Sunday, August 06, 2006

Stray cat style

Many many years ago, the Stray Cats came up with a very catchy song called Stray cat strut. I would listen to it over and over again, enjoying the rhythm and the attitude of the words and the tune, smiling as the hook-line thumped its way into my head. Then I heard the soundtrack of the Andrew Lloyd Webber production Cats and, while Memories made me feel vaguely bilious, other songs like McGavity the mystery cat were played endlessly because they were so charming and detailed the wonderful obstreperousness of cathood. Over time, I made friends with two of my best friend’s cats – both marmalade-haired, like their owner – and learned something of the feline mystique. Then I found love with my own hunk of catly maleness, who gave me a huge helping of joy and many scars but, heart-wrenchingly, left me too soon.

Two days ago, I renewed my relationship with the species. We now have a new addition to our small family. She arrived on Friday, even as my father and the house were slowly recovering from the multi-pronged onslaught of masons, carpenters, computer technicians, gardeners and men and women of all work. And it was Papa, the man who thinks dogs are far superior to cats, who played the starring role in the little drama. He was at lunch when he heard a loud yowling just outside the front door. He opened it, and a tiny orange blur skittered in, squeaking madly. Realising that it was a very young kitten, he fed it a saucer of milk and then tried to send it back to where it could have come from. To no avail. For the miniature furball, su casa was mi casa and it was going to stay.

In a bit of a panic, especially considering the roving population of our apartment, my father called and I sped homewards, alerting vet, driver and nutritionist en route. I got back to find the wee scrap perched on a chair in the study, while my father fluttered about and a strange man worked stolidly on the computer. Order was soon restored. The baby was soothed, the technician was sent on his way, his work done. The vet arrived and checked our new guest – female, about five weeks old, probably injured by a rat but otherwise in decent health, he pronounced, as she wiggled and mewed as she was being cleaned up. At the clinic, she behaved impeccably, just as she had in the car going there, struggling while she was washed with debugging solution, but nestling close to me right after it. Once home, she quickly learned where her catbox was, where the milk and catfood were placed and where to get a cuddle when she needed one.

Our new baby is a very vocal creature. She mews and squeaks, growls and grunts in a range of tones as she converses with us and herself. Each sound takes on a new meaning, especially when she cocks her head to one side and stares with her big leaf green eyes. At night, under the sheets on my bed, she chatters and mutters for hours, alternating that with loud purrs as she gets an occasional spasm of insecurity and has to sit on my chest or chew on my fingers to feel better. And, when she gets scared or is having a madcat attack – which all cats are wont to do – she roars like a wild tiger, bouncing about the carpets with her fur on end and her bottle-brush tail held sharply vertical. Come medicine time and I play villain of the story, grabbing her and battling to get drops of possibly nasty-tasting liquids into her. And she forgives me right after, running to me when I call her, demanding an extra-special snuggle.

The little catlet does not yet have a name, though endearments abound. She has already started accumulating toys and has a willing partner (Papa) to play with, for hours – minutes, really, since every now and then she will stop, climb into the nearest lap and take a blissful nap, sacked out on her back with her vast tummy heaving. And you can see that mighty feline brain at work as you tantalise her with a string or a paper ball; if it is going around this way, there is where it will appear next, she seems to be working out as you tease her with a length of satin ribbon, and she waits, with all the intellectual strategising and deep thought of a rocket scientist! And we learn, even as we watch over and care for this little orange gremlin who has taken over our lives. As for my father, he now has a new girl in his world and seems to be enjoying every minute of it

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