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Karl Lagerfeld fell in love with a cat. It's quite understandable Karl Lagerfeld fell in love with a cat. It's quite understandable
(4 months later)
Karl Lagerfeld, the multimillionaire German fashion designer who puzzlingly only appears to own one set of clothes, hit the news again this week with the claim that he would marry his cat, if only it were legal. Choupette, a white siamese Lagerfeld stole from a friend last year, has in turn stolen the 77-year-old's heart: "I never thought I would fall in love like this with a cat," he told a CNN interviewer.Karl Lagerfeld, the multimillionaire German fashion designer who puzzlingly only appears to own one set of clothes, hit the news again this week with the claim that he would marry his cat, if only it were legal. Choupette, a white siamese Lagerfeld stole from a friend last year, has in turn stolen the 77-year-old's heart: "I never thought I would fall in love like this with a cat," he told a CNN interviewer.
As a proudish new pet owner myself, I can at last empathise with a man who once sent strippers down the catwalk, reckons Pippa Middleton should only be seen from the back, and has publicly delcared Adele "a little too fat". I say proudish, because in the course of writing this piece, unmistakable olfactory clues led me to discover that Wilf, my 11-week-old cairn terrier, had defecated in the fireplace at some point during the morning, despite being provided with ample opportunities to do so in the garden. I knew getting a dog would change my life, but I never thought I would spend so much time scrambling around bushes in my pyjamas, with a growling puppy hanging grimly on to one flip-flop. No matter, one look at his scruffy little face, and I can forgive everything – even a startling lunge towards my nose, teeth bared in friendly greeting.As a proudish new pet owner myself, I can at last empathise with a man who once sent strippers down the catwalk, reckons Pippa Middleton should only be seen from the back, and has publicly delcared Adele "a little too fat". I say proudish, because in the course of writing this piece, unmistakable olfactory clues led me to discover that Wilf, my 11-week-old cairn terrier, had defecated in the fireplace at some point during the morning, despite being provided with ample opportunities to do so in the garden. I knew getting a dog would change my life, but I never thought I would spend so much time scrambling around bushes in my pyjamas, with a growling puppy hanging grimly on to one flip-flop. No matter, one look at his scruffy little face, and I can forgive everything – even a startling lunge towards my nose, teeth bared in friendly greeting.
Despite being determined to show him the kind of tough love that stood me in such good stead growing up, I find myself talking to the beast in a high-pitched baby voice and even, very occasionally asking him when he thinks daddy will be home. (To clarify, my boyfriend is not the little dog's father, although they do share a certain propensity to flatulence.)Despite being determined to show him the kind of tough love that stood me in such good stead growing up, I find myself talking to the beast in a high-pitched baby voice and even, very occasionally asking him when he thinks daddy will be home. (To clarify, my boyfriend is not the little dog's father, although they do share a certain propensity to flatulence.)
Like a baby, the puppy has utterly turned our lives upside down. At a wedding on Saturday night, we conspiratorially asked each other what he might be doing at that moment, and hurried home straight after dessert to check he hadn't died of a broken heart. On the tube, we watched a video of Wilf barking at a garden gnome, and when we finally ran through the door, he was so excited to see us that he peed all down my leg.Like a baby, the puppy has utterly turned our lives upside down. At a wedding on Saturday night, we conspiratorially asked each other what he might be doing at that moment, and hurried home straight after dessert to check he hadn't died of a broken heart. On the tube, we watched a video of Wilf barking at a garden gnome, and when we finally ran through the door, he was so excited to see us that he peed all down my leg.
Just last year I remember emailing friends for the sole purpose of mocking a Facebook acquaintance, pictured on the site receiving a mother's day gift from her spaniel, yet now barely a day passes without Wilf gracing Instagram. What have I turned into? I can answer that question – I've become a social media bore. Like a new parent, I believe the world is hanging on his every adorable move: Wilf chewing on asparagus stalks, Wilf savaging a cuddly toy mouse – and endless pictures of him asleep, splayed out in that heart-crushing puppyish way, fluffy tummy on view to the world. And, like Lagerfeld, frankly I don't care.Just last year I remember emailing friends for the sole purpose of mocking a Facebook acquaintance, pictured on the site receiving a mother's day gift from her spaniel, yet now barely a day passes without Wilf gracing Instagram. What have I turned into? I can answer that question – I've become a social media bore. Like a new parent, I believe the world is hanging on his every adorable move: Wilf chewing on asparagus stalks, Wilf savaging a cuddly toy mouse – and endless pictures of him asleep, splayed out in that heart-crushing puppyish way, fluffy tummy on view to the world. And, like Lagerfeld, frankly I don't care.
As I work from home, Wilf was intended to keep me company. Instead, he's stopped me from working – these days I spend most of my time standing in the garden, quietly sweeping up bits of chewed cork while he dozes in the kitchen, hoping the noise won't alert him to the presence of his arch enemy, the broom.As I work from home, Wilf was intended to keep me company. Instead, he's stopped me from working – these days I spend most of my time standing in the garden, quietly sweeping up bits of chewed cork while he dozes in the kitchen, hoping the noise won't alert him to the presence of his arch enemy, the broom.
Only a lack of time, and the financial inability to pay for two full-time maids to document his comings and goings while I'm out, like Lagerfeld, prevents me from setting up a Twitter account in his name, though I suspect his activities (tore up gas bill; made owner chase me down the street in her dressing gown; fell into dishwasher) would be considerably less high-minded than Mme Choupette's, whose most recent tweet wonders whether it's time to forgive the disgraced Dior designer John Galliano.Only a lack of time, and the financial inability to pay for two full-time maids to document his comings and goings while I'm out, like Lagerfeld, prevents me from setting up a Twitter account in his name, though I suspect his activities (tore up gas bill; made owner chase me down the street in her dressing gown; fell into dishwasher) would be considerably less high-minded than Mme Choupette's, whose most recent tweet wonders whether it's time to forgive the disgraced Dior designer John Galliano.
Would I marry Wilf if I could? No, because he'll never make me a cup of tea in the morning. But I'd certainly adopt him as the world's naughtiest child.Would I marry Wilf if I could? No, because he'll never make me a cup of tea in the morning. But I'd certainly adopt him as the world's naughtiest child.
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