While builders were renovating our house, a feral cat moved in and gave birth to three kittens in our bed. I’m sure cat lovers would have found this adorable, three cute ickle bundles of mewling fur. Me? Not so much.
The bed sheets and mattress were honking, ruined and needed replacing. The builders assured us they hadn’t encouraged the cat to move in but the three tins of empty Whiskas we found in the bedroom wardrobe hinted otherwise. We asked the builders to solve the problem. No questions asked. Obviously I felt guilty (ish)… Continue reading
Since the kids had established their perimeter defences around the house (waterpistols only), Claudette the feral cat hesitated before approaching an open door. But that was the only change to her behaviour.
Now, she glanced around, gauged the distance to door vs. distance of approaching small boys and merely squinted her eyes, tilted her head away from the direction of water spray and made her bold dash as usual.
Why didn’t this cat get the message that she wasn’t wanted? Continue reading
We had been feeding Claudette the Cat for a few days now and were sitting outside, enjoying a BBQ in peace, watching her stalking through the herb beds. I wondered aloud if feeding her tins of catfood might actually be bad for a wild cat or might adversely affect her hunting skills. She had kittens to support obviously and we were due to leave for a holiday. But with exquisite comedy timing she pounced on an unlucky mouse, tilted her head back and swallowed the screeching critter in a matter of seconds. ‘I guess she’ll manage just fine…’ commented our cat lover friends. Continue reading
We returned from holiday after two weeks away and it was probably an hour before i realised that Claudette was nowhere to be seen. Again, I was anxious. She wasn’t my cat but I had grown to admire her and when no one was looking had stroked, fed her and played with her. I missed that little welcome we used to get from her when we came back from the shops… Continue reading
Once, sleeping over at a friend’s house on a mattress, while my dog slept on the floor beside me, I awoke in the morning to the most curious sensation of pure physical tension. The air was still, heavy, dense and weighed down my bare chest. On my left, around waist level, was my dog, now sitting bolt upright, shivering intensely, staring to my right. On my right hand side was a black cat, also bolt upright, eyes locked with my dog. It appeared as if the latest installment of that eternal conflict was about to take place in the vicinity of my boxer shorts. All I could picture was teeth, claws. And blood. Continue reading