The Cat With No Name
About three years ago I had the misfortune to run into some financial problems. The details don’t matter. All I would like to say is that it was not a case of me being improvident or greedy – a person whom I had trusted and loved turned out to be a very rotten apple, and by a combination of their theft and deceit and my illness your once comfortably off writer (who had always been of the “can’t have it if I can’t afford it brigade”) was reduced in early middle age to penury and worse, debt. That is all I would like to say by way of introduction to the matter. The full horror is not something I want to think about any more.
I was also effectively made homeless. I managed to find refuge in what was basically a “bedsit” but it had its own kitchen, and it did have a little garden with a little shed. And one day the cat came into this garden. I found him curled up on the roof of the shed on a summer’s day, soaking up the sun, and soon I noticed that he came there quite often. He was not exactly a mangy thing, but he was thin, under nourished and battered looking, and clearly had problems with his eyes. He was a little black and white tomcat.
He started to mooch about in the little garden regularly, but would spook and run away or instantly retreat to his eyrie if anyone came into view He was clearly wild, and he was extremely suspicious and nervous. I like animals, and I was concerned about him. One day on a whim I went out and got some cat food and put it out on a saucer for him. Even though he was palpably very hungry he would not come near it at all at first, although after a few days he would descend and lap it up, provided he thought there was no one around. Even with the lure of food he would spook at the slightest sudden move or approach.
The cat became my project. For weeks he would not let me come near him, but gradually he seemed to understand that I was not going to attack him. I got into a routine of feeding him in the morning and the evening. He would always eat anything, but showed a ferocious love of raw chicken livers.
After some time he would allow me to come near when he was eating and not just run away. He would certainly not allow me to touch him, and he seemed to have a fear of anything above him. I formed the distinct impression that someone had horribly abused him, perhaps stamping on him or some such. In bad weather I constructed a sort of hutch for him to have shelter from the wind and rain, but he seemed suspicious again, and would not go in. I think he was afraid of being trapped. Another clue, perhaps.
Ever so slowly he began to get more trusting. He actually came into the little kitchen porch to eat. After a bit of drama he eventually allowed me to touch him very gently when he was eating, though he would slink off as soon as he had finished. He would tuck himself up at night in a make shift shelter I made out of a dustbin laid on its side and filled with straw. He was totally silent – he never uttered a sound.
Come Christmas day I presented him with some still warm turkey pieces. He tried them and instantly fled in panic. He had never experienced “hot” food.
Over past couple of years, ever so slowly, things have changed. There came the day when a little black and white shape padded silently into the kitchen, and looked carefully and suspiciously around the place where this curious human lived. It seemed not too disagreeable. He came in more often. I purchased a special cat bed and put it in the corner out of the way and he curled up in it at once.
Slowly he grew more trusting. He started to come in and loiter in the flat proper. One day, when he was plainly hungry and I was being a bit slow getting him some food, quite out of the blue he looked up at me and made a croaky, inexpert “miaow”. The first sound I had heard him make in maybe a year or more. He started to get the idea that being touched was actually nice, and developed a fondness for rubbing his head on my feet in woolly socks as I watched TV. But traces of some trauma remained. Sometimes he would still lash out quite unexpectedly with his paw as if some sore nerve had been touched, and would draw blood at first, but it was more of a reflex than anything. Slowly, that too is going. It has not happened for a long while now.
He has even learned to purr. He makes a sort of “throatie” gurgling effort at it and bares his not inconsiderable teeth in what is clearly a cheesy grin. Once he got the idea that petting was a good thing, I decided to try something more radical. It is only last Christmas that I bought him a little brush, and this was a new trauma. Even the sight of it clearly spooked him. Perhaps he thought it was something that would be used to hit him. However, gradually he has learned that it is a pleasant experience, and now will stand stock still, and make his content gurgling noise as he gets a proper brush all over. He is a vain little thing! He loves to sleep in safe places like the poof by the TV, or under tables – anywhere were he is safe from stamping feet, it seems to me.
