It’s a strange thing, is it not, to share one’s domestic life with other animals?
On the one hand, of course, it isn’t all that strange. We’ve always lived amongst and alongside animals. Mostly chasing them off or exploiting them for food, clothing, etc. But a few species – dogs and cats being the most common and obvious – chose or were coerced into sitting round the fire with us. And from such humble beginnings…
I grew up in a home where we always had a cat. Mostly just the one cat. Although there was a period where my sister got her own kitten, Domino. And for several years he and Pishy co-existed, at our childhood home in Comberton, near Cambridge.
As I type this, Tigger (or Tiggy) [2] lies at the foot of the bed, noisily grooming, his warm furry body just slightly in contact with my cold bare feet. I call to him, in that way humans choose to interact with their pets, and he looks up. His expression is, frankly, inscrutable. I love him.
I suppose that for those of us pet owners who don’t have kids of our own, our furry friends take on an even greater role in our lives. What do they make of our grabbing them for cuddles? Tigger, now somewhere around 15 years old, isn’t the most tactile or affectionate of cats. Having said that, he’s becoming more and more of a lap-cat – at least with me – as he grows older.
He has the run of the place, and makes free with the environment. Our only control is that now that we let our guest room, via AirB&B, we try to keep him out of there. And whilst he’s allowed out via his cat-flap in the kitchen/back door (and thence wherever he chooses to go), we don’t let him out the front, as it opens onto a reasonably busy road.
Currently, and for many years now, he has a bowl of dried cat food that’s kept continually stocked, along with a bowl of water, ditto, and a third bowl, in which every evening he gets his dose of ‘wet’ cat food.
[Tigga’s most recent mouse kill…]
Occasionally I think about changing his diet. I’ve toyed with trying to feed him something closer to what cats might eat in the wild. But in the end, he seems happy enough as is. And we occasionally give him special treats, or bits of what we are eating.
Interestingly, feline bereavement has brought deeper sadness in my life than any human losses, so far.
[Pishy]
Pishy, our first cat, lived to about 18 years old. He passed away around the time my parents were heading towards a break-up, and I was getting ready to leave home for college. He was getting old and infirm, and my parents had him ‘put to sleep’. I was very sad about his passing. But the combination of other external human events, and his long-ish decline, meant the blow was somewhat softened.
Pishy was a big, black short haired cat. Domino, my sister’s cat, was also black, but longhaired, and with white mittens and a ‘blaze’ of white on his chin and chest. He was supremely cute. He lived with my dad and his new family, after both Hannah and I had flown the disintegrated family nest.
[Pishy & Domino?]
I went through a tough patch in my late twenties and early thirties, during which I occasionally stopped over with either mum or dad. I would always check in with Domino, when staying mit mein farter, for a playful roll around the floor, with lots of stroking, poggles, and purring.
On one of the last of my visits in this period, I noted the absence of Domino, and inquired as to his whereabouts. He was dead and gone! I was devastated. And burst into uncontrolled tears there and then. Having moved away from home, I had no inkling that my bond with him was quite as strong as it proved to be.
I learned that he had taken to sitting in a particular spot in the garden – as cats are wont to do – and was regularly to be seen or found there, sleeping away the lazy hours. One day, he just fell asleep there, and never awoke. That’s how a cat should die!
Thinking about him, curled up, sleeping happily and drifting away, brings the tears back even now. On the one hand I’m happy that he died peacefully. But on the other I’m sad that I wasn’t there.
I believe that he lies buried in his favourite spot. Bless him!
My sister has always kept cats, as far as I know, and we have been lucky enough to inherit one of them. And that’s Tigger, our fabulous furry, feline four-legged friend.
[Tiggy as a kitten]
It does seem strange to me that we share our lives with this little critter. But it’s a strangeness I love. Goodness only knows what Tigger makes of us, clumping about doing all kinds of strangely pointless human stuff.
And I do hope he’s happy? My sister often allowed one cat to bear a litter, so Tigger is part of a small clan or dynasty linking us to several other cat and human families. But like most pet cats, he’s had his fertility taken from him. He seems happy enough.
And he certainly brings Teresa and I, and visiting friends and family, immense pleasure. And for Teresa and I deep happiness. The love between humans and their pets is very different from that between humans. But it’s certainly a very deep and real love.
NOTES:
[1] I learned about Waterton via Attenborough’s More Life Stories, in which he’s the subject of a chapter.
[2] Or Tiggy-Wiggles, Tig-meister, Count Von Tigulus, His Royal Hairiness, Furry Fella, Little Hairy Man, etc, etc. You get the picture!
[3] This post is a WIP, as I’m struggling to find certain pics, esp. of Pishy and Domino…