The Bathrobe of Shame.

Location of The Cat: In the window.

They say hindsight is 20-20, but I cannot see the exact logic behind my reasoning that it would be okay to fetch the mail, dressed in my bathrobe.

I might have dwelled on the fact that it was reasonably late-ish, and that the chances of meeting any of the neighbors was low. It was also slightly dark outside. Another component might have been that the mailbox is only 150m away and it wouldn’t take me long to shuffle down there and back. I also thought that the Cat was inside and thus wouldn’t complete my outfit by following me.

The Cat wasn’t inside.

Somehow it had slipped out.

Somehow I had failed to notice.

And somehow, for some reason, the neighbors had decided to stand outside in the driveway and chat.

So there, with my hair as fine as Bridget Jones’ in the first scene in the first movie, with my gray-fleece cat-pawn patternbathrobe, in an old pair of shoes and with the cat following me, I thus completed my image as the Crazy Cat Lady. (I'll have you know I've had that bathrobe for years, and it's very warm and comfortable!)

Their small chatter stopped. There was something like a nervous cough, even a snigger? Somebody shuffled their feet. I hurried past, my eyes glued to the ground. The Cat darted around my legs, tail tall. I grabbed the mail as quickly as I could and shuffled back up towards my house, as quickly as I could.









Now, my only choice may well be to fully embrace this image and explore its every expectations and obligations.

I simply must:

P.S In addition www.intel.com/museumofme has confirmed it by its statistical analysis of my facebook page which states CAT is the word I’ve used the most