Cats with attitude

All our family cats have had attitude. Starting with Muff, who became the matriarch. She was gentle with the kids, even allowing them to put her in a canoe full of water (much to the horror of their father who put a stop to it quickly. She was a deadly killer of any birds that made the mistake of nesting in the eaves of the garage, and kept any recalcitrant joeys in line. One night one decided it wanted her preferred place in front of the fire, and she put it in a headlock. She got her place back.

She died, full of years and lacking teeth, but still able to gum mice to death. I suspect they actually drowned.

Then there was Puddles who spent her life hating everyone. Pity help anyone who actually touched her. She had a confrontation with our dogs and turned into some sort of threshing machine, walking down the hall on her hind legs while her front paws, claws extended thrashed in front of her. The dogs fell over each other to get away. She died from illness but not before she had made her peace with me. I still wasn’t allowed to touch her but she looked for my company, and slept on my bed.

Felix came to us as a cute little kitten, giving us much pleasure and helping us to recover from the shock of my son’s car accident. He was very talkative, and would meet me when I came home from work would tell me noisily about his day. He escorted stray dogs from the property, and kept dogs who were allowed to visit in their place. He and Max were best mates.

Max loved Felix and was his right hand man. He was the brawn to Felix’s brains. He was also willing companion to Albert the golden retriever and was often found lying down in the shade with him. Later in life he was the companion of Gypsy and they shared his basket together. He loved the kids, and was long suffering with them and with the other animals I had, and treated the birds with respect. I never took that for granted though, I would not leave him in the same room as something that may have been dinner for him….

Bilbo was our “miniature” cat. Because of illness he never grew past the size of a three months old cat, and he didn’t live long. Whever he was picked up, he growled like a tiger, just in case someone wanted to give him some medication. He wanted so much to be treated as an adult cat, but the others always treated him like a kitten. He got so annoyed one time that he actually bit the other cat.

For several years, I babysat Tiggy. He hated the others (except for Bilbo) but loved us. My mother came to convalesce for five weeks after an illness and they had a special affinity, and I think he aided her recovery. She spent a lot of time asleep in my chair, with Tiggy on her lap. He eventually went back to his owner and lived out the rest of his life there.

And then there is Megga. She who must be obeyed. She who thinks I need organising. But when the chips are down…I am her rescuer. I am her mother and I have the ability to open cat food.