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 at me until I awake.
Nowdays I'm in cat routine which means buying her food and treats every fortnight and cleaning her litter tray every day and a whole lot of affection given and returned. I even let her jump up on the kitchen bench but only if I'm not preparing food because I've got four windows in my flat and she like to sit and look out from every one.
She's been one of the best things to come into my life. Now I don't talk to myself, I talk to her. One week when I was so poor I spent the last of my money on her, on cat toys and can of cat food and chicken drumsticks.
I like to pick her up in my arms and cuddle her, but she only stays a minute and then struggles and so far she hasn't hopped on my lap, but we're learning to trust each other and I know when she's older she will. There's plenty of time for that. She's my companion.
She wears a red diamonte collar with a red heart shaped bell and a white pearl bell that looks like a teardrop. Her teeth are sharp and she can be a vicious little creature when I rev her up, and when I pull those pink stick out its like she's watching a game of tennis, her eyes go from left to right so quick. I'm thinking of getting two goldfish and calling them John and Yoko because fish in bowls are like TV for cats.
I get entranced by her eyes, how sometimes she's got tiny dots for pupils and other times there big as saucepans, and I'm in love with her softness.
She purrs whenever I feed her, and she likes to bite my toes when I'm barefoot.
Sooty waits for me to get home at night. She meows at the door, and when I return she gets under my feet. I had a hairy spider on my wall last week and I brushed it off with a broomstick and killed it and I think 'Sooty' was more scared of it than I was.
Little creatures like her are life's endearments.
Peta Edmonds is completing a diploma in professional writing and editing.
Generic cat image by Shutterstock.