Today, August 8th, is International Cat Day. I don’t normally post to my blog on Fridays, but in order to celebrate this very special day I thought I’d break my own rules for once. Doing so gives me an excuse to share more photos of the cats in my life…not that I really need any excuse! Milky Bar, Malteser and Caramel are irresistibly cute, and as such are a reminder of why cats are so popular in every comer of the world.
Caramel…he may look innocent, but he’s invariably guilty!
International Cat Day dates back to 2002, when it was established by the International Fund for Animal Welfare (IFAW) with the aim of promoting the importance of cat welfare and responsible pet ownership. In 2020 responsibility for the annual celebration was passed to International Cat Care, a not-for-profit British organization that has been working for many years to improve the health and welfare of domestic cats across the globe.
Each year, International Cat Day is an opportunity to highlight important feline-focused topics and raise awareness of cats as a species, sharing our resources and information for cat owners and feline enthusiasts around the globe to support their care for cats.
Milky Bar dozes while Caramel shows off. They are two very different personalities.
The website goes on to explain that this year the focus will be on “what it means to be ‘cat friendly’ – respecting each cat’s unique nature and meeting their environmental and social needs, at home, in the veterinary clinic, on the street or in a shelter. ”
Milky Bar wonders why Malteser is sitting on his seat.
Sounds good, and I particularly like the reference in this quote to the unique nature of cats. Milky Bar, Malteser and Caramel clearly demonstrate this: Milky Bar is cautious, self-focussed and keeps his distance from us; Malteser is friendly, playful and calm; and Caramel is boisterous, mischievous and demanding, suffering as he does from a serious dose of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). Between them, the three felines demonstrate perfectly that cats are individuals, each with their own distinct personality and needs. Recognising this is key to ensuring their continued happiness.
Milky Bar chills out.
Although Milky Bar, Malteser and Caramel are not our cats (they live with neighbours further up the road) Mrs P and I will do everything in our power to ensure that they have a great time on International Cat Day. And we’ll do exactly the same the next day. And the day after that too. In my book, every day should be an International Cat Day!
We have recently been travelling, spending nearly three weeks north of the border in Scotland. We had a good time there, visiting old haunts and exploring new ones, but although it’s great to be back home again our return is tinged with anxiety – will the cats forgive us for abandoning them?
Caramel, aka the Ginger Ninja
Regular readers of this blog will know that, although we have no cats of our own, Mrs P and I have a close relationship with several of the local neighbourhood felines. They all lay claim to our garden, though they graciously allow us to use it too, and the most brazen of them – Malteser and Caramel – also enjoy prowling through the house, demanding regular attention, edible treats and loving belly rubs. Our role is simply to attend to their needs, and they are certain to be unhappy that we have recently been neglecting our duties.
We arrive home late afternoon on Tuesday, and I scan the garden hopefully. It’s an overgrown mess – no surprise there, given my lack of enthusiasm or talent for gardening – but it’s also a cat-free zone. Tomorrow, maybe?
Milky Bar, handsome but aloof
But Wednesday comes and goes with minimal feline activity. Milky Bar passes through, eyeing me up as he does, but not bothering to say hi. He’s an aloof cat who rarely greets us these days, but I’d hoped he’d at least acknowledge our return with a few well-directed purrs.
Thursday brings an unexpected visitor, neighbourhood wide-boy Cadbury. Our other feline friends all live together, but Cadbury is a new arrival from the other end of the estate. When he encounters Milky Bar, Malteser or Caramel hackles are raised on both sides, and the air crackles to sounds of mutual hissing and yowling. We wish Cadbury no harm, of course, but our affections lie with his feline opponents, so we shed no tears when he leaves.
Cadbury, the neighbourhood wide-boy
At last, on Friday morning, Caramel arrives. I’m in the kitchen making an early morning cup of tea, and glance through the window to see the ginger ninja – as we sometimes refer to him – peering hopefully into the garden pond. He’s clearly hoping to have a goldfish for breakfast, but the netting I installed years ago frustrates him once again.
Looking up, Caramel spots me watching him. The reaction is immediate. He meows several times, leaps onto the garden seat that sits beneath the kitchen window, and from there onto the window ledge. With his nose pressed up against the glass he stares in at me intently, checking me out. I can read his mind: Is it really you? Really? After all this time?
I cross to the door, and the moment I open up he dashes in, meowing furiously while rubbing himself against my legs. Where have you been? he demands. Abandoning me like that is unforgiveable. However, if you were to give me a large helping of Pawsome Pockets, I just might let you off this time! And with that he hops up onto one of the kitchen chairs, gazes cutely into my eyes and waits to be hand-fed. Mrs P joins us and together we give Caramel the breakfast to end all breakfasts.
