I frequently stay at my late mother's house handling tasks and small comforts like neighbours' cheese puffs. A new cat unexpectedly arrived after the established cat, Mimi, had already been provided for and rehomed with elaborate care. I delayed feeding the newcomer, offering a taco after half an hour and proper cat food on day two. Introducing my children led to naming and routine feeding by my son. Cultural memes frame middle-aged women as drawn to cats, while cats also gravitate toward middle-aged women. Concern over the cat's absence prompted door-to-door inquiries, and I ultimately claimed the cat as mine.
My mum spent, conservatively, 80% of her final years estate-planning for her existing cat. She left it a tax-efficient bequest, and found a home for it fancier than anywhere any of us have ever lived. The day after my mum died, Mimi was processing her grief fully ensconced with a family that had bought her a Japanese indoor cat toilet.
Then, wham, a fresh cat appeared. I didn't immediately start feeding him; definitely half an hour had passed before I gave him a taco, no actual cat food until day two. My third mistake was to get the kids over to meet him, because that led inexorably to mistakes four and five he now has a name, and my son goes over to feed him on the way back from school.
People send me memes about middle-aged women being inexorably drawn to cats. They call it the manypaws. That's a trope as old as time, but what no one ever mentions is how much cats are drawn to middle-aged women. They love us. I still hadn't really accepted him as mine, however, until none of us saw him for a couple of days, and I went door to door asking after him.
Haven't seen him, said the guy who works in a cat cafe, who you would think would be more into cats. You haven't asked me what he looks like! I said, indignant, going on to describe his delightful tuxedo markings. Oh, the stray, you mean, he said. He is not a stray, I replied, he is my stray. Zoe Williams is a Guardian columnist
Collection
[
|
...
]