He is still not fully domesticated. Even now I can’t pick him up, and he does not sit on my lap. But he is clearly a very intelligent, incredibly clean little chap. His instincts are all good. There have only been one or two incidents when he has soiled in the house, and those I put down to him being poorly and unable to get out. The little sod eats like a king! He puts up with cat food, but I am afraid I have spoiled him, and he has become an epicure. As mentioned above, chicken livers are a favourite, but he loves raw prawns and salmon and all sorts of things. He gets his healthy biscuits and cat milk too. He has been wormed and “flee-ed”. He still has a problem with his eyes, but I will get a vet onto that soon. They seem glassy and often weepy with mucus. In the morning I clean them with a soft tissue and he gurgles and grins with delight. I think an animal letting you clean its eyes is the height of trust. I haven’t taken him to the vet because I still don’t think he would react well to being picked up and locked in a box – I think it could re-traumatize him. I will get a vet out to him soon though, and see what can be done. In the meantime he is very well fed and safe.
I have still never given him a name. I just call him “cat”. He needed a home and food, and some affection, not a name. Perhaps I should just call him “Clint” – the Cat With No Name. But he is too small for that to be appropriate.
I have no idea what he thinks of me. But he comes to greet me now when I come in, and rubs around my legs and gurgles his funny purr. Probably he just wants more food. I do not know what happened to him, or how he survived in the wild, or for how long. I can only surmise some wicked cruelty by someone to make him so suspicious and afraid. He has a terror of tin foil, but whether that is a clue of not, I do not know.
Slowly, over the past two and a half years, he has recovered from the brink, and now prospers, even though he is still a bit suspicious. Apart from the eyes he is in glorious condition.
And why have I done this for this animal? I suppose there seemed no reason not to do it. It just seemed a good thing to do. I was at the appropriate place at the appropriate time, and perhaps that is all there is to it. He is a dear little thing who had been horribly treated. And perhaps, as other have observed, he seemed a little bit like me.
Gildas The Monk
July 26, 2012 at 20:44
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Lovely article, Gildas — and many lovely comments.
Real men are kind to animals.
ΠΞ
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July 23, 2012 at 14:05
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I called my wild stray Cat Cat. I was going to bring him home with me from
Singapore but someone poisoned him just before I was due to leave. I’ve had
some lovely cats since but I believe that there is only one really special
one. Same with dogs. Both of my Specials have been dead for many, many years
but I still miss them both.
But this doesn’t mean that you can’t have
another really loved animal. You just keep on hoping for Reincarnation. You’ll
know it when you see it, I do believe. In the meantime just love the one
you’ve got.
- July 23, 2012 at 13:13
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Bother Gildas – this Cat certainly approves of your attitude to we kitties.
My master Caedmon is as kindly disposed to me as you evidently are to your
cat. It’s a convenient and very worthwhile relationship; I’ve learned a lot
from my human master – but alas, he hasn’t yet acquired the skill of catching
mice or taking the political temperature of our lovely Kingdom.. He’ll
learn.
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July 23, 2012 at 13:52
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Thank you Cat. How kind of you to honour us with your feline
presence!
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July 23, 2012 at 14:12
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A cat that writes comments? Come along now.
It reminds me of the dog that a chap came across one day. It was as he
was walking past the dog’s fence and it spoke to him. “Hello” said the
dog. “Whatcha doin’, where ya goin’? he panted, excitedly. “Can you take
me with you?”
The chap was astounded and began a long conversation with the dog. It
seemed that the mutt’s skills had been discovered when he was a pup and
the Government took him and trained him to be a spy. “No-one ever
suspected that I was a spy”, he said. “I was parachuted into all sorts of
places to overhear conversations and I even went to Embassy parties. I was
given medals too, for my sterling work behind enemy lines”.
“So, what are you doing here in this suburban place?” asked the man. “I
retired” said the dog, “and was found a ‘home’, if you can call it that.
And what a boring place it is. Please, please take me with you”.
The man went in and knocked on the door. The ‘owner’ came and he
offered to buy the dog from him. “Yep, OK”, said the man of the house,
“Give me ten quid and he’s yours”.
“Just ten quid?, said the chap, incredulously. ‘But he can Speak!”
“Yes, and I suppose he’s told you all about his James Bond exploits.
Well let me tell you, he’s a bloody liar. He’s never been out of the
garden”.
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July 23, 2012 at 09:00
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Either ask the vet to come out for a home visit, or for a chill pill that
dozes kitteh up a bit so he won’t stress too much over traveling and being
examined.
- July 23, 2012 at 00:50
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I got my cat from a rescue lady. He had been trapped outside, in her
neighborhood; she described him as “scared and hungry.” She put him in my lap,
I petted him, and he purred to the point of drooling. She guessed he was a
year old.
