Guinness

It's said that people are either a 'cat person' or a 'dog person' but how does one know unless one has owned both? I've never owned a dog. That's not to say I don't ever want to own a dog, I just haven't up until now. I've owned 3 cats though - and have loved them all, though they were/are completely different in nature. This blog was originally intended to be about the cats and dogs I've known, together with some silly tales about them, but instead I've decided to write about just one feline.

My very first cat was Guinness - he was what might be called 'a character'. We got him when he was only 8 weeks old - he was jet black and at that stage had the bluest eyes, though they later turned a brilliant green. He was the only kitten in a litter born to an older female cat who belonged to some friends of my brother.

He (the cat, not my brother) had a rather aggressive and territorial nature (my dad used to call him 'Saddam') and was fearless. He wasn't afraid of anyone or anything - a trait first displayed when, on seeing a golden retriever in next door's garden (which he considered his territory) he leaped over the fence, onto the dog's back and dug in his claws! It was the closest I've come to seeing one of those bucking bronco displays they have at rodeos.

This territorial theme reared its rather ugly head again a few years later when a woman delivering charity envelopes came to our house. She had with her a little dog - not one of those yappy rats on a lead, but a smallish terrier-type hound, just over a foot tall. Guinness was watching them, sniper-like, from the bushes in the garden, and when they were level with him on their way back down the path, he launched himself at the dog! :-O The woman, wanting to defend her pet, picked it up ... big mistake. Guinness decided to go for her instead - he clung on to her leg with his claws and bit her firmly on the shin. The first I knew of this was when a neighbour told me a couple of days later (the charity envelope woman had run to this neighbour's house, and knocked on the door, seeking antiseptic lotion and sanctuary from the ferocious cat). I was so embarrassed. I called the charity envelope woman and apologised profusely for my cat's terrible behaviour. Thankfully she had seen the funny side and said not to worry and that she'd be dining out on the story for the foreseeable future. I think I was very lucky she didn't report me to the police for being in possession of a dangerous cat. I might have been forced to muzzle him.

I think he thought he was a bit dog-like. At one time he and I lived up the road from my parents' place, and whenever I went over there, he'd come with me. He didn't have a lead or anything, he'd just trot by my side. He wasn't keen on being left at home alone, so I'd call him if I was going down there and he'd be out of the door like a shot. If I was out somewhere else, he'd call in there looking for me; and if he was hungry and I wasn't playing ball on the provision of food, he'd go there and plead starvation. He sometimes made it quite clear he didn't approve if I was out for too long - I'm sure any cat owners amongst you will know that 'look' cats give you when they're not happy with you. He would give me that look, and then come and sit about 3 feet in front of me with his back turned to me. Subtlety wasn't his 'thing'.

Guinness was also rather mischievous. Another neighbour once spent an autumn afternoon planting out her spring bulbs - digging holes, planting bulbs and covering them over. She was aware Guinness was watching her, and chatted to him all the while - he was excellent company. However, once she'd gone indoors and he was sure she wasn't coming out again, he proceeded to go round the garden digging up all the bulbs she'd just planted - every single one. She wasn't happy, though she told me she admired his sniffer dog-like talents. Another day I couldn't find him anywhere, despite looking in all his usual hiding places. I went out into the garden and heard that familiar 'miaow' but couldn't work out where it was coming from. Eventually I looked up, and there he was ... someone had left a ladder up against next door and he'd climbed every single rung and was sitting on the outside window ledge peering in their bedroom! (I've managed to find the photo I took of him up there!) However, going up was evidently easier than coming down and he took a huge amount of coaxing before he would descend the ladder. Stoopid cat.

He was a reasonably efficient hunter - bringing home some birds (he didn't kill them, he just used to bring them in and let them go. I think he enjoyed seeing me trying to catch the bloody things). His favourite 'trophys' though were frogs. We lived in a house between two gardens with ponds which meant there was a steady supply of his prey of choice. It wasn't until I had Guinness that I discovered frogs squeal when they're unhappy. Believe me - they do. He used to come in with a frog dangling from his mouth (he'd invariably carry them by one leg) and they would squeak and squeal in protest. Then he'd put them down, pat them to make them jump, run after them, pat them again, and on the game went. I was horrified for the poor frogs - if I saw him doing it I'd try to cover them with a bucket and later liberate them back to one of the ponds, but he wasn't pleased about this - he used to stalk the bucket and frown at me.

This is all making him sound a horror, but he wasn't at all (well ok, yes he was - a bit. Sometimes). But he loved me - he slept on my bed (and if he could wangle it, in my bed), he kept me company wherever I was and whatever I was doing. He miaowed and purred at me. He loved to interfere with my crafting (he had a kamikaze type fascination for the sewing machine needle, often sticking his paw through the 'gap' in the machine in an attempt to catch it). I loved him too, for all his bolshy ways. He died at 16½ years old, having been indulged, yelled at, appreciated and loved. He was beautiful and bonkers in equal measure - I'll never forget him.

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