When he’s done feeding our feline pal exits the kitchen, runs upstairs and stretches out on the comfy sofa in our library room. I sit next to him, and spend the next 30 minutes cradling his head, massaging his ears and rubbing his belly. Caramel purrs loudly, eyes closed, ecstasy oozing out of him. It’s just like the old days, before the trip to Scotland. Plainly, we’re forgiven.
Malteser in heaven
Malteser, however, waits until Saturday to dispense forgiveness. I spot him in the garden, sitting on the fence and peering disconsolately into the house. As soon as he sees me he perks up. I open the door to let him in and greets me with a friendly meow. I reach for the packet of Pawsome Pockets and he begins to purr loudly, clearly delighted that normal service has been resumed after a gap of three weeks. When he’s done eating he presents his belly and I rub it tenderly, and then do the same to his ears. He’s in heaven, and Mrs P and I are officially forgiven.
In all, it has taken nearly four days to rebuild the relationship with all our visiting cats. The bad news for them is that we’ve got a busy summer ahead, and will be going away several more times. With luck they will take pity on us, and we will quickly be forgiven for abandoning them again and again. Hopefully…
I have written previously about Caramel, one of several neighbourhood cats who claim ownership of our garden. At that time he was still a little cautious, happy to take edible treats thrown towards him in the garden and pleased to have his ears fondled, but otherwise reluctant to get up close and personal with us. I’m delighted to report that our relationship has developed in recent months, and he is now a regular house guest at Platypus Towers.
Mrs P and I generally wake up shortly after 6am, and by 6:30 our need for the first cup of tea of the day is overwhelming. I make my way downstairs, flick on the kettle and make the necessary preparations. And then I glance through the kitchen window into the garden where, almost always, Caramel is waiting, peering up at me with a look that says “get your priorities right, man. Tea can wait but I can’t, so let me in NOW“.
I do my duty, and then call upstairs to advise Mrs P that her services are required. Caramel dashes into the house as soon as I open the door, meowing squeakily as he passes me, and leaps immediately onto one of the kitchen chairs. I grab a packet of Pawsome Pockets – “crunchy pillow treats with a soft centre” – and pass them to Mrs P, who is now sitting on the other kitchen chair directly opposite the ravenous feline. Her job is to feed him by hand, pillow by pillow. Caramel has no manners and gulps the treats down greedily, purring loudly in appreciation of his ill-gotten breakfast.
Eventually Mrs P decides that enough is enough, and explains this to her furry friend. He’s not pleased, but knows that his morning fun has only just begun. Jumping down from the chair he sprints into the hallway, then thunders upstairs towards the room that we call The Library.
I follow dutifully, grabbing Caramel’s ball on the way. It is about the size of a tennis ball, but soft and squishy. I throw it against the far wall of The Library, and Caramel chases madly after it. Having captured his quarry he does a flamboyant victory roll, flashing his undercarriage for all to see. I lower myself onto the floor next to him, ignoring the protests of my ageing knees, and rub his belly. Caramel is in ecstasy, and lets rip with purring so loud as to be totally out of place in any self-respecting library. But he’s not bothered, and keeps up the purring for as long as I keep up the rubbing.
Finally, he decides the floor is no place for a cat of his pedigree, so he gets to his feet and jumps up onto the sofa that is tucked into one corner of the room. I sit down next to him, and set about massaging his belly, his ears, his chin and his ego. This goes on for maybe 15 minutes before I decide that I really do need my breakfast. I tell Caramel he can wait for me, but he doesn’t like to be left alone as he suffers from a severe case of FOMO – Fear Of Missing Out! I head downstairs and he follows me back into the kitchen, where I dispense a few more Pawsome Pockets before persuading him that he really should nip back home and spend a few minutes with the people who believe they own him.
We’re sad to see him go, but the chances are he’ll be back again once or twice more during the course of the day. And if not, we know that we’re in for a repeat performance tomorrow morning. And the morning after that. And the one after that too…you know how it is with cats, when they recognise they’ve won!
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Postscript – update on Malteser and Milky Bar
Malteser loves Pawsome Pockets, particularly if we hand-feed him
Regular readers of this blog will know that Caramel shares a house with two feline companions, known to us as Malteser and Milky Bar. I am pleased to report that they too are still doing well. Malteser visits most days, and also enjoys Pawsome Pockets and belly rubs. Sometimes he and Caramel come indoors together and Mrs P has to feed them both by hand, one treat for Malteser, then one for Caramel, then one for Malteser followed immediately by one for Caramel. And so on…
Milky Bar living his best life!
Milky Bar is more restrained, and never crosses the threshold into our house. He does, however, enjoy sunning himself in the garden and drinking from the watering can. He, Caramel and Malteser are wonderful characters, and their visits are amongst the highlights of our daily lives. Long may it continue!
