I have cats. For the last 16 years I have had cats. Why I got one in the first place was a tale in itself but suffice to say after a long life of gardening, chasing them off, swearing at them and generally detesting the things I was hooked. My one cat turned into 4, not literally you understand, that one turned into 5, I kept one kitten and then another 2 came to join it. The cat population was set at 4. For a while.
Each year I seem to get another lodger, who will turn up, make themselves at home, ingratiate themself with the regulars, then just as we appear to be settled as a regular 5, suddenly clears off again. Goodbye.
The year I spent 4 weeks bedridden with 2 slipped discs, a black kitten moved in. Crawling to the bathroom in the middle of one night I realised that 2 beady eyes were peering at me from under WH's bed. He stayed about a month, had a marvellous time playing on the bedcovers, trying to pinch the lunch that WH would leave for me each day and scaring the older residents half to death with his pounces and attempts at thuggery. He went as suddenly as he had come going where we knew not. He never even had a name.
The summer we both had a flu bug that laid us so low we would collapse in bed at one house until, bored, we would change houses and bedrooms just for a change of scenery, Honey Bunch arrived. He was a big male with a beautiful honey coat and a lovely manner. He was polite too. Waiting under the kidney beans, he would rush up as soon as the back door opened so long as the coast was clear, talking to us with his deep, throaty purr. Feeding Honey was the only task either of us completed other than absolute essentials like feeding the residents and preparing restorative drinks, for almost 3 weeks. Several weeks later when it seemed Honey was here to stay he surprised me by jumping into my arms one morning and licking my face all over. It was his way of announcing his departure, we never saw him again.
The spring I lost my job and my Godfather died in the same week, Twilight appeared. She had been living in an old Devon hedge opposite the house and used to thieve food when the back door was open. After months of skulking in the shadows she moved in, lock, stock and barrel. She commandeered the back bedroom, WH's room, and when he worked nights and slept days and our world was upside down she sat guard-cat on his side as he slept. Her eyes remained open all through her vigil and when WH turned over and she was thrown to the floor, she jumped straight back on to her post. Sleek and silver lined, a true mackerel, she had white eyeliner and a superior expression. Strangely she had no voice, just a strangled clipped little Mi-ow of two separate syllables. She was damaged and nervous and was spooked, her previous life had been tough, we could tell. She came to claim the whole of the upstairs and woe betide anyone who tried to challenge her authority. She loved Goggins to bits and they chased and they played and fought over an old box and spent hours in companionable slumber. She stayed 4 years until poison damage from a previous existence finally claimed her.
Two weeks after Twilight died, Herbie arrived from the garden behind ours. Black and white, bold as brass, a kitten on a mission. He was all of 6 weeks old. Living with dogs, he thought he was one. He hated his owners with a vengeance and refused to go home, sneaking out of windows and barely opened doors when his owners weren't looking. He terrorised the neighbourhood for 3 years, chewed my hair and sucked my ears, sleeping down the bed on my knees which he fastidiously washed for me each night. He took over as Top Cat but he still needed his surruptitious comforts. He aquired a taste for travel and now lives round the corner with an elderly couple who worship him, an only cat. I had to buy a hot water bottle - my poor knees still miss him. Every morning he appears at our front, just to check we are still here.
The year we were trying to move house Sweety Pie took up residence in the top of the garden. Tiny, pretty and nervy as Hell she was a feral cat who came to accept us providing we bore gifts of food. She was dainty, well mannered when she ate and Goggins adored her, allowing her to sit under his garden chair so long as he remained on top. She had 6 kittens under a bush and brought them down to the house to us when her nest got waterlogged in a thunderstorm. She allowed us to care for her kittens indoors when the weather took an unseasonal turn and 2 weeks of rain gave them all flu and sore eyes. She would venture into the kitchen and call for them and one by one they would appear from their hideout behind the bookcase. By the end of her stay she was sleeping on the sofa, when she thought we hadn't noticed, with Nelson, her pride and her joy. She had no time for Misty and his constant misbehaviour, she would look disdainfully at him, "Oh no, no son of mine, not like me at all." Eventually she was tamed and rehomed to a more select environment than our rowdy establishement leaving two of her sons behind as a lasting reminder.
