Anyone who has owned a cat knows full well that you never actually ‘own’ a cat, they own you. Oh yes, they are cuddly and charming and things like that but the bottom line is that they do what they fucking well like. Your house is their hotel and you are the innkeeper.
I’ve had four and each of them was an individual. Wainwright’s way of saying ‘let me in’ at 4 in the morning was a leap at the front door followed by a slow descent down the door frame leaving gouged out wood from his claws. You’d lie in bed mouthing words like ‘Fuck off, you bastard,’ but when he’s done it 7 times you give in. Can’t remember how many times I used Polyfilla on that door frame and repainted it. On the left you can see him as a kitten. His owner gave him to me, first because he had enough cats of his own and second, even then the little bugger would only eat raw meat.
Sally was completely different. When she wanted you up and out of bed, she’d gently rub her teeth across the back of your hand and give a really gentle nip which was kinda sweet. That was fine on workdays for she was just another alarm clock. But at weekends, when you wanted a lie-in you just rolled over and muttered, ‘Bugger off.’ So then she moved on to strategy 2. This consisted of racing downstairs at high speed and racing back up again. Then she entered the bedroom and did the ‘Wall of Death’ trick around the walls. After three laps of this, you just got out of bed and fed the bitch. She’s won. You’ve lost. But Sally was very special and maybe I shall write more about her one day.
Isis was a killer. They say that cats bring you their prey because they think you are incompetent at hunting. Isis didn’t, she just ate what she caught on the back garden. And she ate everything else she could find. You could not leave any food out with her around – table top or work top. Later in life she got bone cancer in one leg and had it amputated but that didn’t change her ways.
Nigel Wynn was a dinky female but the vet said she was male when we first took her there, hence the name. She was a darling but had a fundamental character flaw. She liked to play ‘chicken’ with cars and one day she lost. It’s quite sad to carry the warm dead body of your cat back to the house. Not a mark on her so I guess it was a glancing blow.
Cats get ill at times and you try to help and they are ungrateful arseholes. Try giving them a pill and the gentlest of them spit and claw. Wainwright wasn’t too bad for you could trick him. He rejected all cat food and would only eat raw meat so you took a piece of lamb’s heart and stuffed the pill inside a slit. Then he’d gobble it. Sally, normally the gentlest of the four, needed Kevlar gloves and body armour to get one down her without injury to yourself.
Cats simply don’t give a shit for they are in it for themselves. But I love them. Do you wonder why Egyptians worshipped Bast? Short for Bastard, maybe.
The key to surviving with cats is to let them know who is boss. They never really serve you but if you are firm with them, you get a grudging respect. All my cats have been MY cats which is to say that they recognised me as hotel manager, not that that made any bloody difference in their behaviour usually, but just a few times, they were a little bit more compliant.
Dogs are just arse lickers. I cannot respect that. As I said earlier, Scamp was a mate but then we were both young and then there was equality.
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