Milky Bar* and Malteser*, two cats who live locally and claim ownership of our garden, have competition. There’s a new kid on the the block. Caramel has arrived on the scene, oozing cheeky charm and kittenish cuteness. He first appeared just before Christmas, watchful, tentative, a stranger in a strange land, hoping for the best but plainly fearing the worst.
Since the start of the New Year he’s been coming more often, and is gaining in confidence. Our garden is a bit chaotic (I lack both talent and enthusiasm in the gardening department!) so there’s plenty for him to investigate, plenty of adventures to be had. Transfixed, we’ve watched the intrepid explorer through the window, anxious to do nothing that might alarm him.
Everything’s a game to Caramel. He’ll be strolling nonchalantly through the garden and then suddenly go crazy, stalking inanimate objects, pouncing on windblown leaves and swatting invisible insects. One time, for no obvious reason, he attacked the withered stem of a pondside plant. After grappling with it for a while he succeeded in breaking the stem free. Then he daintily picked it up between his teeth and proudly walked off in the direction of his own house, clearly keen to present this hard-won trophy to his bemused owners.
We probably shouldn’t do it, but we’re in the habit of treating Milky Bar and Malteser to snacks when they visit. Milky Bar is quite a fussy eater these days, but will happily down a couple of mouthfuls of freshly cooked chicken. Malteser, on the other hand, has no such reservations, and is hopelessly in love with Pawsome Pockets, “chicken, turkey and duck crunchy pillow treats with a soft centre.”
Caramel is also developing a taste for Pawsome Pockets. The first time I opened the door to throw some out to him his instinct was to run. Good! Some people do unspeakably cruel things to cats, and it’s important that he works out who he can trust. But he soon decided that I’m one of the good guys, and was keen to investigate the little treats I tossed in his direction. Sniff, sniff, sniff! Crunch! Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch! And then stared at me with his mad kitten eyes and gave me THAT LOOK, the look that says “Keep ’em coming, I’m a growing kitten don’t you know!“ So I kept on tossing them out, and Caramel carried on wolfing them down.
Last week there was a major breakthrough in our relationship. With a bit of encouragement Caramel plucked up the courage to approach me and stand at my feet. I knelt down and offered to hand-feed him his daily dose of Pawsome Pockets. He snatched them from me and gulped them down, hardly bothering to chew at all. And then he approached even closer, clearly inviting me to stroke his back and fondle his ears. I did my duty, and the little ginger guy looked suitably pleased with himself, almost as pleased as me!
Milky Bar is doing his best to ignore the irritating teenager
Already I can see Caramel is growing up. Soon he’ll be putting his kittenish ways behind him, but his prospects for the future look good. Milky Bar* and Malteser* will look after him – we think they all live in the same household. He appears at ease in their company, and they tolerate him in the way that adult humans put up with irritating but basically likeable teenagers. And when he needs to fill his belly with Pawsome Pockets or have his ears fondled, he knows just where to come!
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
*The Milky Bar and Malteser story
Milky Bar and Malteser have featured many times in this blog. You can read about Milky Bar here, here and here. Malteser’s story is told here, here and here. Just click on the links to find out more about this fantastic feline pair.
There’s trouble brewing in our back garden. Right now it’s under control, a Mexican standoff in which the participants watch one another warily, plotting and planning their next moves. But any time soon the uneasy peace could descend into open warfare. And if that happens, the fur could really start to fly.
Regular readers of this blog will know that ownership of our garden is claimed by two local cats. Milky Bar and Malteser love to hang out here, to snooze, to play, to hunt insects and to do a bit of casual birdwatching. We think they must live in the same household because, while they are clearly not close friends, they are tolerant of one another’s presence. That, however, is where their generosity of spirit ends. No other cat is welcome in our garden.
Over the years a few others tried to muscle in. Flake, Titan, Toblerone, Mars Bar, Minstrel and Yorkie have all passed through, but none has stayed for long. Milky Bar and Malteser have seen to that, and have remained unchallenged here for ages.
But that could be about to change. A few weeks ago a new cat appeared, walking purposefully along the fence that divides our garden from those of our neighbours. He’s a big bruiser of a ginger tom, a no-nonsense sort of cat who looks to be more than a match for Milky Bar and Malteser.
After checking out the terrain the new arrival – who we called Ginger Nut – leapt down from the fence and inspected the garden in great detail. Luckily our regular feline friends were elsewhere, so a confrontation was avoided. Ginger Nut quickly sniffed out that other cats had been here before him, and communicated his presence by liberally spraying a few bushes. It was like a gold prospector staking a claim, announcing to all and sundry that this is his patch now and he’ll have words with anyone who dares to disagree.
A few hours after Ginger Nut left, Malteser arrived. Cats have a good sense of smell, and he soon detected that his territory had been invaded and, indeed, desecrated. He responded with a spraying frenzy of his own, as if to say anything you can spray, I can spray better / harder / higher! War had been declared.
