Phrase Writers Group

Life serfing (sic!) a cat

GETTING IN A FLAP

I acquired my first and (so far) last cat in 1983. My sister’s cat had produced her first litter, three feline fluff balls. A knowledgeable neighbour, who knew about cats, declared there were two boys and one girl. My sister called them Dennis, Daniel and Daisy. I got Dennis, she kept Daniel and a lucky friend had Daisy.

I took Dennis home. A lovely tortoiseshell cat, black and brown and gold streaked with cream. And four white paws.

Sooner or later cat owners come to appreciate that while dogs have owners, cats have staff. It’s in their DNA, their whiskers. They are born with the knowledge.

So Dennis had me trained within days. Playing with his toys, food on demand. Opening the back door at all hours. But more of that later.

I called him Den Boy, like Del Boy in “Only fools and horses”. And Den Boy would come when called. Providing it was in his interest.

Fast forward 6 months and it was time for the Operation. The Snip. We went to the V.E.T. Never say the V word out loud to any four legged friend. Dennis stayed overnight. The following day I went to collect my snipped friend.

“How is my cat?” I asked the vet.

“She’s fine” came the reply.

“Pardon?”

“Your female cat is fine.”

Around the same time my sister was having that exact experience with Daniel. So my tough little tom cat Dennis became my sophisticated Deniece, or Niecy. And Daniel morphed into Danielle.

Mind you I had had some suspicions about Dennis, as she used to be. But was assured by friends at work, who know about such things, that boy cats have bumps on their bellies just like the ladies.

And then there were the moggies outside my back door, on the wall. Very interested in Dennis. Thought I had a feline Fonzie, strutting about. They lost interest when Niecy came home.

Really wished one of these cat experts had explained that tortoiseshell cats are invariably ladies. And like certain female family contemporaries, Niecy had a mischievous side. A right naughty Tortie.

* * * * *

Niecy settled in. She grew into a spectacularly beautiful tortoiseshell, and being female didn’t she just know it?

The cats outside got used to her. And she tolerated me as her willing worker. Standing by the back door when I got home at night, or inside waiting to be let out. And back in minutes, or usually, seconds later.

I decided to install a Cat Flap. Thus Niecy could come and go as she pleased.

While cats instinctively know we are underlings, using a Cat Flap has to be taught.

Before I continue, this story is true. Well one bit is embellished, you can decide which. And you’ll be wrong!

The best way to teach something is demonstrate it yourself. So when Niecy was by the back door I got down on my hands and knees, padded to the door and pushed open her Paw Door with a judicious finger.

Niecy looked at me, her whiskers quivered. I tried a few more times, to no obvious effect.

Hmm. Need a new Plan.

Plan B involved hurling Niecy through her Purrsonal Entrance. My elegant cat would be minding her own business on the window sill, washing her paws. And this servile lout would grab and throw her out via the hole in the door. Or rather, attempt to. You don’t tell The Boss what to do.

Niecy took action. As she approached the Cat Flap all four paws would spring out against the surrounding door. And I would grab one paw to thrust it through, then another only for the first to bounce back in position.

Tried Plan B a few more times with the same spectacular lack of success.

Right. A fresh approach approved.

Plan C took elements of aborted Plan A and broken B.

When Niecy was waiting by the back door for her faithful if slightly dim serf to do his duty, instead I lifted her front paws, walked her forward, and let her fall through the Paw Porch.

By this time the local cats had caught on. At night you would see several seated on the wall outside. Another would come along and ask “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

And the reply would be “We’re waiting for the chick from Number 53 to do a forward roll through her Paw Door!”

Finally in desperation I asked a friend who had self-taught his own two cats on the matter. Told him of my woes.

“It’s perfectly simple Gowan” he said. “Hungry cat on one side, food on the other.”

And it worked fine. Providing I had tasty treats, on the cat-free side.

One day I got home and found Niecy in her favourite chair. And another cat on the sofa. But that’s a different story.