I was taken to meet some-one who would become my heart throb: Saint Ben of Park Street. As my new vet he gave me a thorough moggy MOT to ensure I was disease free and to assess my disabilities.
Although I had been tested when I was first rescued, my new human wanted confirmation that I was disease free and would, in time get healthier. The prognosis was it would take a long, long time to recover, however it would be touch and go. I needed a proper diet, no more curries or insects, and lots of love and cuddles. However, I would always shake, have no meow and would still fall over with alarming regularity! Back at Tom Cat Towers I was put on my sheepskin rug as the road to recovery began.
I slept a lot, gaining strength; I was weaned onto cat food which was a struggle, as this was all new to me. So was having a human all of my own. I soon learned that when she scooped me up, purring was a reward for her. I have no meow so I communicate with grumbles and growls and we soon learned to ‘talk’ to each other and started to tumble along in our own routine.
I thought long and hard about the disadvantages of owning a human but in time I learned that the advantages far outweighed any misgivings. Food was the main bonus, I only had to raise my shaky my head from my sheepskin rug and look appealing for her to come over with some titbit to sustain me. Trouble is the ginger twit comes waddling over too in search of food.
My fur started to grow back. It grew and grew and turned into the most fabulously fluffy pelt with quite striking markings in it. This is the point where I learned the grooming is a blood sport. No matter how gentle my new human was I just loved getting my fangs into her flesh, drawing blood. I look fabulous when groomed but hate everything in the entire universe after I’d been groomed. This where the ginger tom cat came in.
I began to realisewhat a complete wuss he was; he may be three times the size I am but he was as soft as custard. So after each grooming he became my target for a good thump and a pummelling on his nose. Stupid cat would just sit there with a silly grin on his whiskers and let me wallop him.
I was trying to toughen him up, but it didn’t work. He seemed to have a daft idea in his woolly brain that he was my minder. As I am so tiny and so wobbly, he took it upon himself to care for me.
At first it was annoying. Every time I woke up, he was there lying beside me just looking at me, paws crossed in front of him. After I’d decided that he wasn’t a threat, he just became a real pain. If I waddled into the kitchen, he was behind me. If I fell over, which I do all the time, he would come and sniff me to see that I was alright. It was as if I had a great big huge ginger shadow attached to me, and it really irritated me.
The line had to be drawn when he started to snuggle up to me on the sheepskin rug, his breath could fell trees it was so bad. Then he started to follow me to the grit tray and sit patiently whilst I did what a girlie cat had to. He would then inspect the contents of the grit tray and sniff my bottom as I paddled past him with a scowl on my face.
Invading my privacy like that, was the last straw, and to make matters worse, he was just not getting the hint.
I have now made myself available 24/7 to look after the poor little wretch who has come to live with us. I follow her everywhere.
I’m just so intrigued how she can walk and wobble at the same time. I also hold my breath as she falls over so often. I am just amazed that she hasn’t had a carer before! I do wish she would be a little bit more grateful and not stare at me in such a resentful way, particularly when I follow her to the grit box. I am just doing my duty and ensuring all is well.
I am also trying to sleep next to her on the sheepskin rug, which is a real luxury, but I do it out of selfless kind-hearted generosity to keep her warm. But again, the hard glare is my only reward.