Since then, Ginger Nut has been back several times. He’s clearly a bit put out by Malteser’s resistance, but hasn’t given up hope that his attempted coup d’état will ultimately be successful. One day he appeared on the fence while Malteser was lazing in the garden. Mrs P and I watched anxiously from the kitchen window while the pair of them sized each other up. A fight seemed inevitable, but on this occasion Ginger Nut backed down.
I’d like to think that this will be the end of it, that Ginger Nut will take his territorial ambitions to another part of our estate. But I have my doubts. He looks like a tough nut, much bigger and bolder than any of the other cats who’ve contemplated staging a coup. I’m worried that one day he’ll attempt to prove his prowess by giving Malteser – and Milky Bar – a thumping. If that happens the outcome is far from predictable, but it’s certain that fur would fly. Let’s hope it never comes to that!
It’s been a tough year. While catching Covid was the worst thing that happened to us personally in 2022, from a national and international perspective it’s been unrelentingly grim. In a year in which the UK lost its queen after 70 years on the throne, political turmoil and financial crisis have stalked the land, the National Health Service is in meltdown, social care is collapsing and many folk can no longer afford to heat their homes or buy enough food to feed their families. Misery rules, OK! And overseas, events in the Ukraine reinforce the sense of instability and imminent jeopardy.
Malteser (aka Pudrow). Here he’s relaxing on the sofa (“HIS” sofa!) which lives in our Library Room
Are we downhearted? Well, to be honest, from time to time I am! But one of the things that has brought me a degree of comfort and solace in the dark times has been the company of cats. Two cats in particular, Milky Bar and his buddy Malteser.
Regular readers of this blog will know that although Mrs P and I have no cat of our own, Milky Bar and Malteser, who live somewhere on our street, regard our garden as part of their territory. And Malteser also lays claim to our house, although he graciously allows us to continue living here so long as we allow him access whenever he feels the need!
Milky Bar (aka EmBee). On the bridge over the pond, struggling to keep his eyes open.
We see Milky Bar most days in summer, but rather less often at this time of year. He’s a beautiful chap, although getting on a bit in years and growing stouter around the tummy. His hobby is snoozing, and he’s pleased to indulge in it at every opportunity. He regularly beds down in a nest he has built for himself under an azalea bush, but when he craves sun rather than shade he stretches out on the little wooden bridge that crosses the narrowest part of our garden pond. Here he can soak up the rays while keeping one eye open to watch out for dragonflies, which he’ll catch and eat if the fancy takes him.
Milky Bar’s favourite hobby is snoozing. He practises regularly!
Milky Bar is an aloof and somewhat cautious cat, but clearly trusts us to respect his personal space. Occasionally he will approach, softly miaowing and offering himself up to be stroked But mostly he keeps his distance, happily observing what is going on all around him. He watches with interest whenever he sees me doing the gardening (or is he in shock? I don’t do much gardening!), and allows me to approach within inches of him without stirring. We enjoy one another’s company, both understanding that there are boundaries between us that must be respected.
Occasionally Milky Bar approaches us, miaowing softly and offering himself up to be stroked. Here, he’s half way through the kitchen door.
Of course there are times when I wish Milky Bar were more affectionate, more gratuitously friendly. But that’s not his style, and his mere presence in the garden is always enough to raise my spirits.
Milky Bar doing what he does best, asleep on the bridge over the pond.
Malteser, however, is altogether more forward. He visits every day, and is normally to be found waiting outside the door when I go downstairs to make an early morning cup of tea at around 6:30am. I open up, and he dashes in. We greet one another in the time-honoured fashion, but pretty soon he gets on with business, sitting himself down in the kitchen and waiting to be fed.
The cat treats we buy are called Pawsome Pockets, “crunchy pillow treats with a soft centre.” Available in beef, chicken and salmon flavours, Pawsome Pockets are evidently very tasty, and Malteser loves them. But his meal is invariably interrupted by Mrs P, who comes downstairs to join us. Malteser breaks off and strides across the kitchen, greeting her with loud purrs and fond nuzzling. Mrs P takes over feeding duties, and the purring gets even louder. Malteser’s in heaven, and Mrs P looks pretty damned happy with life too!
Personal grooming is an activity that Malteser clearly enjoys.
When his breakfast treat is over, Malteser throws himself on to the kitchen floor, rolling on his back and inviting me to rub his belly and fondle his ears. I’m happy to oblige. As soon as I’ve done my duty he dashes upstairs to the Study. We follow, and spend the next 10 minutes entertaining him, playing “chase the ball” or “pounce on the piece of paper.” By this time his purrs are so loud that the windows almost rattle in sympathy.
