Her eyes held a silent reproach when I was over at mum & dad's yesterday.
She knows you see. She knows I've been to London three times now without bringing back what she so desires.
When adopted by my parents as a skeletal stray 6 years ago, they immediately set out to spoil her rotten. Apart from truckloads of exquisite food, Poor Sweet Puss was presented with an abundance of cute fluffy toys. With bells. Stuffed with catnip. Shaped like mice.
The cat was not impressed. I swear she tried to stifle a yawn while giving them some polite nudges.
Not that she doesn't like her entertainment. Her favourite thing is to get dad to run through the house with a scrunched up bit of paper attached to a long string. She gives chase with a murderous glint in her emerald green eyes. Live prey is just so much more fun. He rarely escapes unscathed of course.
Then mum discovered these lovelies at Greenwich Market last year.
They are organic cat nip mice in funky fabrics from Refab*. Mum couldn't resist and brought some home.
And the miracle happened.
She leapt. She twirled. She pounced on them. She threw them into the air and then set off on a happy little football match for one. All the while making sounds that were halfway between a growl and a purr. And leaving a trail of knocked over furniture behind her. She may look dainty but underneath that abundance of ginger fur she's built like a rugby player.
I've already been back to Greenwich Market twice to get her a new batch. Not that she remembers. Even though she now has about ten of them in every colour scheme imaginable.
Her eyes tell me she knows I'm going to be in London again very soon. Can you tell she's trying to stare a hole into my forehead?
I do wonder what makes organic cat nip so very special.
And I'm secretly glad I've never spotted sniffer dogs at Stansted.
* I've so far resisted the urge to buy me one of their funky chicken doorstops or their lavender-filled owls.
Photos taken with iPhone and no, I still haven't tired of Instagram. Model is again Mouna-al-Arie.