No Animals were Harmed

There's someone I still haven't told you about. One of the most supportive, positive influences in my life right now. In fact, he may well be my best friend in Krasnoyarsk, although sometimes he pisses me right off. He's small, grey, furry, and has four legs. I'm talking, of course, about Syoma the kitten.

I didn't need to go straight to work on Friday morning, so I decided to make a celebratory pilaf.

As soon as I left my bedroom, Syoma was all over me like a rash. He likes trying to do figures of eight around my legs while I'm walking, and isn't remotely discouraged when this ends up with him being accidentally kicked halfway across the room. I've never lived with a cat before, and I was really struck by just how resilient they are. You could probably do a full-on NBA slam dunk with Syoma, and he'd just pick himself up and start doing figures of eight around your legs again. He's also incredibly stubborn. Like, mad stubborn. Back home in Esher, Pip's way of telling you she's hungry is to make an utterly pathetic whining sound. If that doesn't work, plan B is to make eye contact with you, cock her head to one side with a shamelessly pleading look on her face, and drool. When the darn humans have patiently cleaned up the pool of her saliva, but STILL haven't got the message, she'll go up to the nearest person who's sitting down and ram her nose in their crotch. Classy. Syoma has an even less sophisticated approach. When he's hungry (which is literally always, and I'm not using the word literally flippantly there), he'll find some food lying around (irrespective of type, quality, or really anything else), and he'll eat it. I have to say, I have more respect for Syoma's method, which demonstrates capability, independence, and the kind of can-do attitude that I like to see in a household animal. Well done Syoma, keep up the good work. I look forward to seeing how you progress over the coming term. Mr Normanton.

Having said that, Syoma's absolute refusal to be told 'нет' is beyond infuriating. The creature isn't just persistent, he's actually quite reckless. While I was slicing the onions, I worked out that, by jumping from the floor to a table to the windowsill to the fridge to the kitchen worktop, it took him exactly twelve seconds to reach the onions. The first time this happened, I picked him up gently, placed him on the floor and sternly said 'No Syoma, don't do that. It's unhygienic and serves no practical purpose, because you aren't going to get any food. Ok?' Then I returned to chopping onions. Twelve seconds later, he was back on the worktop, cheerfully advancing towards my chopping board again, hoping that maybe he'd become invisible since I put him on the floor. This time I picked him up with one hand and dropped him to the ground from about half a metre up, just to teach him a lesson 'NO SYOMA!' I said huffily. Then, re-gaining my composure, 'I'm sorry. I'm not angry with you, I'm just a bit disappointed. You deliberately did the opposite of what I told you, and that's not cool. Sorry I dropped you.' Syoma did a nimble figure of eight around my legs to show that all was forgiven, and that he wouldn't do it again. I went back to chopping onions, and saw that I was almost done. Just as I was slicing the last quarter of an onion, I felt something fluffy brush my hand. This time I lost it. I chucked him to the ground, where he somehow managed to land with nothing more than a soft patter, like one of those YouTube videos where they dub over a clip of a very small person doing a cannonball into a pool from a diving board with a comically understated 'plop' sound effect. 'ARE YOU POSSESSED OR SOMETHING?? I TOLD YOU TO STOP DOING THAT! YOU AREN'T GONNA GET ANY FOOD OUT OF IT, AND YOU SURE AS HELL AREN'T MAKING ANY FRIENDS HERE!' Syoma gave me a sly look and did what I now saw as a mocking figure of eight around two chair legs. Then he jumped onto the chair, and then onto the table...

By the time I got round to chopping the carrots, I had a twelve second timer on a loop on my phone, and I'd mastered the habit of chopping until it went off and then, without turning my head, making a sweeping motion away from my body with my right hand to brush the invariably present Syoma off the worktop. He still hadn't got any food as far as I could tell, so I can only assume he got a kick out of winding me up.

The problem now was that the onions and carrots were frying on the hob, and I was slicing the chicken further down the worktop, which meant that I had twice as many things to guard. I assumed that the smell of cooking food and the sight of chicken would speed up Syoma's average time, so I began to adjust my timer to ten seconds. But then I noticed with puzzlement that he wasn't on the worktop, or even on the fridge yet, and it was long past his ETA for this twelve second cycle. I looked down at the bin with dismay. I'd removed the lid to scrape all the onion skins and carrot peel in there and Syoma's back legs were just visible, hooked over the rim. I yanked him out and took away the piece of carrot peel in his paw. 'Seriously bro. I think you've got a food problem. Carrot peel is not nutritious, whatever vegans might say. You're thinking of rabbits bro. You aren't a rabbit.' I started calling Syoma bro a couple of days ago. It was ironic at first, but I think we're straying into the realms of post-irony now, which is seriously dangerous territory for me. I may be a born and bred Londoner, but even I can't pull off bro. If I start using 'brah', all is lost.

I slammed the lid back onto the bin and seriously considered just locking Syoma in my room on his own. But I didn't have the heart to punish him like that. And besides, he'd probably just find a way out. Who am I kidding? The little monster's cleverer than me! He probably would have aced that Part 1A translation exam.

So I just sped up slicing the chicken, working so fast that my hands probably wouldn't have been visible on camera. To my surprise, Syoma once again missed his deadline (9:50.47am), and I looked around the room, puzzled. This time, he'd got past the bin lid, and was once again swinging contentedly on the inside of the bin, his tail sticking out like a fluffy middle finger. I pulled him out again and spoke with quiet, calculated intent. 'Look you little horror. Let's make a deal. You can stay in the kitchen with me. You can taunt me all you like and I won't lock you in my room or sweep you off the worktop. But you CAN'T EAT ANYTHING! Deal?' Syoma miaowed. 'Good.’ Then I did that thing where you point at your eyes and then you point at his eyes and look threatening, which totally showed him who was boss.

And he left both me and the bin in peace for a bit. He decided to see how quickly he could do figures of eight around my legs instead, and it turns out he can do them really really quickly, which we decided was an experiment well done, and I promised to write up our findings just as soon as I finished the pilaf.

But all good things must come to an end, and Syoma's obedience is no exception. The rice started boiling over, so I reluctantly took the lid off the pot, and the smell was just too good to resist. Syoma made his way back to the work surface, slinking his way sinuously towards the pot. 'Get off the worktop Syoma. Come on now buddy, do the right thing.' He eyeballed me archly, and then the pot. 'Syoma man, you know what the right thing is. Humour me.'

...

'NO! No Syoma. That was NOT the right thing. Not cool. Really uncool.' I tried to think of an appropriate punishment that didn't entail animal cruelty. 'No more figures of eight for the rest of the day!' I said at last, triumphantly. Then I hopped to the cupboard and got the spices out, with Syoma forced to do measly circles around my adjacent legs. That'll teach him.

It didn't. Apparently, the bin option hadn't been sufficiently explored, and soon enough, he was standing on his back paws, with his front ones trying to push back the bin lid again. ‘You better not, Syoma. You better not. I'll volley ya. DON'T TEST ME!' But he did. Of course.

I think it's meant to look like this...

 

You'll be pleased to hear that my chicken pilaf was delicious, in spite of Syoma's best efforts. There's probably a link to be drawn between me and Syoma somewhere. Stubborn as hell, mad persistent. In fact, maybe just mad (according to Einstein's definition). But you know, opposites attract and all that, and there's no way I'm ever getting a cat.

Don't be deceived