Paws and Whiskers (23 page)

CATS

Real cats, of course, vary in their natures just as much as humans do. I have met spiteful cats, loving cats, clever cats, stupid cats. A highly intelligent orange cat, January, who adopted my father one New Year’s Day, learned how to rattle the latch of the dining-room door, so that it would swing open and let him in. He also, all by himself, invented a charming trick: when you softly clapped your hands above his head, he would lift up his right front paw to be shaken. Then there was Gracchus, a tabby belonging to my sister, who used to come and stay at our house along with my two nieces for summer holidays. He was epileptic
and had to be given a tiny pill every day. This aroused great feelings of jealousy in our cat Hamlet, who thought he was missing out on some treat – so terrific dexterity and diplomacy were needed to get the pill into the right cat. And then there was Darwin, dear Darwin, who always took a shortcut through the banisters, and liked to lie with his shaggy arms around one’s neck . . .

Joan Aiken

SHANTI

We almost didn’t choose Shanti, who was one of a litter of three Tibetan spaniel puppies. She and her sisters were rolling around together, then Shanti trotted over to my son Josh, climbed on his lap and peed on him. Josh, then, was very put out. We sponged his trousers and the breeder dried him off with a hairdryer. One puppy ran into the crate and cowered. Her sister froze. Shanti ignored it. ‘This is the puppy for you,’ said her breeder. ‘She’s calm and will do well in a house with children.’

Pauline was right. Shanti is only frightened of other dogs. Not fireworks, not hoovers, not loud bangs.

We got Shanti the first term Josh entered secondary school, thirteen years ago. I fell in love with the breed, which is an ancient one, leafing through a dog encyclopaedia. I’d never seen a Tibbie before, as they are rare in the UK. Shanti has this solemn, furrowed, almost quizzical face, and I loved her lion-like golden mane, and the fact that even today, as an elderly pooch, she still looks a lot like a puppy.

Shanti is well-known in our north London neighbourhood, as she likes sitting in the front window on top of the sofa, and watching people pass by. Her other favourite place is inside her ‘Shanti box’, a cardboard box my husband made for her, with a little square entrance hole. We used to get through one a week when she was a puppy, as she loved destroying them from the inside. We were delighted, however, as it meant she never chewed on furniture or shoes.

Shanti adores being with people. If we have friends round, we always pull up a chair for her, as she likes being part of a circle. She’s the perfect writer’s dog, as she sleeps (and snores) beneath my desk while I work.

However, Shanti would never win any prizes for
obedience. She’s quite headstrong and only obeys if she feels like it. Which is not very often.

Shanti has been part of my son’s childhood. Now he is grown up, and she is old. I look at her, with her slippy hind legs and her white muzzle, and can’t believe how fast our time has gone.

Francesca Simon

MY PETS

Cats and dogs make wonderful companions. We have nine of them! Three cats and six dogs, all rescues. The cats are Thomas, Titch and Bella. The dogs are Dolly, Daisy, Minnie, Gertie, Benny and Sasha.

To start with, like most people, we had just one dog. A little fox terrier. And like most people we bought her from a breeder. It didn’t occur to us to go to Battersea or one of the other rescue centres. On the other hand, we have never gone to a breeder for a cat. Neither of us had ever lived with cats and never thought of having one, until one day we were adopted by a small tabby, who simply arrived on the doorstep and took up residence. She showed no fear whatsoever
of the fox terrier. If anything, it was the fox terrier who trembled! What was this strange thing, invading her space? We put up notices on trees and lampposts –
FOUND: SMALL TABBY CAT
– but no one ever claimed her, so there we were, one cat, one dog. The fox terrier had her own special chair and we held our breath when, one momentous day, the cat decided to jump up and settle next to her. But no problems! The chair became ‘their chair’ and they spent many happy hours cuddled up together.

In time we decided we would like a second dog, but by now we knew about rescue organizations, so off we went to one that was local to us. People say, ‘Oh, but it would break my heart to see all those poor animals desperate for a home! How can you bear to do it?’ It’s not easy, I’ll admit. More difficult, perhaps, with dogs than with cats, since cats tend to sit in silent resignation, whereas a dog will come to the front of the cage and jump up and beg you to take it. But if you love animals, you have to remind yourself that if everyone said, ‘Oh, it would break my heart,’ then none of them would ever find new homes. And to help a confused and lonely cat or dog blossom and regain confidence is incredibly rewarding.

When we finally lost our little tabby cat we adopted two brothers, Smudger and Humphrey.
They were pure white, and Humphrey was deaf. He was the most affectionate cat I have ever known, and Smudger was without doubt the kindest. He looked after his brother with total devotion.

One of our earliest dogs came from Battersea. I vividly remember taking her home on the train, cuddling all the way. She was a very precious little person. Our first Daisy. A small black mongrel, seven years old, and a dear, sweet, zany little creature. Present-day Daisy is also a bit zany. She is a Jack Russell, who has to be kept on an expanding lead when out walking as she simply cannot trust herself not to go rushing off after interesting smells or disappearing down holes. Despite that, she spends half the walk fervently clutching at you, just to make sure you are still there. She was found wandering along a main road, so maybe she is scared of getting lost again.

Dolly is also a Jack Russell. She is a very girly little person. Too pretty for her own good! She fawns on any man who comes to the house, pawing at them and going all soft and melty. As a feminist, I sometimes feel quite ashamed of her . . .

Minnie
thinks
that she is a Jack Russell, and we haven’t the heart to tell her she is just a ‘small terrier type’. Our local rescue group insisted she was
a little angel, and she certainly has the most immense charm. She wriggles and giggles and whirrs her paws to get your attention. But angel she is not! She makes a very naughty nuisance of herself with cats, who mostly sit about on high surfaces looking down at her with contempt. Stupid dawg!