When we first arrived here from Sydney, our little convoy resembled Noah’s Ark. We had five cats, three dogs, and one duck called Phyllis. Four of our cats are gone now, Garfield first, followed by Ralph, Tom and finally, Jones the Faded Matinee Idol. Phyllis the Duck also passed on, leaving us with one cat and three dogs of varying degrees of difficulty.

Starr is a fine black cat with all the arrogance of his ancient line. He defends his territory, which extends for two backyards in all directions, and will not tolerate another cat’s paw to tread his turf. One night when I called him in for tea, he hurtled across the patio into the house, closely followed by ANOTHER black cat which could have been his double ! As soon as the second cat saw me, he about-turned and shot into the bushes. Unusual, I thought, as Starr does not permit interlopers in the yard.

We caught occasional glimpses of a black shape in the bushes around the pool, but it may have been Starr, who knows? Then one night, I heard something outside in the chookyard, otherwise known as The Somme, and when I went to look, there was Starr, nose to nose with another black cat! Usually that’s a recipe for a huge cat brawl, but these two seemed to be just checking each other out. As soon as he saw me, the other cat slunk away, ready to disappear under the fence into the jungle of the vacant lot next door.

I immediately invoked the Sacred Rule of our house – “If it eats or poops, it can’t live here!” – but rules are for the obedience of fools and the guidance of wise men, so I dished up some cat food and put it outside. Immediately there was a blur of brown feathers as two Tyranno-chooks hurled themselves onto the plate, while the poor cat threw himself under the fence and disappeared. I beat the chooks back with a newspaper and pushed the dish underneath the fence, so the cat could get at it without the chooks pecking him to death. Slowly, carefully, he came back about ten minutes later and inhaled the food.

Each day, I put out some food for him under the fence, and the most we saw of him was a furtive paw or the occasional eye contact. After all, I said to myself, he doesn’t actually live here so I’m still technically obeying the Sacred Rule. And besides, I told myself, he doesn’t have a name, so he’s not our cat. Shortly after we’d settled into this routine, a man came with a tractor and mowed the jungle next door, and that afternoon as I went out I saw a small black cat sitting forlornly in the middle of a freshly mown block.

After that, I started to put out his food in the pool enclosure, which is secure from dogs and Tyranno-chooks. Starr became a bit funny about this arrangement so I had to put out a dish for him as well. It didn’t take long before the second cat was sitting at the far end of the pool, waiting expectantly for dinner. We finally managed to get a good look at him. He’s a good-looking young cat with a white star on his chest, scrawny and under-fed, but with that lean panther look you see in .... well, panthers, actually.

After a week of the cat showing himself at a distance, he gathered his courage and started to respond when I called ‘Puss puss!’ Then after several days of standing up when I called to him, he began to come towards me when I called. After a week, he came up to me as I put the dish down, and the day after that, he allowed me to pat his neck as he inhaled the food. Next day, he let me pick him up.

At that point, The Woman named him The Spare Cat – but not in a formal “his name is now …” way. She just said to me “Have you fed The Spare Cat today?” It was then I knew that we had another cat. Once they get a name with capital letters, that’s it, they live here. So much for the Sacred Rule.

The Spare Cat started to hang out on the front verandah, which has many advantages. It is sunny, dog-free, and humans can often be found there. One day we arrived home to some high-grade meowing and talking from The Spare Cat and Starr. When we opened the front door, Starr went in, and looking back over his shoulder, he made that little chirrupy meow to The Spare Cat, who took up the invitation and came inside. They went down the corridor, Starr leading and Spare Cat following, looking into each room, until they came to the kitchen. Admitting defeat, I opened a tin and brought in The Spare Cat’s dish from the Panther Enclosure, so both cats could eat inside.

Spare Cat has probably been someone’s cat, because his manners are not those of a feral stray. When I put the food down, he always head-butts my hand before he starts eating. If he has to choose between being picked up for a cuddle, or eating his tea, he will choose the cuddle. However, I’m getting ahead of myself. The Spare Cat ate inside for the first time, and was very skittish about it. As soon as he’d finished, he slunk out the door and into the night.

Next night though, he came when I called and went straight inside for his meal. After he’d finished, I asked him if he knew anything at all about being a lap-cat. He looked at me inquiringly, so I picked him up and sat in my easy chair with him on my lap. You could almost see the light bulb come on above his head ! He turned around three times, settled against my arm, and started purring like a chainsaw. I don’t know if it was a recent memory or just the basic CAT1.0 program, but he knew what being a lap-cat was all about.

The Spare Cat still had a few hurdles to get over, though. We didn’t know if he was someone’s cat or not, and his tomcat hormones were something of a problem. So, into the car and off to the vet !! We filled in the form at the desk, and went into the surgery for a scan to see if he was already microchipped. All my finger-crossing must have worked, for he came up a cleanskin!! We then committed ourselves to being his owners, by asking the vet to remove his nads. And lo, it was done! Next day we went back to pick him up, and the vet was still chortling about the name. “Look at this”, he said, opening up the patient register on the computer. “Four thousand-odd cats treated at this surgery since we opened, and only ONE Spare Cat !!”

Back home we went, and Spare Cat hasn’t looked back. He’s put on lots of weight, and his coat is shiny and clean, and all those tomcat scars on the back of his neck have gradually healed. And the size of him !! He’s a panther, without a doubt, and every time I sit in my chair he’s there within seconds to sit on my lap. Often Starr will sit there too, and I am left with no choice but to ask The Woman to bring me my coffee or beer or whatever. Can’t disturb the pussycats, now, can we !

After his operation scars healed, Spare Cat had another problem with a large abscess on his leg. Back to the vet for examination and antibiotics. Spare Cat behaved himself very well in the car, much better than the first time, when he peed all over the cargo bay. When we got home, the abscess burst and he allowed us to do all the medic stuff, without complaint or biting and scratching. He has complete trust in us both, and it looks like he’s here to stay. All I’ve got to do now is train him not to leave steamers behind the TV.

Author: Ian Taylor
Country: Australia
Age: incredibly ancient a
True story: Yes
Rating: 55 paws up
Vote: Vote up Vote down

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