Malteser loves to play. I spend more time on my hands and knees indulging him than is good for a man of my advanced years!
And then suddenly, and for no obvious reason, he evidently decides that enough is enough. He trots downstairs and waits beside the door to be let out. We are in no doubt that within a few minutes he will be visiting another of our neighbours, demanding attention and treats from them too. He’s that sort of cat.
One of Malteser’s favourite places to sit is on this blue plastic bag, which we left lying in a corner of the Study one day. He’s a somewhat eccentric cat!
Malteser may return two or three time during the day, for treats, belly rubs, playtime and lots of attention. Sometimes he simply uses us as a convenient short cut, entering by the back door then marching immediately through the house to the front door, where he demands to be let out again. And we, being desperate to please him, do just that.
When Malteser gazes up at me like this I’m powerless to resist him!
While he is with us, Malteser brightens up our lives. So thank you, Malteser, and Milky Bar too, for making a difficult year a little less difficult. And come again guys, as often as you like, in 2023: the company of cats will always be welcome here.
Malteser is almost as skilled at snoozing as Milky Bar!
And while we’re on subject of thanks, I’d also like to thank anyone out there who ever reads or comments on this blog. Your continuing interest has certainly helped keep my spirits up throughout this miserable year. How can I ever thank you? I don’t think you’d like Pawsome Pockets, and I guess it would be inappropriate – and maybe a bit creepy – to offer you a belly rub, but it’s my absolute pleasure to wish you a Merry Christmas, and Happy & Healthy New Year. Have a great time, guys!
Our next-door neighbour Jim sadly died at the start of the year. Jim was a great guy, always up for a chat and a joke. He loved gardening, and you could often see him weeding, pruning and primping his immaculate little plot. But with a love of gardening came a loathing of cats, because of the unspeakable things he claimed they did to his flowerbeds. Milky Bar was always persona non grata at Jim’s.
Milky Bar: the sleeping beauty
Since Jim passed, his property has remained unoccupied, and Milky Bar has taken full advantage. A few days ago we spotted him curled up on the roof of Jim’s shed, lapping up the weak November sunshine. While Jim was alive such behaviour would have been unthinkable. Our lovely neighbour would have been up and at him, cursing colourfully and swiftly driving the unwelcome intruder away. Now, however, different rules apply, and Milky Bar has claimed squatters’ rights.
Viewed from one of our upstairs windows, Milky Bar laps up the November sunshine on Jim’s shed roof
Of course, Milky Bar has claimed squatters’ rights in our own garden for several years, although “snoozers’ rights” might be a more accurate description. Every corner of our little garden has been explored, and most of them have been slept in.
Collapsed on the patio
Now, I’m not saying that Milky Bar is lazy. He will sometimes chase an insect and may even stalk the occasional pigeon, but his ambition seems to be to spend as much of his life as possible dozing peacefully, wherever the fancy takes him. Recently we’ve noticed he’s putting on a bit of weight, and is looking quite stout around the middle. I can only assume this is a consequence of his personal fitness regime, which involves countless hours of horizontal, eyes-closed “exercise”.
Nesting on the “pagoda rockery,” shaded by bushes and a Japanese-style stone lantern.
Milky Bar is very good at dozing, and plainly likes to dedicate his days to a hobby at which he excels. If dozing were a sport in the feline Olympics, Milky Bar would be up on the podium, gold medal dangling proudly round his neck. But he’d be fast asleep, naturally.
Tightly curled up on the arbour, protected from rain, wind and sunstroke!
Milky Bar isn’t unique amongst cats in his love of sleep, although he is a particularly fine practitioner of the art. Here’s what American writer, critic, and naturalist Joseph Wood Krutch (1893-1970) wrote on the matter:
Cats are rather delicate creatures and they are subject to a good many different ailments, but I have never heard of one who suffered from insomnia.
Sweet dreams are made of this
If you suspect I’m exaggerating and may be maligning our four-footed friend, I would draw you attention to the photographic evidence accompanying this post. Mrs P always keeps her camera handy, just in case some rare bird or butterfly alights in our garden to say hi. This never happens, of course, but her photographic skills are engaged almost daily as she documents Milky Bar’s activities. Or maybe that should be his “lack of activities”?
A wooden bridge crosses the narrowest part of our pond, and is a great place to sleep. Note the net, which I had to attach to the bridge to prevent Milky Bar fishing from it!
What amuses me most of all is Milky Bar’s sense of entitlement. He clearly believes it is his right to sleep wherever he likes, whenever he likes and for just as long as he likes. But I suppose this should come as no great surprise, for as the late Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) – one of the wittiest writers ever to grace the English language – delighted in pointing out…
In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.
