The first thing to say here is that I never liked cats very much. It’s just that this small fiery nutjob found her way into my existence, mainly because I’m not very good at saying no.
It all happened a very long time ago in a county far away, where I used to teach. First Wayne, an affable seven-year old at the time, arrived in my classroom with the predictable litter-of-kitties picture. His cat had had babies, culloo cullay, and we showed-and-told.
And come the end of the day his mum asked straight up: would I like one? And I heard myself say, oooh yes. Thanks so much. When do I pick her up? In three weeks? I’ll be there.
And I was. To find that all the stunning little silver tabbies were spoken for, and I was left with a crazy-faced alleycat with attitude and a half ginger, half brown visage which was really quite alarming. She was wedged into a wine rack taunting her siblings with what looked very like mania.
Now, Wayne is 23, all grown up and left school. And my off-the-wall feline friend is still here.
But she’s getting old.
A cat is a half way stage in the life of many couples who settle down for a life together. They are ready to cosset something, but furry is less frightening than the obvious alternative. So they invite a moggie into their homes, and for a time the mog is king. As was Kit Kat.
I didn’t name her, He did, after a cultish Kit Kat Klub run by journalists in Chatham. I wanted to call her Boudicca. Perhaps everything turned out for the best.
When the kids hit, the cat suffered immediate and unceremonious demotion, from king to hazard. She became something we had to limit: but she seemed to take it in her baggy, furry stride.
Cats are the spirits of places: they become attached to, and part of, the place they inhabit. This cat was yanked from place to place in a series of daring moves. She expressed displeasure as only she can: but she did it all, complaining but still standing.
For the last seven years things have quietened down. Kit Kat has simply always been there, a nagging, complaining, dramatic, comforting, constant character.
And as I watch her lying lazily in the Sun I realise two things: firstly, just how much her presence means to me and has comforted me over the years: and secondly, that that stalwart, spiky presence will not be with us much longer. Every moment counts.
She has started jumping at counters and not reaching them: declining to play with a thread of wool when once she would have killed that thread stone dead. Time passes, and none of us can stop it. The most precious thing in any of our lives is that most ethereal of qualities, life itself, and its the one thing over which we have very little power.
So for Kit Kat and me, we shall seize each day we have left with vigour. May this Summer bring her many warm days sunbathing on the garden bench. We shall eat, drink and, as is her custom, be gloriously angry.
Kate Shrewsday 
she is gorgeous. i love her face.
It’s certainly individual 🙂
Cat characters are so strong!
(Am I right in thinking this is s re-post, Kate?)
All reposts right now, Pseu 🙂
She is quite beautiful, Kate, and I think she suits her name very well. Cats so sneakily find their way into your heart, don’t they? And there they stay, burrowing ever deeper. Ahhh … 🙂
Sunshine xx
Quite, Sunshine. This was written in the Summer and she’s still going strong, though deaf as a post and shouting at us for her every need. Still loves a good old stroke, though. Does that tiger-on-a-branch thing.
I am a dog and cat person, with a great admiration for felines. Dogs are loving, full stop. Cats bestow love unmotivated by their tummies only when truly earned.
Funny; I run a Klub Kitty Kat on my other blog! And Kit Kat reminds me very strongly of our late Pilchard.
Pilchard is a world-class name. Colonialist. I’m envious.
What is it about Kit Kats?
She had an unusual history. Several miles on his route home from working at a hospital in Pietermaritzburg, my son-in-law stopped to investigate strange sounds coming from the engine. Pilchard-kitten was causing them.
I feel that way about our mrs. Kitty. She had a tumour on her head a year ago and neither we nor the vet expected her to survive much more than 6 months after the operation. But she has, and every moment is precious and wonderful. We go for walks across the fields together. She used to come as far and as wide as we would walk but since last year, she stops at the first field and waits for us to return. Like Kit Kat, she’s not quite making every table leap she attempts. I can’t wait to lie out in the sun with her again – no matter how few either of us might have left 😉
Here’s to another kitty Summer, 1095things 🙂
She’s lovely. I was never a cat person either and have a similar story. The one I have now is crazy and not so nice but I am fond of her just the same.
Strange how they can get us under the padded paw, isn’t it, Tammy?
Kate–
I keep “seeing you around” and thought I would come over to take a peek at your place–when, what to my wondering eyes should appear…but this picture of your cat!
I think your cat, and mine, the evil Sadie (said with much love…) are related…
her picture is here, from a post from last year. (along with our other cat…)
Your post reminds me to cherish my pets and to love them…I know it’s hard as they get older and we know their time with us is coming to an end. Bitter. And so sweet when they choose us.
blessings
jane
http://www.planejaner.com/2010/05/02/murderous-intent-in-the-wee-hours-or-dreaming-of-ways-to-kill-my-cats/
Beautiful 😉
Ah, Kate..what a stunning pic of a stunning cat. I feel your feelings through and through, especially with our old dog also teetering now. Today for the first time I had to help him to his feet with a little heave. My heart melts.
We choose to love these little creatures, don’t we, Naomi: and while there is a cost – we will lose them one day – their presence with us is rarely anything but an immense blessing.