Each year I seem to get another lodger, who will turn up, make themselves at home, ingratiate themself with the regulars, then just as we appear to be settled as a regular 5, suddenly clears off again. Goodbye.
The year I spent 4 weeks bedridden with 2 slipped discs, a black kitten moved in. Crawling to the bathroom in the middle of one night I realised that 2 beady eyes were peering at me from under WH's bed. He stayed about a month, had a marvellous time playing on the bedcovers, trying to pinch the lunch that WH would leave for me each day and scaring the older residents half to death with his pounces and attempts at thuggery. He went as suddenly as he had come going where we knew not. He never even had a name.
The summer we both had a flu bug that laid us so low we would collapse in bed at one house until, bored, we would change houses and bedrooms just for a change of scenery, Honey Bunch arrived. He was a big male with a beautiful honey coat and a lovely manner. He was polite too. Waiting under the kidney beans, he would rush up as soon as the back door opened so long as the coast was clear, talking to us with his deep, throaty purr. Feeding Honey was the only task either of us completed other than absolute essentials like feeding the residents and preparing restorative drinks, for almost 3 weeks. Several weeks later when it seemed Honey was here to stay he surprised me by jumping into my arms one morning and licking my face all over. It was his way of announcing his departure, we never saw him again.
The spring I lost my job and my Godfather died in the same week, Twilight appeared. She had been living in an old Devon hedge opposite the house and used to thieve food when the back door was open. After months of skulking in the shadows she moved in, lock, stock and barrel. She commandeered the back bedroom, WH's room, and when he worked nights and slept days and our world was upside down she sat guard-cat on his side as he slept. Her eyes remained open all through her vigil and when WH turned over and she was thrown to the floor, she jumped straight back on to her post. Sleek and silver lined, a true mackerel, she had white eyeliner and a superior expression. Strangely she had no voice, just a strangled clipped little Mi-ow of two separate syllables. She was damaged and nervous and was spooked, her previous life had been tough, we could tell. She came to claim the whole of the upstairs and woe betide anyone who tried to challenge her authority. She loved Goggins to bits and they chased and they played and fought over an old box and spent hours in companionable slumber. She stayed 4 years until poison damage from a previous existence finally claimed her.
Two weeks after Twilight died, Herbie arrived from the garden behind ours. Black and white, bold as brass, a kitten on a mission. He was all of 6 weeks old. Living with dogs, he thought he was one. He hated his owners with a vengeance and refused to go home, sneaking out of windows and barely opened doors when his owners weren't looking. He terrorised the neighbourhood for 3 years, chewed my hair and sucked my ears, sleeping down the bed on my knees which he fastidiously washed for me each night. He took over as Top Cat but he still needed his surruptitious comforts. He aquired a taste for travel and now lives round the corner with an elderly couple who worship him, an only cat. I had to buy a hot water bottle - my poor knees still miss him. Every morning he appears at our front, just to check we are still here.
The year we were trying to move house Sweety Pie took up residence in the top of the garden. Tiny, pretty and nervy as Hell she was a feral cat who came to accept us providing we bore gifts of food. She was dainty, well mannered when she ate and Goggins adored her, allowing her to sit under his garden chair so long as he remained on top. She had 6 kittens under a bush and brought them down to the house to us when her nest got waterlogged in a thunderstorm. She allowed us to care for her kittens indoors when the weather took an unseasonal turn and 2 weeks of rain gave them all flu and sore eyes. She would venture into the kitchen and call for them and one by one they would appear from their hideout behind the bookcase. By the end of her stay she was sleeping on the sofa, when she thought we hadn't noticed, with Nelson, her pride and her joy. She had no time for Misty and his constant misbehaviour, she would look disdainfully at him, "Oh no, no son of mine, not like me at all." Eventually she was tamed and rehomed to a more select environment than our rowdy establishement leaving two of her sons behind as a lasting reminder.
This year we have Vertically Challenged Cat. He arrived around New Year, a big bodied black cat with a cheeky expression and inquisitive eyebrows who looks out from the bushes and peers in the cat flap when it's quiet. Only when he stands up and walks do you realise that he is half the height you would expect for his length and his girth, his belly brushing the grass and impeding his progress as he tries to dart away unseen. Only time will tell us his personality and whether or not the indigenous population will make friends.
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