Steve*, a colleague of mine rang me the other day about some work matter or other and he rather foolishly mentioned an issue in which he was then embroiled with Royal Mail. He (or, more specifically, his good lady wife, although I suspect that, in the event of personal injury proceedings being instigated, both of them would very likely be regarded as jointly and severally liable) recently received a letter (which, in itself, is a novelty, as you will soon see) from their local Royal Mail Delivery Office headed “Potential suspension of deliveries to your address”.

It starts thus:

“I’m writing to let you know that we’re experiencing difficulties in delivering mail to your address because of the actions of a vicious cat at your property. As a result, a health and safety risk assessment has been carried out, and has determined that the level of threat requires action to be taken to ensure the safety of our delivery staff.”

I am suspicious of this introductory paragraph which uses “I’m” and “we’re” rather than the more formal “I am” and “we are” as if the writer were somehow trying to lessen the seriousness of the accusation that Steve is harbouring some kind of domesticated velociraptor. I would have expected something considerably less chatty; it was almost like a policeman saying to you “I hope you had a great holiday in Benidorm last week, I bet it’s good to be back at work, eh? Oh, by the way, I’m arresting you for murder.”

Anyway, the letter proposes two suggested courses of action to protect the lives of the postal delivery staff, either:

• Ensure that the cat is restrained at all times, OR
• Provide an alternative safe delivery point for your property

Dire warnings ensue, outlining what could happen if neither of these suggestions are undertaken within 14 days of receipt of the letter, including, most importantly, that failure to take remedial action to control the cat’s jungle warfare demeanour could render Steve and his missus cut off from all written and printed communications, to all intents and purposes isolated from the outside world.

During a subsequent conversation, Steve told me that the presence of the cat was the result of his daughter (to whom the cat was originally gifted) leaving home some time previously, conveniently forgetting to take it with her.

Apparently, he lives in the house furthest distant in a row of four at the end of a private driveway upon which all those properties abut. The regular post lady previously parked her van in the main road and walked along the driveway to each of the houses. Now, clearly in fear of GBH at the hands – or rather claws – of the family pet, she drives to the top end of the private roadway, stops for a few minutes, firstly winding down her window to check the immediate vicinity for signs of feral activity. When satisfied the coast is clear, she leaps from the van, runs to the front door, feverishly thrusts mail through the letter box and runs back to the van, relieved to have escaped being torn limb from limb.

On the occasion of a recent family holiday, a kindly lady neighbour of Steve’s agreed to undertake feeding duties in his absence.  Unfortunately, the cat trapped her between its dish and the exit door, accompanied – in varying degrees of intensity – by snarling, spitting and back-arching. She eventually managed to flee, having found a sturdy plastic bag with which to protect her arm and hand. Unsurprisingly, they do not anticipate asking for her help again.

I understand that the cat tolerates – even appears to display affection for – both Steve and his wife and leads a serene and happy existence with them. Unfortunately, however, it appears to despise everyone else.

Whilst putting the final touches to this sorry tale, Steve sent me an update and I am pleased to report that a compromise has now been reached with Royal Mail, who have stated that if, at the time the post lady arrives and, after standard reconnaissance [Is this a CAT scan? – Ed], the animal is observed lurking menacingly – or even just seated nonchalantly – in any area between her and the front door, she will not deliver any mail until the following day. This begs the question as to what happens if the cat decides to continue intimidating delivery staff on that day or on any subsequent day.

It is somewhat difficult to suggest a way out of this dilemma for Steve and his good lady, because, clearly, Royal Mail has reached the end of its tether.

Wait a minute – surely, that’s the answer, isn’t it? At the normal delivery times, tether the cat so that the end of the local Royal Mail office’s tether and any part of the cat’s tether (including the end) do not intersect at any point. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Probably because I was fixating too long on the idea to cleverly incorporate the words ‘chain letter’ somewhere, in a similar context.

Anyway, job done – glad to have been of help, Steve.

*made up name