He was perhaps disconcerted by the presence of another person in the
apartment; maybe it brought back memories of someone who had been mean to him.
In any event, he was fearful and hissing, and when, after two or three days,
he escaped from the bathroom, he disappeared under the bed, not to be seen for
four and a half months. (At which point I was laid off from my job and home
all the time—maybe that made a difference.) I knew we had a cat because the
cat food would disappear, and I would hear him come out at night to
play—typically, digging the shoelaces out of my boots.
One day I went into the bathroom and discovered him in the tub, digging out
the grout between the tiles. He looked at me, then went on with his work. I
reached in and petted him for a while. He purred. Later, he came out of the
bathroom, looked at me, and wailed, in conflict. Once they learn that they
like being touched, you’ve got them. The next day, he had become a pet. He has
never taken to lap sitting, but he sleeps with me.
The point of this long story: He didn’t like being picked up, but I read a
book (by Michael Fox, the animal author) that said it’s important
psychologically for the cat to accept restraint, because it teaches him
self-restraint. Immediately, I got out my leather jacket and gloves and picked
him up and held him in my arms, against my chest. He struggled. I tightened my
grip. Then he stopped struggling, resigned. It was as if a switch had been
thrown. Now I can pick him up and hold him till he decides he’s had
enough.
Sleeping with a cat—that’s my happiness.
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July 23, 2012 at 09:08
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That is a very interesting story. I have been too careful maybe. I will
think about that this week, and decide what to do – but I think the time has
come!
- July 22, 2012 at 20:27
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It’s really just about a creature in need, one finding a way to address its
most pressing needs, gradually and carefully achieving a level of solace,
comfort and companionship, aiding and speeding its recovery from earlier,
unspecified trauma.
Same’s true of the cat.
Two winners.
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July 22, 2012 at 21:19
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Clever, clever comment!
- July 23, 2012 at 09:21
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Dog above would say just that.
Whoops. God.
- July 22, 2012 at 20:21
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Huh! All that has happened is that this cat has taken on new house staff.
Took a long time to check him out too. Now, if you were talking about a
Labrador…
PS
COI Looking after (4 years now) daughters black and white cat.
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July 22, 2012 at 19:07
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Good lad Gildas!
Ive got four cats all strays or from cat rescue, KNow
what its like
Had rescue dogs as well
On top of a full time job, I do
voluntary work to help feed the local homeless as well.
We fed about 80
today
Guess I a bit soft!
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July 22, 2012 at 19:16
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Well done PC! Now that is really fantastic
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July 22, 2012 at 18:56
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Nice Blog. I had a special Cat once, and he was a wild stray. But I’m not
going to tell you about him because it will set me off bawling for the rest of
the day.
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July 22, 2012 at 14:32
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What is the difference between a cat and a dog? A dog wakes up in th
morning, finds that a human is willing to give it a home, care for it and feed
it, and says to itself: “Wow, that human must be a God!”
A cat wakes up in
the morning, finds that a human is willing to give it a home, care for it and
feed it and says to itself: “Wow, I must be a God”
Anon.
Update. Cat is
in the bushes in the shade, just chillin’
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July 22, 2012 at 14:50
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“What is the difference between a cat and a dog? ”
Dogs can be trained by humans.
Cats train humans.
- July 22, 2012 at 19:44
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Very true. Credit to you, Mr Gildas.
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July 22, 2012 at 14:28
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I too have been adopted by a stray. Gloriously she also likes, well
tolerates, my dog. Well posted Gildas.
- July 22, 2012 at 14:24
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Amazing creatures, cat’s I mean. They will associate with their chosen
subject,
and Wow, when you have shown that you are worthy, these furry
creatures
will be your best friend and even defend you. We got 3 furry
visitors at this time. In all my live
my so called visitors stayed
faithfully with us even tramping through Europe and not
wanting to be
parted from us. There must be a lesson for our society to be learned
by
this unique union between man and cat.
- July 22, 2012 at 13:25
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A lovely, heart-warming story of mutual companionship. Thanks for sharing
it.
May I presume that a minor spelling correction would reinforce your
reader’s impression of your erstwhile loneliness?
“He loves to sleep in safe places like the poof by the TV…….”
Pouffe.
- July 22, 2012 at 13:51
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ED: I thought he meant he slept on Gildas’s lap whilst
Gildas was watching TV? Is Pouffe the correct spelling in that context?
