Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
The Shameful Truth
by Russell Turner - 17:25 on 01 November 2015
When Willow and Pandora were still more kittens than cats, and the world was an exciting new adventure, their curiosity and eagerness to explore led us to dub them The Fearless Ones.
They've grown since then, but life has been good to them and, apart from the occasional over-friendly dog, unexpected human or visit by neighbourhood Mystery Moggies, has left them with little to fear.
So a growling, shouting, howling, hissing Pandora was a bit of a shocker.
I missed the transformation of tolerant tabby into wildcat, learning of it from Matchgirl when I returned home following a band meeting. The cause, she revealed, was a new visitor to The Rural Retreat's garden – a ginger cat of undetermined sex (but let's call her she).
The Formerly Fearless Ones usually run or hide when confronted with something they don't like, or simply ignore it if they're safe indoors and observing through a window. But something about Ginger, spied through the back window, turned our normally placid puss into a whirlwind of aggression (although not enough to run outside to confront the intruder).
Next evening, when a low growl and the sight of a tabby cat staring outside alerted me to possible drama, I stepped out to find a friendly, well-fed Ginger a few feet from the door, keen to make acquaintance. But I'd left the door ajar. Moments later, Maia rocketed through the doorway, shouting and swearing at the intruder who leapt three feet in the air when The Black Beast halted six inches from her nose.
Wisely, Ginger didn't turn her back on Maia so the two faced each other, a couple of feet apart, one uttering oaths and threats, the other making plaintive whimpers of bewilderment. The stand-off ended when, after five minutes of cussing, Maia gave a final shriek and bolted back indoors. Ginger, rather than take the opportunity to turn tail, gave me a nonplussed look and allowed me to stroke her before ambling away, dazed.
Last night I had the opportunity to hear Pandora's full vocabulary (a very loud one) when Ginger had the temerity to jump on to the outside windowsill and stare longingly indoors. This time Matchgirl went outside (carefully closing the door behind her) to tell the wanderer that The Pride didn't want to be friends and that she should go home.
Maia and Pandora have both seen other cats without making a fuss. Why Ginger should cause such outrage is a mystery, unless there's some kind of colour prejudice involved.
“Where's Willow been during all this drama?” I hear you ask. The answer is that the scourge of garden wildlife hid upstairs as soon as voices were raised.
Two racists and a coward. The shame.
Add your comment
© Russell Turner 2008-2024