Well, just a day after turning over a new chapter in my life where I operate with foresight rather than hindsight, I have failed once again. In a bit of a dash to get the boys to their respective schools and colleges on Thursday morning I threw on a creased shirt a pair of grubby old bottoms and  Harry’s plimsolls that look good on a fourteen year old but quite frankly, fucking ridiculous on a bald bloke one month shy of his 45th Birthday. I even joked to Harry that I had better not break down or get a puncture as I was not looking my best.

However Volkswagen cars are renowned for their German efficiency so using foresight, at least to an extent, I assessed my risk and decided the odds were heavily stacked in my favour. What I didn’t reckon for was a domestic cat deciding that this was the day it was going to commit suicide. As I was driving along the Harrow Way in Basingstoke, I saw it dash out of a bush, obviously being chased, put on its brakes at seeing the road and then deciding whatever was chasing it was more dangerous than getting hit by a car.

I lost it from vision for a second or two then suddenly, thud, duff, duff, thud  and the next time I saw it, it was doing a couple of somersaults before the car behind me screeched to a halt in front of it. I remained stationery in my seat whilst my brain took on board what I was supposed to do, I have an impressive list of road kill to my name, including rabbits, pigeons, pheasants and deer that nearly wiped my pregnant ex-wife and I off the face of the earth when it rammed in to us on the Tadley to Basingstoke road. However, this was my first domestic pet death so it all took on a new meaning, was I was supposed to stop or just keep going?

I saw the woman behind me get of the car and rush towards it, so it swung my decision from “Fuck it just keep going” to “Fuck it, I better get out” and I ran out with my hand over my mouth over egging the shocked bit a little bit too much perhaps but also knowing that experience has taught me that women and cats can be a lethal cocktail. I bracket women by how many cats they own, one is okay, two is borderline, three is perpetually pre-menstrual, four is nearing a mental institution and anything above five is a crazed fucking maniac that needs to be avoided no matter how attractive she is, because one day she will flip and hack you to death in your bed.

Fortunately this woman was cool as a cucumber and only had a vague interest in cats, so at least my I didn’t have to cope with histrionics as well removing the dead body off the road, in fact, I was suddenly more concerned with my dress sense as was the lady who was assisting me who gave me that “what is this clown wearing” look. She picked up the cat and led it on a carrier back on her front seat and instructed me to follow her to a nearby veterinary practice where, predictably it was pronounced dead on arrival by a pretty young nurse who also gave me a derogatory “what the fuck does he look like” glance as I tried to shuffle my son’s laceless plimsolls under desk and out of view. I was trying to concentrate on the dead cat, but I couldn’t stop my vanity getting the better of me, how I wished I didn’t look such an a utter twat, in fact, a cat murdering utter twat.

The lady and the vet took control of the whole situation and they were it has to be said, absolute stars, everything was dealt with, with efficiency and calmness that is beyond my calamitous nature and it was all sorted out quite quickly. The vet asked if we would like to offer our names, numbers and addresses in case the owner would like to contact us to thank us for bringing the cat in, I left a number but not an address, because you see, I am learning about foresight. As the decision process went through my mind, my brain alerted me that this may just be one of ten cats owned by a total head case and I really didn’t want to wake up the next day with MURDERER written in feline excrement all over my living room window. So I declined and rightly so I think.

As we walked back to the car the lady put her hand on my shoulder and said “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I think so” I replied. ” Oh and by the way….these are not my plimsolls.”