My Cat Got Stolen by a Policewoman

Oh, diary. I’m so desperately unhappy. After my 18th birthday I finally emerged from the cocoon of childhood as a proper, grown-up adult, but while I should have been celebrating, I couldn’t help but wonder if my life is nothing but a lonely, ruined husk. Okay, I’ll spill: I glimpsed paradise last week, only to have it cruelly snatched away, like half-eaten rice pudding by a zealous dinner lady. Oh Bosie, sweet feline, I miss you dearest. Please return.

My mum seized Bosie from the jaws of death on Bonfire night, when she spied him spazzing out on an A-road. He was a startled prince, wheeling and tottering in front of moving cars, and for one, blissful night, he was mine. He slept on my pillow that night, and when I woke up my hair smelt faintly of cat wee and dry shampoo. And then his proper owner, a hard-nosed, baton-toting policewoman came and wrenched him from my grip, spitting that "Bosie" wasn't, in fact, called Bosie at all, because Bosie is “a ridiculous girl's name”. Well fine, maybe I don’t know how to tell the gender of cats. But that doesn’t mean I loved him any less.

I’m so sad about Bosie I couldn’t face school today. I’m up to my headband in un-finished homework as well; I’ve been peer-pressured into helping the poxy first years with their reading, and the library staff are becoming absurdly persistent over some overdue books. I swear Mr Swainey the librarian must have developed X-Ray vision, because whenever I try to shuffle out of the library with a J-17 under my coat he’s standing in the doorway shaking his stupid fat head in my direction. A disappointing vigilante in polyester, he looks about ready to suffocate me with Yardley’s talc if I don’t shelve it immediately.

Oh bother. That came out wrong.

In happier news, Pen’s daddy coughed up some very belated birthday presents in the form of a fab new car, which Pen, being Pen, has named “Persephone the Peugeot”. Normally I’d refuse to get in a car called “Persephone”, but as it's winter and I’m still bitterly peddling away on my fucking bike, I’m more than happy to let Pen drive me around in PP. Our four-wheeled adventures are pretty exciting. On the last one we bunked off French class to track down the last remaining Pizza Hut ice-cream machine.

Oh, but I should also tell you that Penelope 100 percent gets the hussy of the week award for divulging that she got rude with her ex-boyfriend inside Persephone, which is probably the most grown-up thing I can think of other than getting electrolysis on your bikini line, or carrying vaginal wipes in your handbag. Penelopeee, how dare you make me feel inadequate, I don’t think I’ll ever get the chance to do al fresco romping in a car. I’m six foot tall, it would be a logistical nightmare.

Anyway, I’m going to go and collage pictures of myself from birth up till yesterday, and drown myself in hot chocolate. Adulthood, you’re a total bore.

Previously: Schoolgirl Diaries - I'm Feeling Sexy and Grown