Does a cat really have nine lives?
Perhaps our dogs can tell us
I have to confess I am not a “cat person” - I can’t seem to connect with them - but I would never want to see a dead one.
We have had two feline visitors to our rambling, somewhat jungly yard recently. Our dogs are not amused. With a furious growl, Freddie (with his sister Lulu skipping along in his wake) chased a small black and white cat out of the yard last week. It flew over the wall and escaped. I was really sad though, to see the same cat lying in the middle of the busy main road near us. At least, I am pretty sure it was the same one.
I guess it had run out of lives.
Now we have a ginger cat (I used to call them “marmalade cats” as a child) with three quarters of a tail. It seems to be made of sterner stuff, and is not going to give up the prospect of killing a few of our precious wild birds. I have found two pathetic patches of feathers near the bird bath, where he clearly lies in wait. F and L have been on patrol. When they are let out in the front yard, they scour every bush with the thoroughness of one of those dogs at the airport that sniff out drugs. They have chased Mr. Ginger off twice now, but he still seems to be around.
I think he’s on thin ice. F and L don’t give up easily. They are deeply offended by cats and motorbikes. But of course, the latter are mere machines, and uncatchable.
Please, Mr. Ginger. I am asking you kindly to stay away from our yard. For your own sake.
