Are they going to love me or list me?

There’s so much chit-chat going on that I’m not sure if I am coming or going. I know I did go, but I’m back, but am I really going again? It’s hard to keep up.

It’s like that time concerning my nether regions. They’re all very nice, my human peeps, but I knew what they wanted to do, so I just stared them down straight with claws at the ready and miaowed, ‘Can I keep my balls?’, and do you know what? She just looked at me and laughed, and next thing I felt the jab going in and when I woke up I had sore ‘nether regions’ and no matter how many times I tried to find them, I had to face the fact that my balls were gone. Stolen. Snipped off. I was nether going to find them again.

So, I used to catty-chuckle to myself when I saw old what’s-his-name strutting around the homestead with his ball bag swinging along, because I knew he’d be for the chop before too long. Ha Ha. They do it to us all sooner or later. My advice is never lie down on a vet’s table because vets can’t be trusted (they’re always jabbing or poking things where they shouldn’t). Of course, if you feel really miserable, like you’re dying, then let them have a poke around just in case it helps.

But back to the present … I’d heard snippets of gossip around the traps … he said, she said, they agreed, someone guffawed. Guffawed! Silly word. I don’t even know what it means. But the gist was that I was being moved on. Shipped out. Sent back to where I came from. Apparently, the baby has upset me. What did they expect? Grizzling in the middle of the night, and all the attention focused on her, I mean ALL the attention. I’m lucky if I get brushed. As for the days of luxuriating on their cosy bed when Stevie boy brushed me from nose to tail and looked deep into my eyes and told me I was bee-ouu-te-fol, they’re long gone.

So, I started acting up. Ooii! Miao Miao. What about MEEEEEEE eeeeeeee EEEE. To no avail. I started nipping my new mummy Ilaria’s ankles. That got her attention. But she growled at me and shooed me away. And, I committed the grossest, silliest sin of all: I bit the hand that fed me. I only meant to nip, but I could hear the ‘baby’ in the pram crying and it was rocking away and mummy Ilaria running to pick it up, and I bit Stevie boy’s paw. Sunk my canine in. Drew blood. He winced like a pussy. Ha ha. Did you see what I did then? Ha ha, that was quite a good little pussycat joke wasn’t it? But he was cross with me and shooed me away. I got really down in the dumps and moaned and griped all day long, but no one paid any attention. I thought if I stopped washing myself they’d see I needed a good brushing, but that didn’t work, even when I came in all covered in cobwobs and webs and bobs. Desperate, I wee-d inside, but that just made them shoo me away even more. ‘I couldn’t be trusted anymore.’ I slunk out to my bivouac under the house and sulked for days, reminiscing about being lost in those long lonely dark days when the world went quiet, and how kind and loving mummy Ilaria had been to me when we were reunited. Finally, the old rumbly tummy got the better of me so I padded my way upstairs, sneaked through the cat door without making it squeak and that’s when I heard them talking about me, about ‘my state’, and how unhappy I was. I could feel a big fat pussy cat sob catch in my throat. They were getting rid of me. I was off to the glue factory, or worse, to be taxidermified or something … I felt so forlorn. So miserable.

I went and rubbed against Stevie’s legs and he looked at me all longingly and I thought for a moment that it might be alright. I’d win him round. That night I slept on Dog’s bed. I slept the sleep of the dead, well, not really, I didn’t die, because I was alive in the morning, but you know what I mean, and then I drank out of Dog’s bowl. It’s a stainless steel bowl so big I could just about swim in it. I rubbed my mug all over it. You know what that’s about aye? (Oops, I know, I have become a little bit common since surviving in the wild during the dark depression) … well, that means I’m claiming the bowl, rubbing my lovely, cheeky little pheromones all over it. Dog won’t like it. Do you know he’s twenty times the size of me, but I’m not scared of him. Nope. Not that I am going to admit to him, anyway. He’s gormless. If I were a dog I’d bark at a cat and make it run away from my bed and bowl. But not him. He just looks up at me with these big soulful eyes like he’s sorry we’re not best buddies or something. Shame I don’t like his food or I would gobble it, too.

But back to my predicament. My cat-astrophe, as it appears. Everything was set, apparently. My overnight bag was packed. There was no red blankie. I had ‘destroyed’ that in my bivouac, but my toiletries, new collar and other personal items were assembled, and we awaited my old mummy to come to collect me to take me back to the island, the place of my birth (Waiheke) where I’d heard a new ‘plush grey’ blanket awaited me. As soon as she pulled up and opened the car door I smelt the cage that was in the back of her car. I’d been in it many times, but the memories were not good. I waited, slunk around, sniffed and wee’d on her car tyres, filling in time. The day passed, but there was no hint that I was to be rounded up and stuffed in the cage, and once the mini human had been put to bed I eavesdropped, sneaking in and out of the cat door without them knowing. There was lots of chatter about me and what was best for me, and some tears, awwhh, they were crying about me. I felt so sad, but in a sort of good way, that I sat down on the back step and gave myself the biggest wash in a long time. I spent a long time on my tail. Have I told you about my tail, my magnificent tail? It’s a prize, let me tell you, the envy of many. I’ll have to tell you more about it later because I need more than a line or two. As soon as I was all sparkling new, all furry and fluffy, I barged in the cat door pretending I knew nothing and went up to Ilaria mummy and rubbed her legs, then to Stevie boy, then to my old mummy Julie and I felt all sort of glowing inside that I was wanted and I let out a pathetic little whimper. It was all I could manage because I thought I might cry if I tried for anything more. And they all went, Awwhh, Humpf, and old mummy teary-eyed went Humpffff Humpffff and I knew it was a kind of farewell, a letting go and I wasn’t going to be taxidermified or stuffed into the cage after all.

The next day I heard old mummy’s car go down the driveway, so I thought, that’s it, I’m definitely not going back to the island, and I felt a bit sad, briefly, because I had loved chewing that old blue mat and hiding under it, and swinging off the sliding door, then, I thought, oh well, better the way it is, I’ve got Dog under control and I’ll soon get BABY under control, too, and maybe even have some fun with BABY. 

I was sitting on the back step and mulling over the strange events of the last few weeks and remembering that when I was Humphrey of Rocky Bay I used to love chasing rats. Well, as they say, you can take a cat off an island but you can’t take the island out of a cat. Or something like that. I knew just what to do for my mummy Ilaria: I’d bring her a gift. The next day I brought her a nice big plump rat with the longest tail and the littlest beadiest red eyes ever, and she said, ‘Thanks Daudis’, (that’s what she and Stevie boy call me). But do you know what I discovered on Cat-agram? Daud or Daudi means beloved! Yes, true, B–E–L–O–V­–E–D. Oh, how magical is that, it makes me feel all sort of tingly right down to my pointy little claw-y toes!

So that’s that for the time being. Another of my nine lives lived. I’m Daudis of Titirangi now, or DeeDee for short. It sounds quite regal doesn’t it? Daudis, like Tardis, sort of, though I’ve no idea what that means. Haha, oh well, I’ve got to go and post on Cat-agram and keep up with my feline friends, or I might give the new one Cat-a-clock a go. Okay. Ciao for now. Bai-bai. Miaow miaow.