FORGET eccentric cat ladies – recent reports suggest that the new cat lovers on the block are men.
They are getting in touch with their feline side. Apparently more and more men are finding a new BFF in kitty, or at least that is what the pet food people would have us believe. The talk is that a million more men own cats these days.
It’s the relaxation that a cat provides, I think. Plus – and this is a big plus – you don’t have to walk a cat. Mind you, you never had to walk the hamster of the goldfish but I still found them a little demanding.
There is a personal agenda in this. There are three people in this house and two of them would rather like a little cat. The third says NO – yes, on this issue he’s talking in block capitals. The thing is, he says, we have had two goldfish and a hamster and he’s done being the main carer.
Our goldfish should have won a Nobel prize for longevity – at least 12 years, they lived in their little glass bowl without any oxygenator. When they started to mildew or swim backwards around the bowl, the man who is now saying no to the cat, charged to the rescue.
He created an oxygen tank out of half a plastic water bottle. He set up his own intensive care, isolated area for the sick fish and, hooray, miraculously, the fish recovered.
Don’t ever call goldfish stupid, don’t ever say they don’t know people, he’d say. And sure enough, they’d almost somersault out of their bowl when he approached. Myself and our boy didn’t get a second glance. Perhaps it is because old Cat Refuser fed the fish and talked to them.
The same with the hamster. What’s to love about a little hairy mouse of a thing that sleeps all day and then bounces about on a rickety wheel all night long?
He loved it, he cleaned it out and he fed it. On winter mornings, as I lay hugging the duvet, I could hear him talking to the little rat of a thing too. No wonder it lived a very very long time. It felt the love.
Now, I look out at the small daffodils, butter yellow in the corner of the garden and I think of our dead pets all lying at peace beneath.
But what myself and our boy can’t understand is why the animal lover among us has put his foot down.
“It’s precisely because you two just like the idea,” he says. “I’ve been there and cats can live for 19 years. Getting a cat is like having a baby...”
I stop him there. It cannot be like having a baby. For a start, there’s no labour, you don’t have to nappy them or breast feed... oh perish the thought. But cat guy gives me the whole heap – peeing everywhere, Tom cats prowling about and spraying, baby cats and more baby cats, all your furniture scratched and torn.
I know the story of how his brother rescued a mummy cat who promptly gave birth to three kittens in his sports bag – they were Snap, Crackle and Pop ... I wonder what they had for breakfast in their house?
And then there was another much-loved cat who lived for 19 years and gave much love. When our boy used to visit as a toddler and dashed to greet the small ginger kitty, it took one look and dived for the stairs.
In our spare time, I’m browsing the animal rescue websites and going all gooey over tiger cats and black cats and small little cute cats who’ve had harsh beginnings.
I quite like the idea of a Persian with bright blue eyes.
Mr Practical is asking all the hard questions.
“Where would you put the litter?”
“Where might this cat sleep?”
“What would happen when we go on holiday?”
Ah, this is a serious matter. Too serious for me.
And what about the birds? Yes, we do love our birds out the back.
I am reminded of my animal-loving uncle who tried to get his pet cat and his pet pigeon to be friends. He introduced them. But the cat bit the pigeon’s head off.
That, reader, is nature red in tooth and claw.
Still I can sense a softening on the part of Cat Guy.
Spring is in the air. Love is everywhere. It’s kitten season, didn’t ya know?
