The problem of neighbours feeding your cat in France – and why it happens

Kitty hasn't been home for a few days. I have seen neither hide nor hair of her, except for a glimpse of her incredibly fat bottom squeezing through the neighbour's fence yesterday afternoon.

This is normal. When the weather improves she loves camping out in the orchard, and when the Parisians turn up she always goes round to feed them outrageous lies about her terrible life.

She is grossly overweight, and so indulged that she has her own little table for her food and water bowls. 

But somehow she manages to convince them she is a starving and homeless orphan. They believe that this glossy, perfectly tame cat depends on them for survival.

They feed her all sorts of stuff, and spend time taking photos of her greedily forcing yet another mouthful down her gullet.

I have no idea what they give her. I buy the most expensive dry food available in Intermarché in a variety of flavours so that when the poor thing is tired of salmon cracklies she can nibble on some chicken ones, or perhaps a few flavoured with beef.

Whatever they're feeding her, she likes it. Or perhaps she just likes the variety.

"Ah, but she’s gourmande!" says the Parisian wife when I meet her in the boulangerie. 

"We call her Chippie, you know." (She pronounces this 'sheepi'.) "She’s very affectionate. She always comes to see us!"

The farmer who sold me this house takes a different view. 

"Tell her the bloody animal has fleas!" he said. "She shouldn't be feeding your cat. If she wants a cat she should buy one in Paris and bring it down with her."

I laughed because I don't care if someone enjoys feeding my cat. It's a bit of a pain when she comes home and throws up, I have to admit. (It looks like they've been feeding her tinned tuna, which is not good for cats.)

But honestly, she'll be home the second it rains, or the Parisians leave, or if they fail to feed her. And in the meantime I'm saving a fortune on cat food.

I prefer that the Parisians play with my cat than drag some wretched animal down with them for the bank holiday, because they would only end up leaving it here. This happens all too often.

"We couldn't catch her. She didn't want to come back to Paris with us. We only have a flat in Paris. No garden. She's better off here. She can hunt. We only got her for the children's holidays. It is more natural for a cat to live wild." Etc.

Did you know that around 28,000 cats are abandoned every year in France? At various times I have ended up adopting at least three wretched felines who have been left behind by departing Parisians.

So if the second-homers want to spend their holidays feeding my overfed Kitty, that's absolutely fine by me.