I think I might have acquired a cat. Or, I should say far more truthfully - I think that a cat may have acquired me.


It began two weeks ago, as my neighbour across the street rang my doorbell.

“Hello,” I said as I answered the door.

“Hello,” he replied.

“Can I help you?” I added, not used to visitors at nine in the morning.

“Yes, I just wanted to know that your cat has been clawing at your front door for the last twenty minutes, crying and trying to get back inside.”

“But I don’t own a cat,” I said.

“Oh!” he said as he scratched his head.

“Where is he,” I said peering about with curiosity.

“It ran off as I came up your driveway.”

Three days later my good friend, Greg, came over for lunch. I am considering putting a water fountain in the corner of my yard and he has experience in such matters.

He was looking at one of my many feed birders when he said.  “I did not know you had a cat!”

“Erm, I don’t,” I replied walking over to him.

“Then who is this then?” he said pointing with a big grin on his face at this underfed multi-coloured little thing meowing softly at the side of my house.

I walked a little closer, and the cat began to meow a little louder. I studied the poor mite and went down on one knee and meowed back. Yes, yes, I know that sounds silly … Darn silly, a grown man meowing.

However the cat did not appear to consider it silly at all, as it cocked its head at me, and then slinked its way towards me with a deliberately slow movements, as if to say “Yeah, gorgeous aren’t I!” and allowed me the pleasure and honour of scratching its head.

Greg shook his head. “Doctor Doolittle strikes again,” he said with amazement in his voice.

It was then my dog, Tasha, from inside the house began to bark. And my feline friend bid a hasty retreat.

I thought that was surely going to be the end of it. But I was, as I am sure you have guessed, wrong.

A couple of days later, I was sitting where I sit everyday - in my office.  I was tapping out one of my attempts at storytelling, when I heard a noise that made me all of a flutter - a cat purring. I looked behind me, and saw to my delight that the cat was outside my office window looking at me …

So now you are pretty much up to date with me and this cat, who I now call Rags.

Well, now Rags seems to spend most of its time in my garden, accept of course when the dogs are outside. I naturally did the honourable thing, and began to leave her food and drink. (Yes, I found out it is a lady cat.)

I haven’t told my wife yet - haven’t found the courage.

But, in my defence as I mentioned before, it wasn’t my fault. After all, the cat found me - and not the other way around.

Wish me luck.

© P S Gifford


Biography of P. S. Gifford

Paul was born in Birmingham, England and in the mid 80’s relocated to Southern California. He is married, has a teenage son, two dogs and a rabbit (all rescues…) and an endless dream.

To discover more about him than is decent in public conversation you can check out his website, aptly named…


Other stories by Paul:

The Cat Lady

Paul also wrote a tribute to his dog Eddie Valentino which you'll find in the Napping on a Sunbeam section.


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