When my current keepers first ‘found’ me, and then ‘allowed’ me into their home in 2006, I was a very different cat indeed.

Once I became a house as opposed to feral cat, I used to spend hours, yes hours, ‘facing down’ next door but one’s cat Max across a thicket. Max was a very fit ginger tom.

One of us would move or blink and the other would growl. It went on for months. One of us would appear to be backing down, and then the other would wait until the moment came to break eye contact. A growl and hiss would follow, then a chase to the fence and then a very slow, macho, measured walk back to the garden or cat flap.

As this all played out in my garden, and I was the one to do most of the chasing, I suppose you could say I was the winner. Max would no doubt contest this.

I was king of the garden.

Now, my sight has all but gone. I’m still active, albeit slower. We have moved house three times since. Next door but one have two cats. One is a…ginger tom [GT].

He comes in at night and eats our food. He and his sister will sit on our mat at the front when we are away, and more recently, he has the brass neck to do it when my keepers have been out for a few hours.

Holly, who is half his size, is the one to see him off. GT is not an aggressive cat, but he does what he wants. The appearance of one of my keepers can spook him.

Now, I reckon I should be on disability benefit. I have given at least seven years of loyal service and entertainment to my keepers, and prior to that [for at least 12 years] I kept the locality free from the ‘wrong kind of creature.’ The trouble is, I can still walk, squawk and breathe. So I don’t qualify. Catos, the hatchet men, threw out my claim. GT and his sister see me as a scrounger, even though I get nothing. My cat pension was stolen by the banks.

The garden I used to boss has been secretly sold off to people who wish to have fracking in the area, and they have made a fortune from the sale. Gas now comes out of water taps.

The ex-head of spies has told the local feline population to watch every cat, to see if they are acting ‘queer.’ We must be especially vigilant for black and brown cats. Any queer behaviour must be reported.

A mandatory policy of putting any cat over 15 on a ‘care pathway’, something which will ensure a peaceful, carefree ‘passage’, free of stress, rogue ginger toms, food and water has been introduced.

picture blurred to protect identity...My German friends tell me that the authorities over there are wanting to use drones to monitor and ‘control’ any cats who relieve or express themselves where they shouldn’t.

And yet some of us wonder if GT has got it right. After all, he uses his youth and strength to get what he wants, he couldn’t care less about anyone but himself, and he glows with health.

Trouble is, he had a narrow escape some weeks ago. In his keepers’ garden is a 50 foot tall tree. GT climbed up it, got stuck and started to squawk. It was hours before they got him down. I’m sure he wondered if they ever would.

We could each have our private drone couldn’t we? Better than a conscience. Keep us on the straight and narrow until our time be culled, sorry cared for, in that nice hospital.

Ginger Tom once told me I’m a danger to all felines, spreading my theories and laughable rubbish. I suspect he reported me too.

The thing is, everything I’ve written here is either true, or based on truth. If anything I have understated what it going on in your insane world.

I said to GT, all he has to do is thank the Great Cat when he gets rescued and for his food and shelter. To stop reading the lies in the cat media and watching the propaganda on the brainwashing channel.

He now has a glint in his eye, comes in less often, and doesn’t let my keeper spook him. We are all beginning to like him. And he has never been up the tree for ages.

Jimmy, 29 May 2013. 

P.S. Ginger Tom requested that his face be obscured in order to protect his street cred. Here at The Daily Mews we appreciate how important it is for any self-respecting cat to retain his street cred so we were happy to comply with GT's wishes. 

A Morning Kiss

A morning kiss, a discreet touch of his nose landing somewhere on the middle of my face.
Because his long white whiskers tickled, I began every day laughing.

Janet F Faure

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