Asleep on top of the wall that separates our garden from that of our other neighbour
But to be clear, I have absolutely no problem with Milky Bar’s sense of entitlement. He’s welcome to spend time in our garden whenever he wishes. The last 18 months have been very difficult, courtesy of Covid-19 and the measures needed to help mitigate its effects. But a visit from Milky Bar has always raised our spirits, even on the darkest of days.
I have an old dustbin (trash-can) behind the shed. It’s great for storing odds and ends, and also makes a perfect cat bed.
It matters not one bit to me that, for most of the time he spends in our presence, the little fellow is fast asleep. It’s plainly very exhausting being Milky Bar, and the best way of recuperating is to snooze the day away. And who can blame our brave little soldier for taking care of himself in this manner? After all, it’s a cat’s life. It’s a wonderful life.
And finally…is nothing sacred? Here’s Milky Bar, nearly 2 metres off the ground, dozing on the bird table. Unsurprisingly, we saw no birds that day!
We’re in the garden room, enjoying a mid-morning cup of tea and nibbling on biscuits, chatting idly about this and that. Suddenly Mrs P stops mid-sentence, points through the window and yells animatedly “New cat, new cat!” I peer out and there he is, a handsome tabby with white boots striding confidently along the top of the fence that divides our garden from our neighbour’s to the rear.
Introducing “Yorkie”
He works his away around the fence, then hops down on to the compost bin and into the garden. Immediately he goes into overdrive, sniffing here, there and everywhere, and spraying liberally, advising any that dare follow of his visit.
Mrs P grabs her camera and fires off a few shots through the kitchen window. The cat seems blissfully unaware of our presence – or maybe he’s a bit of an exhibitionist – and after exploring the nooks and crannies of our little estate he settles down, cocks one leg in the air and starts licking his bum. No dignity, no style, no shame. But we forgive him because he’s as cute as a field full of fluffy kittens.
Looking relaxed on his first visit to our garden
Having secured photographic evidence of the visit we turn our attention to another urgent matter: what are we going to call our new guest. It’s become a tradition at Platypus Towers that all visiting cats will be named after brands of chocolate or some other confectionary item. Don’t ask me why we do this for, like most traditions, the truth of its origins are lost in the mists of time. Suffice it to say that this little ritual has served us well for many years.
Many cats have dropped by since we retired, have had their photos taken for posterity and have been duly christened. There’s Milky Bar and Malteser, of course, both of whom still visit daily and think of our garden as their second home. Other cats have been and gone: Flake, Oreo, Titan, Toblerone, Mars Bar and Minstrel to name just a few. All named in honour of our favourite confectionary items. So what on earth are we to call out latest visitor?
No dignity, no style, no shame. But we forgive him because he’s as cute as a field full of fluffy kittens.
After much debate we settle on “Yorkie.” For overseas readers unfamiliar with the brand, Yorkie is a chunky chocolate bar, much loved by macho male truck drivers if a controversial TV advertising campaign is to be believed. But Mrs P and I enjoy them too, so it seems entirely appropriate to name our new feline friend after them.
Having thoroughly explored and scent-marked our garden, Yorkie takes his leave. We may never see him again, of course, he may simply be passing through on his way to the Promised Land. But I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s seen potential in our humble little garden, and won’t be able to resist getting to know it better.
So, beware, Milky Bar! And watch your back, Malteser…there’s a new kid on the block!
Next Saturday, (8 August), is International Cat Day. To mark the occasion, this post tells the story of a cat who first came into my life almost 60 years ago.
Mum and Dad twigged early on that I was crazy about animals, so when I was about eight years old we got a cat. It was a Siamese, and boasted an impressive pedigree. The neighbours thought we were getting above ourselves, way too big for our boots. Why couldn’t we make do with a tabby or a basic black-and-white job, just like everyone else down our street, they demanded peevishly.
In truth, however, the choice of a pedigree-toting Lilac Point Siamese had little to do with social pretentiousness. Rather, it was a simple matter of financial logic. Smokey – or “Our Mo,” as we usually called him – had a slightly mis-shaped (square-ish) head, meaning he would never win prizes on the show circuit. As a result we got him dirt cheap, and could therefore afford to eat for the rest of the week!
Our Mo, c1966
I can clearly remember my excitement, dashing off to school the next day to tell my class teacher, Miss Milbourne, about our new arrival. Miss Milbourne was a formidable battle-axe, at least 120 years old by my reckoning at the time, and built like a World War 2 American tank.
“Please miss, please miss,” I whined, “we’ve got a CAT!”
“Hrrmph,” Miss Milbourne grumbled moodily, “cats!” How is it that some people can invest so much contempt in a single word, a word just four measly letters long? The subject was never mentioned again.
Despite Miss Milbourne’s evident disapproval, I quickly came to worship Our Mo. There was so much to admire about him, including an uncanny ability to catch birds in mid-air and a visceral hatred of dustmen (aka “trash collectors” in North America).
