Well good luck if you try it. Cats are the bolshiest creatures known to man. I got  inadvertently shoulder charged by a dugong once, and this massive, I mean huge, creature, I swear tried to apologise even though it could have crushed me to death after drowning me.

Domestic cats, pound for pound, are thought to be the best, most efficient fighting machines in the world. They make the UK’s SAS, the American Marines (the UK SAS train them by the way) look like milksops. And here’s a thing. The SAS, the Marines, obey orders. Try that with a cat.

Cats are thick as arseholes. And annoyingly resilient.

I was prompted to this post by my friend Lani telling me why one of her cats is called Claude.

‘Wait a second. Claude is a shecat, yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘You need to help me out here. Claude? A shecat?’

‘Short for Claudette. She was a little bugger when we found and adopted her. She wouldn’t stop clawing soft furnishing. She clawed it, shredded it. So she became clawed it, and hence Claudette.’

‘Bugger me.’

‘I think it was her little way of making a home for herself.’

Now I’ll get to the point. Disciplining a cat is a very low return effort. Generally, just learn to live with the low return. Dogs, hey, you can discipline them, without violence, and they bounce back for more. Cats? Forget it. They’re going their own sweet way. Bop them gently on the nose with a rolled up magazine, they might get the hint. For a bit. Maybe.

I’ve never encountered Claude/Claudette in real life. But she always likes to speak to me when I’m on the phone with my friend. She recognises, likes, my voice. That’s pleasing, isn’t it?