Why I love my cat.

My mother got a female kitten called Mog when I was about 8, who she ended up not getting on well with at all, so I took over looking after Mog and gave her plenty of compensatory fuss. Unfortunately for me at least, Mog disappeared when I was about 14. I like to imagine that she found more reasonable accommodation with a family who loved her very much each and every one, rather than just myself in my family. 

I tended to get on so much better with cats than any other living things, and the biggest and even the least inclined fuss-sluts of the species seem to recognise me as a totally viable source for a decent fussing.

I was for instance invited to a friends house once, and he asked me to wait in the front room whilst he finished putting some things away for his parents. So in I went in and made immediate friends with their extremely large ginger-tom cat, via what I consider to be the customary squint and nose sniff greeting thing, and then I picked him up as I sat down and placed him on my lap and started fussing him with a bridge of the nose finger rub. Then with purring increasing I stroked his head between and around his ears to go on and give him a good back of the neck massage, then onto his shoulders and back as my friends sister walked in and froze still in her tracks looking absolutely shocked and stunned ~ then she suddenly ran out to gather the rest of the family who all appeared at the door looking completely baffled and bewildered!!! I cautiously asked, "What's wrong?"

It turned out that their cat had never to their knowledge let anyone fuss him, let alone get in reach of him, and my friend's father said, "Watch this!" and started reaching out to him whilst maintaining a distance ~ and the cat's ears went as fast back as his right paw went as fast forward with claws extending and splaying for one those threatening poises; along with the most savage tooth-full of snarls that I have ever heard and seen a cat make. After which with a don't even think about it attitude he got up, jumped down and went over and jumped and culled up on one of the other chairs.

I have often been befriended by cats, sometimes even by many of them at the same time feral or not, but one of the most meaningful friendships was when I made friends with a cat called Socks, and I became it turned out his favourite pet. He would meow for me outside my flat, and at my neighbours to get them to get me to come out and fuss him ~ if I did not respond.

He did come into my flat once and looked and sniffed about, but that was that and he kept calling on me to come out and be with him instead, which was never a problem as I used to go out several times a day being that I smoked back then.

He was also the most communicative cat I have ever met, having specific meows for moods, people, places and things, and we also used to spend a fair amount of time just taking in the scenery together ~ watching the world go by.

The last time we were together, it was an extraordinarily deep and strangely meaningful occasion, and when he meowed good-by ~ it was in a way he had never done so before, so very appreciative and peculiarly final. On account of which I went to see Sock's main or only house owner pet, and she said he had passed on just after having gotten back from seeing me, and that he had made several failed attempts to come for a final fuss and meow goodbye.

Although the image quality is not at all good, this is the only picture of Socks I have:

I think he passed on in 2017 maybe, and he is the most treasured owner I have ever as a pet had, particularly as he was so extensively communicative and we got on so remarkable well together.

This is Mackie. When BJ died after a period of mourning we decided to get a new cat. This time around the cat protection people had decided our road was "too dangerous" for cats, and would not let us rehome one, so we looked on gumtree until we found a seller who lived next to a dual carriage way and had already lost one cat to it, so dangerous road or not, we were still an improvement on his present circumstances, (plus you can teach them to stay out of the road, that's the one golden thing my evil stepmum taught me).

*Can't seem to insert picture again seem to have forgotten how, the point being is that he looks a lot like socks. *

Mackie, it is fair to say, right from first meeting didn't care much of the smell of me, but he did like my O/H... The next three years were marked by my G/F being for love and companionship, and I was for service and violence. As it happened I was good at service, tolerant of mild wounds and good at "handing out a savage beating with a stick" with lots of mock threats and of course the stick in question being one of many, many cat toys that Mackie quickly acquired. He'd never sit on my lap nor take much fuss off me but boy, did he enjoy chasing a thing on a string or a laser pointer and I knew I was making progress when he stopped making me bleed... TBF he'd bring us gifts and he was happy to let me take 'em off him and return them to the wild (or lob the carcass in the hedge over the road) The GPS collar confirmed that he'd taken on board my "stay out of the road" indoctrination and he did seem to get the message that I liked my gifts still alive...

Three years into his too short life, we went away for a week, and when we got back he'd clearly not liked the full time cat sitter we'd got (neither did I to be fair) and he gave me a real welcome home (but no laptime of course). We had our little rituals and routines however, and towards the end of year five, I was getting the very occasional bit of laptime, and it was clear that he liked me well enough just not that way...

One Saturday when he'd turned six my O/H was out, and I was lolling about on the sofa, when suddenly not only did I get laptime but he actually fell asleep on me!! Then when he awoke instead of bailing quickly as I expected, he stretched up my chest and gave me some proper nuzzling, cat love stuff. He'd already crossed the line of being friendly and companionable with me but after six years, I'd come to accept that just wasn't how he was with me. SHE was for love and I was for (Mock) violence.    