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July 22, 2012 at 14:05
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Hence my inclusion of the caveat ‘presume’. [I daren’t be non-PC and
state ‘giving benefit of the doubt’]
- July 22, 2012 at 14:08
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Now let’s not be having any footstoolophobic hate-speech or we will
attract pussies of a different spite.
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July 22, 2012 at 14:22
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HAHA! A Freudian slip perhaps! But then I am unfamiliar with the ins
and outs of “soft comfy furnishings”
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July 22, 2012 at 14:58
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HAHA – A Freudian slip! – and I doubt use of ‘Soft Cushions’ will be
enough to elicit a full admission of guilt?.
“Biggles – fetch- – – –
the COMFY CHAIR!”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XnS49c9KZw8
(Nobody
expects the Spanish Inquisition)
- July 22, 2012 at 13:11
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Perusing a junkshop near Nantwich some weeks ago, I came across a small
sign saying, “Cats are Little People with Fur Coats”. Having been adopted by
next-doors tabby (I do feeding duties when they’re away for any reason), I
can’t help feeling that there’s more than a grain of truth in that. Cats are
always their own people, though.
- July 22, 2012 at 12:49
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I’m starting to look forwards to the Gildas Sunday morning column. Long may
you keep it up Sir.
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July 22, 2012 at 09:27
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Update. The morning “ritual” has been observed. I get up, put my coffee on,
and open the back door. Normally he is waiting but today I had to call because
he was down the garden curled up enjoying the “sun” (you know that thing in
the sky, it has finally put in an appearance) but he trotted up. As my coffee
brews he gets a quick clean around the eyes and then biscuits, a sachet of
food and cat milk. Having conumed these he normall comes in and finds himself
comfy place under a table, but today he has ambled off back to the step in
front of the shed you can see in the picture and is curled up most content. He
is a lucky devil!
- July 22, 2012 at 11:56
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Just one question Gildas, if this cat is such a wonder – how come you
have the mice problem so perfectly described last week?
Just asking
like…
- July
22, 2012 at 12:22
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If I remember rightly, it was Gildas’ parents who had the mouse problem
– in which case, one might argue Providence didn’t quite get the right
address when sending along the cat (although the outcome seems to have
been an excellent one for all concerned).
- July
22, 2012 at 14:21
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Macheath is as usual correct…
- July 22, 2012 at 09:26
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Thank you, Gildas.
For anyone ‘Out There’ who doesn’t understand – read Kipling’s “The Cat
that Walked by Himself (Just So Stories, 1902)
\\ HEAR and attend and
listen; for this befell and behappened and became and was, O my Best Beloved,
when the Tame animals were wild. The Dog was wild, and the Horse was wild, and
the Cow was wild, and the Sheep was wild, and the Pig was wild—as wild as wild
could be—and they walked in the Wet Wild Woods by their wild lones. But the
wildest of all the wild animals was the Cat. He walked by himself, and all
places were alike to him…
\ [ 3800 words ]\
… and when the moon gets up
and night comes, he is the Cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike
to him. Then he goes out to the Wet Wild Woods or up the Wet Wild Trees or on
the Wet Wild Roofs, waving his wild tail and walking by his wild
lone.
\\
http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2781/2781-h/2781-h.htm#2H_4_0011
.
- July
22, 2012 at 10:25
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You beat me to it! Kipling perfectly captures the way a lone cat chooses
to come in from the cold, but always on his own terms.
Gildas, you’re right; a name just wouldn’t be appropriate for your
relationship – after all, I don’t suppose he has a name for you.
- July
22, 2012 at 21:58
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In fact, thinking about it, this relationship is a perfect example of
symbiosis as defined by my biology teacher long ago; ‘two organisms
cohabiting for the mutual benefit of both’.
Blessings on the pair of you, Brother!
- July 22,
2012 at 08:41
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Excellent post!
It might be worth going to your local Cats Protection or even Pets@Home for
some advice. The eye infection might well respond to over the counter
remedies.
- July 22, 2012 at 07:51
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Great post Gildas. I love animals of all sorts, but I find it amusing the
way people dismiss cats as aloof, selfish etc. I have two – ginger tom
brothers, with distinct personalities and abilities (beware of cats that can
open fridges!). I used to keep rats too, which are also wonderful creatures,
very clever and intelligent and affectionate.. Watching the interplay between
them was fascinating. The cats would come over all feral, but the rats were
having none of it. They would run straight at the cats as a warning to keep
away. They did. Hours of entertainment for them, and me, and cheaper than tv.
