07 October 2012

moggie

After a lifelong antipathy to the creatures, I’m responsible for a cat. Yes, a ginger moggie. How did this happen?

My defence is that I was seduced. Nothing wrong with a bit of seduction, just a shame it’s a cat, not a catwoman. C’est la vie.

Of course the lie is to be found in the first sentence. My supposed antipathy is only because one is forced to have a preference—dog or mog—and express it. I have more than a preference; I have an affinity, for dogs. I’d happily live with a pack of dogs. I also revel in overstating my feelings about less preferred objects of affection. The truth is that I like most animals.

Stumbling across a homeless cat in a cage in a pet shop who appeared to like me and my dog sealed the deal. In quiet moments I tell the dog that the cat is our cat. He gets it. Occasionally he’s a tad jealous—I can’t pat the cat without the JRT arriving post-haste for a hand on the back of his neck, but for the most part he seems to enjoy having a cat of his own to muck in with.

The cat is quite comfortable about occupying the dog’s various beds, under the dining-room table where I work at the MM laptop, in the bedroom where the cat once snuggled in with the JRT, and now the back verandah stretcher bed, the JRT’s prime real estate. To his horror the cat took residence the other day, stretching full-length, basking in the weak sun.

The JRT was inside with me. I open the door and the JRT looks at the cat. The cat raises his head ever so slightly, acknowledges the dog. The dog steps out and stands by his bed. The cat gets up, moves to the further end of the bed and curls around himself. The dog hops up on the near end, circles and sinks. Their backs touch, both look content. I leave them be.

The cat grazes all day, the dog gets one solid meal at tea-time. He doesn’t mind. The cat sits on shelves, chairs, climbs into the loft-bed with me. The JRT ignores these liberties, gets on with his ground-based business. He does, however, regard the cat’s toys as fair game; all toys belong to the JRT, even though he’s over 80 in dog-years.

Yes, we’ve been seduced. By a cat with no name. I gave him one when he came to live here, but it didn’t stick. There are limits. He’s just a cat, for god’s sake.

Rock on. 

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