How Two Cats Rule My House
Not everyone loves a cat. I get it; they kill birds, do unspeakable things to your neighbours’ gardens, command the warmest place in the house and never fully appreciate or thank you for what you do for them. At least, not openly. I know they can’t express thanks in a language we are used to, nor can they give you a firm handshake in recognition of the food that you put down for them twice a day for every day of your life. And you can wait hours after getting up to open a door for them before they actually make a decision as to whether they want to go through it or not. More often, the latter.
One of my favourite quotes about them – I forgot who said it, but it was far too witty for me to claim it as my own – was that cats are “always on the wrong side of the door.” So why do we let them rule our homes?
These two are brothers. They were born on a farm near Matfen in October 2005 and for the first six weeks of their lives they were cared for by the resident vet, who christened them Ameobi and Shearer. I soon put a stop to that.
When they arrived at our house, they headed straight for the space under the bookshelves, and camped there for about 24 hours. Occasionally they would peer out at the strange new world that was our living room, and try to work out what had happened to the farm. Before they came out of that hiding place, we had renamed them Felix (because he looks like the one on the cat food tin, which ironically he won’t touch) and Chester (because the kids thought it was a classy name, and he looked quite aloof).
Felix is the soft one. He loves nothing better than to sit on someone’s lap and watch TV. He is so easy-going that you could tie him to the end of a broomstick and use him as a kitchen mop without him even raising an eyebrow at you. He just doesn’t have a temper. Mind you, nor does….
…Chester. A little more jumpy than his brother, and not one for sitting on laps, thank you very much, but quite happy to sit on the same sofa as anyone that he actually knows. Always first in the food queue, he will often finish his portion and then head over to his brother’s bowl, just muscling him out of the way. He knows he can get away with it as Felix is so soft.
But Chester has a soft side too. He once tried to kill a mouse on our lawn but I persuaded him that he wouldn’t want blood on his paws. He reluctantly agreed and the mouse got away.
The past fifteen years with these two have been a joy, for the most part anyway. I know the likelihood is that we won’t have them too much longer but I like to think that they’ve had happy lives up to now, and that they will always be grateful to us for allowing them to live those lives without the burden of being named after Newcastle footballers.
There is no doubt I’ll miss them when they’ve gone. They will always be a big part of our lives. But for now, I’m off to wash the kitchen floor.
Felix? Come here….
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