In Celebration of The Cat

I've been thinking about writing this post for about 3 weeks now: an Ode to The Cat. Today, I popped by Vet Nurse, who has had to say goodbye to her companion Wibble. Please drop in and give her extra hugs. I've never cuddled up to Wibs, but I've followed her antics through Vet Nurse's blog and this morning my heart is heavy with her loss.

Solitaire is a domestic short-haired cat. A posh term for a moggie. She's supposed to be Boy's cat. She loves her Boy, when he's not around for a weekend and he comes home, she's thrilled to see him. If he sits at a table, she'll come up to him and head butt him until he worships her.

Having said that, she sleeps with me. I think she definitely approves of my new bed. It's king size, rather than a 3/4 bed. Which means she can stretch out all the way, and I still have to turn over carefully, so as not to disturb her. I have a de-lint brush, with which to remove the several tonnes of black cat hair from the duvet every other day. All bedding I buy has to be with her in mind. She doesn't like satin-esk bedding and will pluck it to buggery until I change it. I do have a proper grooming brush to try and de-fluff her, but I put it in a safe place and can't find the bugger now. Why I tidy up, I'll never know.

When I come home, I'll call for her and she comes bounding down the stairs saying hello. She doesn't meow a lot for a cat, she chirrups; we have long conversations sometimes. She doesn't like being picked up, but she'll come sit next to me if I'm in one place long enough, curl up and snooze.

The Cat is a fair weather feline. The new abode has been very much to her liking. She's turned into a territorial thing, chasing off other cats with a fierce yowl, puffing herself up to twice her size. Ridiculous really. If they stopped and looked her in the eye, they'd have seen she's all bark. Not a scrapper at all. In the summer, I'd call for her when I've finished rolling a smoke and she'd come out into the sunshine with me. Hiding under a lilac when she got too hot and she'd stay out in the garden all day. She likes the cat-flap which we now keep open all the time. She gets up a couple of times in the night, but when I wake up in the morning, there she is all warm and snug at the bottom of the bed.

The week before my op was a hard one. I was saying goodbye to my fertility and my dreams of a happy family. I was outside smoking, and she sat with me, patting my leg, so I'd stroke her some more. I wondered why she was suddenly clingy and then I realised it was me. She could see I was grieving and this was her way of comforting me. Bless her.

She's eleven years old this September and I'm pleased that we have a few more happy years ahead of us. Today after reading of Vet Nurse's sad news I picked her up, protesting and gave her a big cuddle.