Our Mo quickly learned how to open the living room door, leaping up to the lever handle and pulling it down with his paw to release the catch. After this it took him just a second or two to hook his paw around the edge of the door – which would now be slightly ajar – and ease it open. This neat trick enabled him to take himself off to bed whenever he felt like it.
When we first had him, Mum tried to persuade Our Mo that if he wanted to sleep on my bed it would have to be in a sturdy paper bag. I don’t think that lasted a week, and pretty soon he’d abandoned his paper bag and was lying wherever he chose. Often that would be in my bed, his head on the pillow facing mine, purring softly and twitching as he dreamt.
In his younger days Our Mo was a bit of a bruiser. He would regularly exact violent revenge on any other cat encroaching on his territory. One woman from across the road complained that we should teach our cat some manners, and do more to keep him under control. Even at my tender age, I recognised this was a preposterous suggestion. Cats will be cats.
Anyway, Mum and Dad didn’t like this woman much, and the fact that our cat was regularly able to give her cat a good pasting was a source of great vicarious pleasure. The only cat Our Mo ever tolerated in our garden was the next door neighbours’ elderly moggie, who was apparently given special visiting rights on the understanding that he knew who was boss.
Our Mo also terrorized the local wildlife, and as well as birds would regularly bring home mice and shrews. We’d have preferred him to leave nature alone, but like I say cats will be cats, however much we might wish they’d tone it down a bit.
One morning Our Mo laid a fully grown rat outside the back door and stood proudly beside the corpse, waiting for his hunting talents to be admired. Dad must have been at work because I can remember Mum getting very distressed. I was told to stay indoors, the cat was chased off with a flea in his ear (a bit of a change from where his fleas could normally be found!), and the next door neighbour was summoned and told to bring a shovel to dispose of our cat’s unwelcome trophy.
Once, and only once, Our Mo met his match. One day he came in from his adventures drooling at the mouth, sneezing violently and looking very sorry for himself. He was in a terrible state, and it was quickly decided he had to go to the vet.
This in itself was a bit of an ordeal. The vet’s surgery was several miles away and we had no car, so he had to be taken by bus. We didn’t have a pet carrying basket. I don’t know if they were even invented in those days, but if they were we wouldn’t have been able to afford one. So instead, Our Mo had to be taken in a zip-up shopping bag with just his head sticking out of the top.
Siamese cats have a loud, plaintive miaow at the best of times, but the stress and indignity of travelling by bus in a shopping bag with just your head poking out provoked a non-stop vocal protest that sounded for all the world as if he was being tortured. We couldn’t wait to get off the bus and away from the accusing eyes of our fellow passengers, who plainly believed an act of unspeakable animal cruelty was in progress.
The vet examined our cat thoroughly, thought for a bit and asked if we had toads in our neighbourhood. Mum gave me a stern look, and I had to admit that although there were none on the riverbank that backed on to our garden, one of my collection of pet toads – my second best specimen, known as Walter – had gone AWOL a few days previously.
The vet’s diagnosis was that our cat had encountered Walter in the garden and had tried to dispatch him with a swift bite to the neck. However, he explained, toads are blessed with special glands to help them cope with just this sort of emergency, glands that can release a noxious irritant producing a swift and massive allergic reaction in the attacker. Case solved. The cat was given a vitamin shot and instructed to rest. I was given a telling off and instructed to keep better control of my outdoor menagerie in future.
Talking of trips to the vet, Mum was a very proper lady who had certain standards, and one day she decided that Our Mo’s feet were unacceptably smelly. The wretched creature was dragged off to the surgery again, where the long-suffering vet had to sniff his paws. Poor man, seven years training to be a vet, and he ended up snorting a cat’s feet to earn a living!
To make us go away the vet advised that we dip Our Mo’s paws in TCP (a particularly stinky disinfectant) every night, which resulted in them stinking of TCP instead. Definitely a case of the cure being worse than the illness. The neighbours thought we were completely out to lunch, and in this instance you have to see their point.
Our Mo cat died when I had just turned 18. I have no brothers or sisters and was a bit of a loner, so when the cat’s kidneys failed and we had to have him put down it felt as if a great chasm had opened up in my life. I can remember the three of us – Mum, Dad and me – hugging each other and gently sobbing in the living room. He was truly one of the family, a real character, and we missed him dreadfully.
A few months later I went to university. I’ve always thought that it was probably a good thing that Our Mo had already passed on when I left. He would never have understood why I wasn’t at home any more, and would probably have pined. Mum and Dad knew he was irreplaceable. They never had another cat.
