In the past 20 years I've had the privilege of having 7 cats in my life, some at the same time and some singly.
Dougal, the first cat, adopted because a colleague had a baby and didn't want the cat anymore. 9 months old, handsome, cuddly and confident. I didn't like cats and I didn't want to share my home with one, but Mr Crafty Blueberry was a life long cat lover so I gave in. I got to know Dougal and fell absolutely in love with him from then on I was a slave to cat kind.
Mrs Doyle was a stray who came to live with us after sleeping in our yard and being sneakily fed by me for some time. "Don't encourage her!" pleaded Mr Crafty Blueberry but as I said, I was a slave to cat kind by then. He gave in this time and she came to live with us. Big, furry, friendly and a wonderful companion, we had her for many years and at some point along the way found out that 'she' was a 'he'.
Gem came from a loving home but they were moving abroad and couldn't take her with them. Half Siamese, Gemma was long, sleek, pointy and the most talkative cat I've ever met. She loved a catch up chat when I got home after work, was obsessed with finding a warm lap and at bedtime she delighted being tucked in on the sofa. Gem lived to the grand old age of 18, and it was an honour to take care of such a gentle old lady.
Bramble: Highly strung, feisty, full of tortitude. I got more scratches from her than from all my other cats put together. As a rescue cat we never knew what she'd been through in her old life, but we did eventually win her over. She still showed us her wappy left paw sometimes, but she was also soft, gorgeou, full of purrs and waved earnestly with her right paw.
Poppy came to us at the same time as Bramble. They'd come from the same home originally so we adopted them together thinking they'd get on. How wrong we were! Poppy was a loyal, slightly dog-like, petite Manx cat with a stump of a tail (known as a rumpy riser) and she wanted the house and our attention all to herself. Poppy was a wonderful companion, and I'd love to say why but it feels impossible to put my feelings into words. I've loved all my cats but Poppy was special. I only had her in my live for 2 1/2 years before she passed away suddenly in January this year, and I was heartbroken at the loss.
When Poppy died I knew we'd have more cats at some point. 20 years ago when Dougal won me over to adoring cat-kind it was a life-long dedication after all, and although no cat could replace Poppy and all that she meant to me, and I still miss her, our house doesn't quite feel like home without cats.
That's where young Sigrit (on the left) and Lars (right) come in. Sigrit is 7 months old and Lars is 8 months, and although they're not brother and sister, they think they are as they were mostly raised together.
They're a jolly, lively, bonded pair who snuggle up together one minute...
...and have a good old scrap and chase the next.
They are ridiculous and I love the pair of little scamps and hope we'll have them around for a good long time.
This quote says it all really about why I love cats and find it hard to be without them:
“I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little,
they become its visible soul.”
– Jean Cocteau
Almost all my adult life there's been a cat or cats in my home, and somehow his or her personality has perfectly matched home my life has been unfolding at the time.
When Poppy passed away I was coming to the end of a quiet time looking inwards and learning how to pause and go slowly after experiencing burnout, and Poppy helped me by following me around if I was rushing, meowing until I stopped for a cuddle.
Sigrit and Lars have come along when I'm making some major changes in my life, my goals and how I see myself and my place in the world. I feel more awake than I have for years, and these wide-awake, lively kitties reflect my new eagerness and willingness to be me, rather than who I think I'm supposed to be.
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