Sunday morning I get up, go downstairs and he's making a wrong sound. there's fear and upset and pain in it.  AND he's hiding under the sofa and he only does that with fireworks or strangers he really doesn't like. It's a LONG reach to even touch him and when I do, he is COLD. It turns out that he has had a "saddle thrombosis" during the night, and his back legs have died..

The vet had no good options for us, so after ONLY six years we again returned empty handed from the vetinarian and with big holes in our hearts. Now my O/H was obviously much more upset than me, as Mackie was her cat, and they were very close, but it turns out there are different sorts of grief. I wasn't as tearful as when BJ died (he was my special little mate, and we had a special understanding, based on mutual respect and love pretty much from the get go, and I howled when he died) but I was really unable to focus on my new job, and ended up both hating and leaving it in the first week. The world is just horrible after you cat dies, it really is.

BUT, I rarely speak of or choose to recollect those bitter moments choosing instead to remember golden moments like the day he bought me a full size  racing pigeon complete with rings on it's legs, well subdued but completely uninjured, transfers it carefully from mouth to floor, and holding it down with a paw looks up at me as if to say, "What do you think of this, then?" I reach down for it, he removes the paw, and during the moment of handover the pidgeon leaps from under my hand into the bay window. Mackie gave me the most sarcastic look I've ever been on the recieving end of, and pointedly left me to sort it out. It still makes me chuckle.    

This is Mackie. When BJ died after a period of mourning we decided to get a new cat. This time around the cat protection people had decided our road was "too dangerous" for cats, and would not let us rehome one, so we looked on gumtree until we found a seller who lived next to a dual carriage way and had already lost one cat to it, so dangerous road or not, we were still an improvement on his present circumstances, (plus you can teach them to stay out of the road, that's the one golden thing my evil stepmum taught me).

*Can't seem to insert picture again seem to have forgotten how, the point being is that he looks a lot like socks. *

Mackie, it is fair to say, right from first meeting didn't care much of the smell of me, but he did like my O/H... The next three years were marked by my G/F being for love and companionship, and I was for service and violence. As it happened I was good at service, tolerant of mild wounds and good at "handing out a savage beating with a stick" with lots of mock threats and of course the stick in question being one of many, many cat toys that Mackie quickly acquired. He'd never sit on my lap nor take much fuss off me but boy, did he enjoy chasing a thing on a string or a laser pointer and I knew I was making progress when he stopped making me bleed... TBF he'd bring us gifts and he was happy to let me take 'em off him and return them to the wild (or lob the carcass in the hedge over the road) The GPS collar confirmed that he'd taken on board my "stay out of the road" indoctrination and he did seem to get the message that I liked my gifts still alive...

Three years into his too short life, we went away for a week, and when we got back he'd clearly not liked the full time cat sitter we'd got (neither did I to be fair) and he gave me a real welcome home (but no laptime of course). We had our little rituals and routines however, and towards the end of year five, I was getting the very occasional bit of laptime, and it was clear that he liked me well enough just not that way...

One Saturday when he'd turned six my O/H was out, and I was lolling about on the sofa, when suddenly not only did I get laptime but he actually fell asleep on me!! Then when he awoke instead of bailing quickly as I expected, he stretched up my chest and gave me some proper nuzzling, cat love stuff. He'd already crossed the line of being friendly and companionable with me but after six years, I'd come to accept that just wasn't how he was with me. SHE was for love and I was for (Mock) violence.    

Sunday morning I get up, go downstairs and he's making a wrong sound. there's fear and upset and pain in it.  AND he's hiding under the sofa and he only does that with fireworks or strangers he really doesn't like. It's a LONG reach to even touch him and when I do, he is COLD. It turns out that he has had a "saddle thrombosis" during the night, and his back legs have died..

The vet had no good options for us, so after ONLY six years we again returned empty handed from the vetinarian and with big holes in our hearts. Now my O/H was obviously much more upset than me, as Mackie was her cat, and they were very close, but it turns out there are different sorts of grief. I wasn't as tearful as when BJ died (he was my special little mate, and we had a special understanding, based on mutual respect and love pretty much from the get go, and I howled when he died) but I was really unable to focus on my new job, and ended up both hating and leaving it in the first week. The world is just horrible after you cat dies, it really is.

BUT, I rarely speak of or choose to recollect those bitter moments choosing instead to remember golden moments like the day he bought me a full size  racing pigeon complete with rings on it's legs, well subdued but completely uninjured, transfers it carefully from mouth to floor, and holding it down with a paw looks up at me as if to say, "What do you think of this, then?" I reach down for it, he removes the paw, and during the moment of handover the pidgeon leaps from under my hand into the bay window. Mackie gave me the most sarcastic look I've ever been on the recieving end of, and pointedly left me to sort it out. It still makes me chuckle.