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Follow these links to read about some other cats who’ve crossed my path over the years
Click here to read about Sid, one of the friendliest cats I’ve ever met, as dapper as a card sharp at the opera, who broke our hearts in 2014
Click here to read aboutMilky Bar, a cheeky chap who is the undisputed king of our Derbyshire suburban Serengeti
Click here to read about Malteser, an unmitigated rogue who visits us whenever he needs a snack
Regular readers of this blog will be aware that ownership of our garden is claimed by two visiting cats. Although Malteser and Milky Bar are pals – we think they live together in a house further up our estate – they are very different characters. Throughout the pandemic Milky Bar has been content to abide by the government’s tough Covid restrictions. He obeys the rules on social distancing, keeping at least two metres away from us at all times and never coming indoors for a bit of illicit socialising. Milky Bar is a model citizen, and deserves a knighthood.
Malteser claims ownership of our garden. Here he sits on top of the rabbit hutch
The same cannot be said for Malteser. If the local constabulary knew what Malteser’s been up to in recent months they’d have fined him £200. Multiple times in fact, probably every day. Such is his disrespect for the law he would most likely have ended up in chokey. Malteser is an unmitigated rogue.
OK, I admit it, Mrs P and I have encouraged Malteser’s wayward ways. When travel opportunities were drastically curtailed by the pandemic and we found ourselves pretty much confined to our house and garden for months on end, we decided it was a good time to develop the relationship with our ‘borrowed’ cats.
In the utility room, transfixed by the washing machine
Recognising that the best way (the only way?) to a cat’s heart is through his stomach we invested heavily in packets of Vitacat Filled Pockets, which the packaging explains are crunchy pillows with a soft centre. They’re available in beef, chicken and salmon flavours, and guaranteed to tickle the fancy of the fussiest felines.
To start with we stood in the doorway leading out to the garden and tossed pillows onto the patio in front of our feline friends. After a cautious investigation both cats wolfed them down greedily. Milky Bar pronounced himself happy with this arrangement, but Malteser soon calculated that there might be more to be gained by getting up close and personal First, he approached us on the doorstep to have his ears rubbed and back scratched. Within a few days he was brave enough to follow us indoors, stopping off first in the utility room to stare, transfixed, at the washing machine. Pretty soon he found his way into the kitchen, taking pillows from our fingers while purring loudly.
Cat in mi kitchen, taking a pillow (salmon flavoured!) from my own fair hand
It’s a ritual now. The centrepiece of any visit from Malteser is feeding him by hand. Mostly we sit on a kitchen chair and hold a pillow in front of him. He stands on his back legs, putting two paws on our knees to give himself extra balance while he reaches up for the tasty treat. A couple of quick crunches later the pillow has been swallowed and a few crumbs have been dropped unceremoniously onto the tiled floor. And then he looks imploringly into our eyes, eagerly awaiting a repeat performance. All the time he’s purring as loud as a chainsaw, making sure we know that his continued affection depends on a steady supply of pillows.
Having plucked up sufficient courage to cross the threshold Malteser soon decided he might as well explore the rest of the house. He particularly likes the stairs that lead up to the bedrooms, study and library. His idea of heaven is to roll on his back on the stairs, showing his belly while inviting us to fondle his ears. Honour having been duly satisfied, he climbs another three or four stairs before rolling on his back again and demanding we pay him further homage.
At the top of the stairs, purring loudly, waiting for his ears to be fondled
Upstairs there’s a whole new world for him to explore. In Mrs P’s study he likes a game of attack the piece of scrap paper, balls of which he obviously perceives as mice that need to be swiftly despatched to rodent heaven. He’s also fascinated by the door, which he tries to hook open with his paw. Then he’s off to have a sniff around the bathroom, and would happily drink from the toilet if we’d let him.
Malteser also enjoys visiting the library, particularly now we’ve set up a bed for him on the old sofa. If he’s in the mood he’ll snooze there for an hour or so, while Mrs P and I get on with the rest of our lives. It’s good to know that he feels so comfortable in our house, trusting us totally.
Resting on the library sofa
But he remains his own cat, beholden to no one, and when the time is right he makes it clear that he wants to leave us. And leave us he does, trotting off into the garden and over the fence with scarcely a backwards glance. We’re under no illusions: Malteser is an advocate of free love, and although we are doggedly faithful to him we’re certain he has relationships with other households up and down our street. But we can forgive his dubious moral character, recognising that his frequent visits have made the Covid lockdowns more bearable.
And anyway, we know Malteser will be back before too long. A cat and his tasty pillows can’t be separated for long, particularly if a couple of mugs are available to feed him those pillows by hand.
Back in the garden, belly full of pillows!
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Pillow Talk : An ode to Malteser during lockdown (with apologies to UB40, a wonderful 70s/80s reggae band from Birmingham, England)
Cat in mi kitchen what am I gonna do?
Cat in mi kitchen what am I gonna do?
I'm gonna feed that cat that's what I'm gonna do
I'm gonna feed that cat
Now I'm 64 