4531

This time with cats.

We have just about always had cats, here are some of them.

Smokey (mk 1)

I seem to remember got Smokey from a fish and chip shop. Yeah, I know. It was a tiny black and white thing, and me just about walking. We had Smokey for two weeks, I can remember it meowing to be let out of my parent's bedroom window.

It never returned.

Marmalade.

Marmalade was a large, long haired ginger tom. And I gave him hell. Not because I was nasty or crel, I was just young, never knew to be gentle until it was too late and he was terrified of me. Only once did he sit on my lap, when I was ill with chicken pox, sitting at home watching football, he must have known I was ill. Anyway, sat on my lap for an hour, never to be repeated.

Sadly, Marmalade died soon after. I was no more than ten, so we could have only had him six or seven years. I came home from lunch one day to find Mum and Nana waiting. Marmalade has gone, I was told. I wasn't that bothered from what I remember. They thought I would be distraught.

Dad was though. No more cats I said, before he went on one of his four and a half day working trips to London.

Tigger.

At the end of Chestnut Avenue there was a house eon the corner, owned by a local builder. Walking back from Nana's, Mum and I saw a sign advertising kittens for adoption.

I reminded Mum of what Dad had said.

We took home a little ginger kitten: Tigger.

Or that's what he got called, by Mum's cousin, Helen, who was six at the time. Tigger stuck.

It was Thursday night, Dd's last night away, and he always called to let us know he was OK. Mum stood in the hallway talking on the phone, Tigger approached, and in one leap, grabbed to the hem of her skirt, and slowly climbed his way to her shoulder.

Yes, all is fine here.

Meow.

Is that a cat? Dad screamed.

No, no cat here.

Meow.

You have!

So, the cat was out of the bag, as it were. When he returned the next evening, he fell in love with the ginger ball of fluff.

Tigger liked me. Heck, he liked everyone. And seemed such a wonderfully happy kitty cat. We had him for over a decade, then he got old, like we all will.

Speedy.

Speedy was a lump of muscle and aggression. He was also ginger, and his shoulders and front legs were all muscle, like an American bison.

Let him settle in, and let him come to you the RSPCA told us. Dad didn't listen. He moved the armchair picked up Speedy and held him. Speedy and Dad fell in love.

A match made in heaven.

I joined the RAF and their affair carried on. But in 1996, Dad dropped dead suddenly, and it seems Speedy died of a broken heart soon after.

I left home. And now we pick up the feline story line after I left the RAF, was in my own house, alone, in Oulton Broad.

Molly.

Aka Molly Poppet.

Aka Miss Contrary

Aka The Divine Miss M.

I decided I needed something, someone to come home to. I could get a cat.

I went to the RSPCA, it was October 2005, there was no choice, there was this little timid tabby or nothing.

Stick we her, I was told, she'll come round.

I left with Molly in a basket.

When we got home, I opened the basket and she ran under the sofa and stayed there 24 hours.

But she came out, had some dinner. Had a poo.

Went back to the sofa.

I can't remember how long it took her to come round, not long, maybe two weeks.

Molly was an indoor cat, so she waited for me to return, sitting in the window at the front of the house. We would race each other up the stairs to bed each night, and she loved to run and catch cotton buds and bring them back. Like a dog.

We had a wonderful life.

But money was running out. Quickly. I almost lost the house, Mum bailed me out, and I got a job with a chemical company, but it barely kept us in food and kitty kibbles. And on November 5th 2006, I was sacked.

How dare they sack me from their crappy job.

I got a job working offshore, I would be away for weeks at a time; what to do?

I had just met JOols and she said she would look after Molly, and if the job didn't work out I could take her back home.

So, one sad morning I had to catch Molly to put her in the basket for the four hour drive to Kent. She was terrified, and I cried buckets, almost giving up on the whole thing.

But without the job, there was no house.

Molly joined a house of three other cats: Doris, an elderly tabby who, as it turned out only had weeks to live. Doris didn't like Molly. Molly didn't care. Sulu was the grand old man, he had been badly treated before Jools adopted him, and so he treasured every day life gave with her. He wasn't phased by anything. And Little Girl, a tuxedo cat, with odd dimensions that made her look like an oversized kitten. She never accepted Molly, but they came to an agreement.

Molly had never been outside, except on a lead, but took to the multi-cat household and going outside ike a duck to water. No wildlife was safe, and quickly she became alpha cat, queen of the flat.

A year or two later, we moved to this house; less traffic, more wildlife.

Molly rolled with the punches life threw at her, and came out fighting, and winning. She really grew into a fine and very happy outdoor cat here. Poor Sulu passed away, he probably had cancer of the mouth he lasted a full year after the vet told us he had no hope. We found him under our bed one Friday, frozen on fear as his life ebbed away.

We buried the grand lad in the garden, under the apple tree.

Little Girl also faded away. One day I picked her up on the stairs, compressing her chest slightly, she could not breath and panicked. Jools took her to the vet for an x ray, it wasn't good news. She came back for one last night so we could fuss over her.

Then in 2010 we got the twins: Mulder and Scully.

Neighbours of Tony and Jen had a litter to disperse, and we took two.

And the rest you know really, reading these pages.

Now we have two new kitties, and a new adventure begins.