I’d never had a cat before, if you don't count the two strays Black Cat and Napolean Bonaparte whom I knew briefly in my childhood. But last year, my only Christmas present was a black and white tabby named Sooty, given to me by my Mum’s friend.
Sooty has long whiskers and a little brown beard, and one black and one white paw, and I've had her for two months now. I figure she's a teenager because all she wants to do is sleep, eat and play.
I went hunting for toys, and I found a little pink stick with a string on it and a little white mouse at the end, and a big pink stick with the same deal. But the mice fell off and got vacuumed up, and now I use the pink sticks to play with her.
I like to think I'm the magician and she's my magic cat. She's an indoor cat, though she never used to be, and sometimes I catch her staring out into the soulful night. She slept on the end of my bed the first night I got her. But since then she has prefered the couch and the little blue aeroplane blanket to sleep on.
The world outside is too big for such a little cat. But I make sure she gets her exercise when those magic pink sticks come out. She likes taking the pen from my hand too, when I'm writing, or playing with my bootlaces, but the other toys, the pink ball and the ball with bells she doesn't care for. I'd like to take her to the cat cafe, a cafe full of cats so she can make some friends and have a social life, but I know it's not meant for that, it's meant for humans.
The man downstairs yells at his cats, but when I come home I say ‘Hello Baby’ and when I leave I say ‘Goodbye Baby’. Sure there's been some accidents, but I figure she's not like Fat Freddy's cat from the comic the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers I read as a child, who scratched holes in his waterbed and peed in his shoes.
When Sooty wakes after a long nap, she yawns and arches her back, and then she scratches her claws on the back of the couch, before going in search of food. If I’m asleep, that means climbing up onto my pillow and meowing