The Joy of a Feline Friend

We were a cat household without a cat. As the world changed for everyone in March 2020 we began to regret our decision to be a humans-only household since our last moggy died at Christmas. The cat-shaped gap was everywhere we turned.

Getting a new pet was not easy. Rescue centres were either not engaging with people or operating on a very strict set of criteria. Previously I had fostered cats and kittens for the local Cats Protection League but even that didn’t help us; the coordinator patiently explained each time I texted her, looking for a cat – any cat – that restrictions meant they were not allowed to rehome any animals. Even as lockdown eased a little things didn’t seem to improve much, and as the end of July approached I felt time was running out before my children and I went back to school in August.

Then our luck turned and we heard of a young cat needing a new home. Within twenty-four hours my elder teen and I had travelled to a nearby town and picked up the petite eighteen-week-old kitten and driven back home — he crouched quietly in a cat carrier while we were giddy with excitement. We had only seen a slightly blurred, off-colour photo of Leo, as we renamed him, before Gotcha Day but he turned out to have a beautiful coat of dark and light grey stripes with an ivory patch under his chin and a speckled underside. He also has the markings of a number five in light grey on his right flank and a mirror-reversed one on his left side. Jade-yellow eyes are set among the features of his small furry face. His friendly inquisitive nature meant he settled himself in his new home with ease, and without any persuasion he quickly assumed the role of our Feline Overlord.

Leo realised he had reached the land of milk (kitten milk of course) and chicken-flavoured treats on demand. He accumulated cushions and cat beds and toys and gourmet cat food. In return he ran up curtains, scratched the wallpaper and turned his back on the expensive food I had just invested heavily in. None of that mattered. He had our hearts.

In a year when it was hard to find much spontaneous delight, Leo became our delight. Was there joy in watching him practising his tiger-like manoeuvres across the grass and batting at bees with futile persistence: yes. Was there joy in feeling the gentle pressure of his paw on the back of our heads as he sprawled himself along the back of the sofa: absolutely. Was there joy in him bringing a live mouse clamped in his jaws, through the open kitchen window as I flapped a packet of mince at him and hissed, ‘No, no, no!’: not so much. But cats are gonna cat and a collar with a bell was swiftly tied around his neck — only for him to reappear from his next trip outside sans necklace. In a year when we weren’t allowed to hug anyone, cat cuddles were still allowed, and Leo, I hereby apologise for the number of times you have been randomly picked up and gently squeezed until you wriggled free.

Leo loves to lie on the ironing board. He loves to bite any stray toes that hang out from a duvet. With a bossy and proprietorial manner he insists on looking out the living room window each morning when the curtains are opened. He has a habit of walking towards you and then dramatically flopping down and rolling over, as if to wonder why you have not told him enough times that day what a beautiful spotted tummy he has. I trained him to sit, which he willingly does for a treat, but he turns his delicate wee nose up at my insistence that he should remain on the kitchen floor and not the countertops.

But Leo’s biggest accomplishment is the fact he is a bridge between me and my teens. When my seventeen-year-old and fifteen-year-old saw their worlds shrink to the boundaries of our house and garden, when their Scouting and socialising activities were put on hold, when school was transferred online for the second time in a year, Leo became a safe topic of conversation. Even if nothing else was happening in our lives we had the kitten’s antics to comment on. A cat lives in the moment; he does not care about the news. He cares only about his food bowl, his comfy places to sleep, his garden adventures and toes to nibble on. Something about his presence in our lives is balancing and reaffirming. In a time when we learned to appreciate the small things I would like to say thank you to this tiny cat with a big impact.