A Fat Cat

A Fat Cat: Alice 2010

Fat Cat has never really moved about much, so it wasn't all that surprising that on Saturday morning she did not move. What was surprising is that the only time the Fat Cat ever deigned to move was when it involved food, so all things being equal she should have moved on Saturday morning to eat her food.
But perhaps she was eating.
Just not here on earth.
Fat Cat was born immovable, I'd like to say she was Sphynx-like but she never had that gravitas or mystery.
When I first saw her as a kitten in 1996 she was sitting with her front paws curled beneath her close to a radiator. In the whole twenty minute visitation she refused to move. Her litter sister Agatha was moving everywhere in fact she skittered around the corner with all her fur on end and has been skittering ever since. Fat Cat whose name was Slack Alice never skittered, she padded. In fact if she padded far she would have to lie down for a rest before she'd gone more than 20 yards.
She was a considered cat and I loved her for it because as well as being a Fat Cat she was also a Lap Cat. I loved having her sit there while I watched TV, feeling her throbbing purr beneath my hands as I stroked her. I'm going to miss that terribly.
She and her sister were bought by me for my 30th Birthday. I felt that as I was now officially over the hill and boyfriendless I might as well embrace my forthcomoing spinsterhood with good grace and get some cats to complete the picture.
Unfortunately my cheque bounced and after their breeder tracked me down to my work abode and harangued me on the street for fleecing her, it was my boss who actually paid for them. He stumped up the £300 quid and I paid him back in installements with interest. I called them the most expensive pussies in London and that's saying something as I worked just off Soho.
Fat Cat certainly pushed hard on her requisite nine lives. getting stuck under floor boards, eating a ball of wool (luckily I saw the end and was able to pull it from her mouth, I kid you not! I was stunned by how much she ate and how it all came out . Needless to say I used the episode as an excuse not to learn how to knit...). Then there was the time she got outside, now I know cats  should always go outside but Alice was an urban cat and not used to grass. She much preferred concrete or tarmac. When we moved to the countryside she took a stroll outside and just thought it was awful beating a hasty retreat indoors. Even though I always left doors and windows open she never went outside if she could help it. But  one day she felt brave and decided to follow the path outside the front door, down to the gate, along the drive until she got to the middle of the road where finding a nice sunny spot she lay down for a sunbathe and dust bath. We found her rolling around quite unpreturbed by the traffic slowly passing her by. She was quite relieved to see me and proceeded to miaow at me with great feeling. I think that was the most active I ever saw her. I also think she felt that the whole episode only confirmed what she already knew, the great outdoors is vastly overated!

Slack Alice aka Fat Cat

June 1 1996 - August 7 2010

RIP

What;'s the worst that can happen?

Imagine the worst thing that can happen when you are asked to look after a friend’s pets while they go away on holiday, and then double it.
My best mate J has had the most terrible time recently. You see we went away for two weeks and left him in charge of the house, the dogs, the chickens and the cats.
Now J has done this loads of times, and in the past has had some near misses. Like the time when I phoned him up to say Hi and check up on the builders who were busy converting the attic and putting on a new roof. At the end of the conversation I casually asked how he was doing with the cats.
“Oh they’re fine,” he said cheerfully before asking after my holiday and when we were coming home etc.
Little did I realise that as I was speaking to him on the phone, he and the builders were desperately trying to locate my Siamese cats from between the floor joists where they had managed to get stuck. Everyone could hear them but just could not locate them. The hunt involved taking up the newly laid carpet and ripping up floorboards in several rooms. Needless to say when we got home there was no evidence that anything untoward had ever happened at all and it wasn’t until a few years later that J confessed over a particularly boozy supper.
Over the years poor J has dealt with the would be kamikaze cats, the toothbrush eating whippet, the subterranean Jack Russell and builders en-masse: 15 of them to be exact and never once did he forget their individual tea and coffee orders. By the way he also had to run his own workshop to make a living.
However, this time I think he took the biscuit.
For as well as agreeing to keep an eye on the EBJ (the wickedest whippet it the world) and be of assistance when she was to be mated, (I know, I ask a lot, but there is only a small window of opportunity on this and as luck would have it the whole thing sort of landed up on J’s plate, he said he didn’t mind as long as he didn’t have to get hands on or anything!) he also had to look after my elderly Siamese cats, Agatha and Alice aka Fat Cat.
Having acted as Dog Pimp and got through that ordeal J was on the last few hours of his watch and nothing untoward had happened. It should have been a coast all the way home so to speak.
He knew we would be back after lunch and then he could finally go home and relax.
So that morning he bounces down the stairs, lets the dogs out, puts the food out for the cats, does he chickens comes in for a cup of tea, lifts the small cat, Agatha, onto the table so she can eat in peace away from teh dogs, notices the Fat Cat has not moved, goes over to lift her onto the table for breakfast and then realizes that something is very, very, wrong.
The Fat Cat is always the first to demand food, the Fat Cat is called Fat Cat because that is what she is and to be a Fat Cat means you are particularly food orientated. Missing breakfast is NOT an option, not when you have a reputation at stake.
As soon as J touched Fat Cat there was not a shadow of a doubt what had happened. She had died peacefully in her sleep curled up on a chair.
For J the event must have been the worst nightmare ever.
I mean only a few hours…
Now what would you do?
Option 1) ‘Fess up and as well as having Dog Pimp on your CV add Cat Killer
Option 2) Pretend you hadn’t noticed and leave said cat to be “discovered”
Well J is my friend and I would not have blamed him for going for Option 2 but he didn’t and although I was very sad about FAt Cat, and I will post about her later, I couldn’t help but see the funny side. Poor J. I think that really is the worst thing that can happen on your watch!