Right now, my daughter is cowering behind the sitting room door. It’s been like that for the past two hours. In the hall outside there is the cat, its ears flattened, its tail swishing.
I have managed to pass a poached egg and muffin through the door to the teenager on the other side but only when the cat was looking away. When I try to hand her a pair of trousers, the cat hurls himself at them and claws one leg. He makes a peculiar noise … a whine that’s more of a wail.
Whatever, it’s terrifying. “I’m scared,” whimpers my 19-year-old daughter.
Puss will not be gulled into going into my bedroom by a trail of chicken flavoured Tasty Treats. He will not even be pacified by an offer of Licky Licks, which is the cat equivalent of junk food. He is watching and waiting.
The thing is, my daughter has just returned from six weeks in South America this very morning. What was meant to be a cheerful homecoming has been disrupted by the cat. Before she left, he and my daughter were best friends; he slept on her bed, sometimes with his arms round her neck.
So, I thought he would be all over her on her return. Au contraire. To begin with, he hissed and backed away. When she tried to pick him up, he flew at her. That drew blood to the elbow – his claws are sharp. I tried to pet him and he flew at me too (unprecedented). Now I have a swollen hand, that’s turning dark, and bloody skin.
When the cat actually jumped up on my daughter to maul her, she fled to the sitting room and closed the door and when she tries to open it, he claws at it. I should say we live in the top floor of a mansion block – there is just one door. It’s like something out of The Exorcist: a normally well-behaved creature gone to the dark side and terrorising the household.
What is actually happening is a well-known phenomenon to cat behaviouralists: aggression after the return of an absentee owner, even though the creature has been nicely looked after (by me). Apparently, you smell funny to a cat after you’ve been away and besides, the cat’s routine has been disrupted by an extended absence. He may smell other cats on your luggage. He has broken attachment issues: cat trauma.
The correct procedure in these circumstances, I find after a cursory glance online, is to do exactly what we didn’t do. What my daughter should have done was leave the puss well alone until he felt able to approach her in his own good time.
When he hissed, she should have ignored him. She should have discarded her clothes immediately and taken a bath to remove the alien smells. I should not have rewarded bad behaviour with Licky Licks. We should have waited for a period of non-aggression and given treats then.
All very well, I say, but what if you find yourself unable to leave the room because a mad cat is outside? What I should be doing, apparently, is using calming pheromone spray around the animal to defuse the tension. Alas, I have treats galore, but no pheromones.
So all we can do is wait until the cat sees fit to have a nap and then perhaps my daughter can emerge. But puss is still waiting and watching. This may take some time.