Sharing the house with Sooty and Sweep – I want a cat and I want it now
MEDDERS: ‘I want a cat.’ Hermione: ‘A cat? Shifty, devious creatures.’ Eldrick: ‘A cat? I’m not looking after any cat.’ Young Persephone: ‘A cat? A cuddly kitten. I am sooooo on for that.’ I have regularly shared homes with cats from a young age, from the day when Dad brought home a fluffy, cute ball of black fur. Delete the word ‘cute’ there, come to think of it. The new arrival was a spitting, snarling, scratching divil to start with, clearly much aggrieved at being transplanted from her mother’s breast.
However, she emerged from a period of mewling quarantine in the garden shed, to become a full member of the household. She even appears in some of the old family photographs – a sleek, dark and calming presence, blessed with luminous yellow eyes. We christened her Sooty, for we lived in multi-channel land where we enjoyed a BBC puppet show starring a teddy bear of that name.
The TV Sooty appeared on screen with the hand of Harry Corbett forever up his jumper. Our Sooty was of much more independently inclined, refusing point blank to cooperate when Big Sis attempted to wrap her in blankets and play nurse. Medders: ‘I want a cat.’
Hermione: ‘A cat? The last cat destroyed the table leg with its scratching.’
Eldrick: ‘I’m not looking after any cat. The last cat poohed in my bed.’
Persephone: ‘Is the last cat dead, Da?’
The last cat was Sweep, so designated in honour of TV Sooty’s sidekick, not that our version ever responded when we called her name. The TV Sweep was a scamp but ours was a timid creature – indeed maybe she still is a timid creature. While no body has been sighted, we have not clapped eyes on her in months.
She was acquired as a kitten from a local farmer, having been born in the back of a hay barn and raised with the minimum of mollycoddling and human assistance. If we expected a strong and rugged feline, however, with a grá for the great outdoors, then we were in for grave disappointment. Whenever a threat that she would be ejected into the garden hung in the air, Sweep detected the vibe and went into invisible mode. She became a ghost who haunted Medders Manor rather than residing in it.
No one ever caught her up on the breakfast table but the signs were there. Butter was licked if the lid was not replaced on the butter dish. Or we would find milk spilt if someone left the carton out without the cap screwed on. Cat hairs on a towel indicated that Sweep took occasional refuge in the recesses of the hot press. Unseen and unheard, she made flitters of the appointed table leg to keep her claws sharp. And, yes, every so often a nicely coiled turd was clandestinely deposited on Eldrick’s duvet.
Yet I still considered it an honour whenever she materialised on my lap and condescended to allow herself be stroked. Medders: ‘I want a cat.’
Hermione: ‘But what about The Pooch?’
Eldrick: ‘But what about The Pooch?’ Persephone: ‘But what about The Pooch?’
The reason we have lost touch with Sweep is that, after several years of being harassed and (literally) hounded, she decided she could no longer share a house with a dog. The Pooch wanted a play-mate, something to chase and wrestle, endlessly harrying and molesting his fellow resident. Peace loving Sweep eventually slunk off to pastures new rather than endure the constant nipping and chasing. We believe she persuaded some dog-less neighbour to take her in, offering decent rations and no hassle.
The Pooch has many virtues. His requirement for exercise is good for family fitness and he loves human companionship. But he is no cat. He and I were in the kitchen the other day, me reading the newspaper by the range and he dozing on a chair. I noticed a scratching sound and then a movement down beside the press.
‘Pooch,’ I hissed. ‘Quick! A mouse!’ Pooch rolled over, looked dreamily at me, rolled back again and returned to sleep.
I want a cat.