I have not posted anything recently. Apart from our neighbour, Benoit, doing a “midnight-flit” with his family and all his belongings in an elderly EDF (Eléctricité De France) van at 5am this morning, I struggled to think of anything that comes into the “interesting” category this week. Having just finished the latest, and last, of the Harry Potter books, John has taken to calling the cats Harry and Voldemort. My literary moments tend to be more of the emptying-the-litter-tray variety at the moment.

Have you ever wondered why most people do not make a habit of walking cats on leads? Probably for the same reason that Guide Dogs for the Blind employ DOGS not cats. (Though it has to be said the Goodies made a stab at it in their 70’s TV show.)

However, in France “lap dogs” are called lap dogs for a purpose. They sit on your lap and distract you from lighting your cigarette on the autoroute while you are driving. These dogs, apparently, never suffer the indignity of walking on a lead. No. They are carried. Either in peoples arms, or a sufficiently large handbag or shopping basket, or, for the extremely spoilt, a specially designed, padded, usually tartan, doggy shoulder bag into which the doggy is zipped with only its head protruding as a practical fashion accessory. This has gone way beyond the culture of the pooper-scooper! Stop at any autoroute service station, and you will see CATS being exercised on leads.

Mind you, Foggy and Tigger are still very young (4.5 months) and we do live on a relatively busy street. The fire service, “pompiers”, also provide France’s emergency rescue and paramedic service, and many small towns like Montréjeau employ volunteers. Ours are summoned by a WW2 air-raid siren. Within minutes of the siren sounding, two or three of the volunteer pompiers use our street as a short-cut to the fire station. Neither of us are convinced that they would slow down or stop for a wayward kitten in the road. So John and I have decided that, for now anyway, our cats will be “leons de sofa”, as the Spanish, rather charmingly, call house cats.

We bought each of the cats a harness and lead while back in the UK. But our initial forays into the BIG WIDE WORLD were not an immediate success. Our first walk (for a coffee at the nearest cafe) took half an hour, with the cats running in opposite directions, sitting down in the street or trying to hide. The walk home took even longer, largely due to bumping into a lovely, slightly bohemian, woman who “loves anyone who loves animals, especially Les Anglaises”. A few days later Tig and Foggy seemed ready for another expedition. A mid-afternoon walk to the Post Office nearly did for Tigger. Whoever said cats don’t pant has never walked an over-excited kitten in temperatures around the mid 30’s (35C/95F). I had to give him a cold blanket bath when we got home!

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Now we just take them out in the evening, when it’s dark … and there are few people around to share our embarrassment. Tonight’s sortie is a typical example.

The door opens and Tigger and Foggy leap into the unkempt flower container outside the uninhabited house next to us in the Impasse De L’Ecole. Foggy then has a good munch of any remaining dry stalks to help his digestion, and Tigger tries to climb a small sapling that has seeded itself outside the bathroom window.

The streetlight in the Impasse flickers, throwing new and exciting shadows around the gates to the old school house, now used by social services and the municipal police. One or other of the cats bounds off in the direction of a fallen leaf … John or I get a brief and comical glimpse of the other being dragged off in the direction of the tree in the centre of the courtyard. We have no directional control …

The cats attempt to climb said tree. Quite efficiently at first … until they realise that they don’t know how to get down. (Though a tug of the lead at this point usually sorts out that particular problem.) Then they’re off again, the Guide Cats. John and I are led, at the run, to the junction with Rue Saint Barthélémy. Both cats want to explore the house opposite, which is currently being rebuilt. From their daytime window sill vantage point, they have been fascinated by Giuseppe and his fellow builders operating the crane each day, and they want to see how work is progressing.

Disuaded from crawling under the fence, they spring off down the road, until stopped in their tracks by an unfamiliar smell or noise. Seizing the advantage, John points #1 cat in the direction of home, and (with the minimum of other diversions) we all arrive on our doorstep unharmed and looking forward to our next nocturnal expedition.