I’m from Barcelona, a true Cat-alan

MI nombre es Blackie, soy Catalan de Barcelona... sorry about that, but I sometimes like to throw in a bit of Spanish here and there, just to show how international I am.

My carers are from mixed tribes — he is Irish and she is from Barcelona. As he is from Cork, he calls himself Corky the cat (whatever that means). Her name is Nati and she is very kind.

His accent is strange, but he seems to understand me reasonably well — at least well enough to feed me, change the sand in the litter tray and fulfil the various other duties I have given him.

Nati is brill with me, I think maybe she was in Bletchley Park deciphering complex codes during the war, because she knows exactly how many meows are for each request.

Oh, I nearly forgot to say how old I am. Take a deep breath... about 17 human years — and that’s 100 years in feline time. I have health issues at this stage of my nine lives. Diabetes and arthritis are the big ones. Nati has to inject me twice a day with insulin, not nice for her, nor me either, it’s more than seven years now, and I’m still here. I have great difficulty in jumping, so Corky is great to lift me up on to the bed or sofa.

We moved a few years ago from our “Barrio” in Vernada and moved closer to the sea.

Back in the old days in Vernada, I was known as Evel Knievel the daredevil for my risk-taking. I used to walk along the narrow railing on our balcony over the street, 40 or 50 feet from the ground, and leap across on to a narrow window sill. The first time my carers saw me at it they nearly died with fright.

I saw them turning the corner at Menorca Bar and saw the shock on their faces. They both made a mad dash up the street and into the apartment to get me down.

You won’t believe this. One day as I was sleeping in my chair on the balcony and a huge Gaviota seagull swooped down and attacked me.

I clattered him a few times before I scarpered inside the apartment. I’ll never forget it.

City life is no place for man nor beast. I heard Corky tell Nati how I would enjoy life in his house in Ireland with a garden, grass, birds and wild cats roaming about free, even mice (whatever they are). Late at night, Corky would walk me down to the street, to check out all the strange smells. Can’t do that kind of thing any more though.

I guess that’s life, but if there is such a thing as reincarnation, I’d like to come back as a cat. Again.