Catastrophes and thoughts on naming them

Over the years there have been many cats in my life and at one point I worked as a cat rescue resource in that I could take in seemingly feral kittens and tame them. It was mostly a matter of psychology. (Well that is what the cats said anyway.) You just had to appreciate whether the cat in question liked to be in four walls or out in the elements fighting off other cats, dogs, rabid humans and foxes. Most decided no they preferred comfort and the attention of human slaves. My now ex was not totally happy with this state of affairs as it meant that some of the rather large and often amorous ladies from cat rescue descended to coo at him and also he did not like to put himself out to take me and various felines to the vets for neutering. (I have to also add that no vet has in fact neutered me but I was hopeful that they might neuter my now ex.)

I also have always felt that cats deserve names that add distinction to their lives and perhaps reflect on their status. We therefore had one cat named ‘Frankly Six Cats are too Many’, a further stray and pregnant female who could hear you open a packet of crisp from half a mile, named ’ Gizza-a-bit’, and one still with us originally called ‘that cat’, then renamed ‘Fatso’ but now largely referred to as ‘Alzheimer’s’. (He keeps forgetting where he is and sometimes we think he forgets that he is a cat). We also have cats named wrongly as ‘Genghis’ who is a female and ‘Boudicca’ who we later discovered was a male. She has retained her title; as she is small and aggressive, whilst he is now referred to as Bobo, mind he now thinks that he is a reincarnated Egyptian god. (Photos on request from his agent).

My daughters have added cat personages to our entourage and we now have Middle daughters ‘baby’, which I named ‘Demon’. He bites. He bites her regularly but he is a thoughtful cat who likes to be involved and as many of them do he also likes to follow me as I go out to shop or generally walk about. He also likes to lurk in the bathroom and sit on the computer consol, most mornings will find him being spoon fed yogurt. He has the distinction of biting a lady who came for a reading of one hour and overstayed for three whilst still paying for one. On this occasion (no blood was drawn and as she had expensive nail extensions and tales of round the world holidays) I actually congratulated him on his taste. Also he does not bite me anymore, which is I find, useful as Bobo has to have a mad half hour at around four thirty, with his favourite toys. These consist of a catnip cushion shaped as a vet, a long piece of a la boa feather on a string and his ribbons. It also consists of play fighting with my feet, a strangely painful experience for me.

One of the oddest things about Demon is the way he reacts to being told off. Most cats in general and mine definitely in particular will ignore a mild rebuke saving the escape clause for a full frontal rage onslaught, as they obviously prefer to conserve energy, and anyway you could not be addressing them as they are obviously innocent of all wrong doing. Demon, even at a change of voice tone, will run and hide behind the sofa, in the shopping trolley or since Christmas in his very own Budweiser box. In fact you can say box to him in a stern manner and he races to hide in it. On the plus side if he is hidden it allows him the advantage of ambushing his fellows. This theory works brilliantly unless it is Genghis as she merely sits on top of the box and swipes at him when he tries to come out.

Middle daughter has also thoughtfully provided them with a cat play station that has three platforms, a walkway a swing tunnel and a pyramid nesting box. This occupies a large portion of the living room. Most of their toys are stored in the nesting box and swing and only one cat uses the station as the platforms get him just a micron closer to the heater. Sometimes I look at it and say a silent prayer that it will be stolen or disintegrate, or maybe teleport to another planet.

Cats have a strange relationship with bathrooms. I have noted many writers remark on this and also the need for them to escort their humans, or even just visitors, into the bathroom. One of our many cats played race you to the toilet. If he saw me approaching the staircase he would try and rush ahead of me to claim the toilet seat. One day I piped him to the post and as I lifted the seat he jumped for his goal and yes he landed in the toilet. It was funnily enough the last time that he played that game. Bobo, who hates me to be clean, sits outside the bathroom and huffs when I take a shower. One day he came in as I was running a bath and to show his disapproval jumped into the bath turned miraculously in mid-flight at the sight of bubbles and water and exited. He was not even damp.