Felix Domesticus

The humans do a cat calendar every year. It reminds them of us - as if they need reminding.

This is the initial selection of images proposed for 2006. They may change, of course…

January

February

March

April

May

June

July

August

September

October

November

December

Hattie is not one of your rufty-tufty outdoor cats. Generally she will settle for the back of the sofa or the duvet. When she decides some chess is in order, she will take up her usual station at the bedroom window - “the more to see out, darling”. When the weather is amenable, though, grand master chess player extraordinaire that she is, she seeks a suitable vantage point. And where better than the tree in the front garden?

Now, how does one get down from here?

—–

Berenike is still her daddy’s girl. Even if Daddy isn’t so sure.

—–

This is what a clowder of cats looks like…

Terry Pratchett gave the game away with his book The Unadulterated Cat - illustrated by Gray Jolliffe. Cat chess has been around for a long time and Mr Pratchett let the cat out of the bag…

The rules are simple, every cat in a neighbourhood must observe as many other cats as possible without being observed themselves. Therefore a good vantage point is necessary. Also, it is possible to play in teams, so I have 11 pairs of eyes at my disposal and we can work shifts. After all, a game can go on for months or even years at a time. A rotational shift system gives us the edge. Well, it would if Bast didn’t fall asleep at her post. I’ll let Mr Pratchett explain:

“This needs, as the playing area, something the size of a small village. Up to a dozen cats can take part. Each cat selects a vantage point—a roof, the coal house wall, a strategic corner or, in quiet villages, the middle of the road—and sits there. You think it’s just found a nice spot to sun itself until you realise that each cat can see at least two other cats. Moves are made in a sort of high-speed slink with the belly almost touching the ground. The actual rules are a little unclear to humans, but it would seem that the object of the game is to see every other cat while remaining unseen yourself. This is just speculation, however, and it may well be that the real game is going on at some mystically higher level unobtainable by normal human minds, as in cricket.”

Of course there’s a higher mystical level, you don’t think we’d share it with you lot, do you?

My preferred vantage point is at the top of the drive. It may not be very high, like the upstairs window, but it does give me a good view down the road and I have to keep a beady eye on that black cat three doors down opposite. Oh, and there’s that ginger cat, Fudge who needs supervision. He seems to think he’s one of us…

Naturally, the most powerful piece on the board is the Queen. Which is right and proper, as things should be. And, being the older queen, that means I am the most powerful player on this board. So just mind your Ps and Qs.

The people across the road are carrying out major renovation work. This means that their front garden is full of interesting stuff to poke about in. Of course, this must be investigated. So last night I did just that, with some help (hindrance) from Ahmose and the kittens. Then Hattie and Isis joined in, so Ptolemy thought it might be worth a gander. I mean, how’s a cat to do serious investigating when other cats are constantly disturbing the evidence?

Anyway, it was exhausting work, so the power sleep is in order. Of course, not being an only cat - which by rights, I should be - means that I have to share the sofa with Ptolemy and Isis. I don’t much like doing the sharing thing…

—–

Ahmose had to go to the vets yesterday for a checkup following her speying. This is the second checkup in a week. Now, let me tell you, when I was speyed, it was external stitches and one return visit to have them out about ten days later. None of this namby-pamby internal stitches and several checkups to see if the little diddums is bright eyed and bushy tailed. These cats today, they don’t know what life is. I chewed my own stitches out and it didn’t do me any harm, I can tell you. Then I heard the humans talking about the visit. Apparently, Ahmose is a favourite among the veterinary nurses and was subject to fussing and petting while the checkup was done. Indeed, it seems that there was rather more of the former than the latter. A vet visit is supposed to be traumatic, something to be dreaded, not a picnic in the park. A favourite, indeed; cheeky little beggar. What about me? I’m the one with the brains.

Then today, one of the humans decided to wash his motorbike. I heard him clearly saying that once washed, no cats were to sleep on it. Now, of course, cats are exempt from human rules. But barely was the water dried off than little miss smarty pants Ahmose was sleeping on the seat. That’s my job. Well, mine, Bast’s and Ptolemy’s…

And Isis’ and Hattie’s.

….And Cleo’s, and Caesar’s… well, I guess Arsinoe and Berenike do, too.

—–