And (for me) a very weird way of feeling connected to the universe. I think I
take my boys a bit for granted these days. Thanks for reminding me of their
value.
- July 22, 2012 at 20:46
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I had a visiting cat for 18 years. A large, ginger Tom. He was certainly
a character and would go for a walk with us round the block. He was
absolutely fearless. Not frightened of dogs or anything. I bought him a
plastic outdoor cat house to sleep in when he called and it used to vibrate
loudly with his snores. I am extremely allergic to cats, after a bout of
chicken pox at the age of 31, so I did not welcome him coming into the
house. I used to ‘de-flea’ him on a regular basis and he must have cost me a
small fortune in cat food over the years. But it was worth it. We had
visitors one summer and they bought two Border Collies with them who
gambolled round my back garden… until the cat spied them. It jumped off the
fence and stood, at bay while the dogs ran at him then “BIFF, POW” he nailed
both of them and they ran, terrified, to cower under the garden table.
Astonishing. The animals were too far away to intervene and I am glad the
cat stood up for himself.
In the end, the cat went missing. We searched for him, high and low. In
the end another neighbour confessed that they had been looking after the cat
as well and had taken it to the vets…
Well. There’s an end to it… except… I went to see the vet and, quite
unbelievably, it turned out that he had been ‘chipped’ at one time or
another and the owners had simply moved away and left him. They were traced
and agreed to let one of the nurses at the vets adopt the cat so, in his
twilight years, the cat now has a permanent home. No more cold winter
nights. I still take cat food to the vets to ‘do my bit’ for our old friend.
Astonishing, the ties that bind us to creatures that do not, legally or
otherwise ‘belong’ to us.
Good article Gildas, you old softie!
- July 22, 2012 at 07:31
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A fine Monk you are Sir.
Your opening paragraph is familiar and close to home. I am a hermit from
similar mistreatment by a loved, yea even adored one. My tiny rented home is
of bare necessity. But in past years I have had cats and dogs.
One cat, was a beaut. 13 kilos of liquid muscle. Jet black with a hint of
burgundy when the sun shone on him in certain movements. He strolled / loped
like a small Jauguar. He was a philosopher cat and quite ‘scared’ of other far
smaller cats who would chase him. I called hin ‘Jean Luc’ after the Captain of
the Starship Enterprise. I had a very small dog at the time. 6 kilos of
Shtitsu, Actually it was the adored-one’s dog and a yappy critter. When a cat
chased Jean Luc into the house, the dog would chase it out. I called him Worf,
although he had ‘the yap’.
Jean Luc came from an RSPCA place where he had grown up from a kitten. He
had known only a concrete cell and was frightened of a house. It took him
three months to go upstairs. But he was a great cat. He would sit on my knee –
well, stretch himself across pinning me down, and loved to be stroked. Quietly
he would sit and philosophise.
We lost both to motor cars.
I acquired another far wilder cat. A lady teacher (most teachers are women
these days) I knew had a Maine Coon that had gone feral. It had been bought as
a kitten for her little girl who had grown with her. But as the lass became
‘teen’ she wanted a kitten again. The new kitten had all the attention, of
course, and ‘Ozzie’ (Ugh!) was really put out. His response was to go wild,
get filthy, stay out for days and come back snarling and spitting. The teacher
was miffed at having to clean all his beautiful long hair and decided to have
him ‘put down’. Well, she would, wouldn’t she. I dread to think how she
treated small, noisy boys in her classroom.
I took it from her and turned him back to the playful, courageous,
confident lad he had always been. Not that he was alone. I had two dogs too
and they became his best mates. I renamed him ‘Maximillian’ – Max for short.
He liked that.
Two dogs, a cat and a beloved.
All lost to me now .
Miaow.
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July 22, 2012 at 09:06
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What a lovely kind and thoughtful reply Crikey. Jean -Luc sounds
adorable
- July 22, 2012 at 07:17
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Sounds like you needed each other Gildas. Unfortunately he’ll always be a
bit feral (I too have experience with strays), bur even the wildest thing can
take root in your heart. Accept them at face value and they’ll never betray
you.
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July 22, 2012 at 07:08
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I think it was Roger Scruton who said animals have no rights but humans
have obligations.
{ 42 comments }