Meow meow

Like most residential neighbourhoods out there you have cats. They are either pets owned by the house owners or strays that roam the streets. You can identify some of them by how they look - those with full hair of fur or look generally healthy normally have the care of masters or mistresses, whilst the more 'war-wearied', especially those with stubs for tails might normally be strays or feral, having been in fights with other tomcats or even dogs.

There's a trio of kitties that usually hang around the vicinity of my area - a white Persian with blue eyes and an orange mackerel tabby, both belong to the house opposite mine. Both seem to like to hang around the pillar of the gate, looking intently at this large furless ape and getting ready to scoot at any sign of danger, even if this ape was opening the gate and walking away. The Persian had a bell on its neck with blue collar, similar to the one on Doraemon, enhancing the azure shade of its crystaline eyes. The orange one had nothing else on except its own fur which was just as lush and healthy as its white friend.

Before the owners lined the bottom half of the gate with chicken wire the tabby would normally use my sandal as its favourite sitting place during rainy days, resulting in a rather... wet, squishy and not to mention warm sensation when I step onto it. Yeah, it feels as bad as it sounds.

The other night the tabby sat outside its owner's house, mewing sadly whilst sitting with a slight hunch, glancing at me as I walked by and then back at the house again. I wondered if it was calling for its friend or at the house owner to let it in. I was tempted to go and give it a hand - I actually stood there looking at it for a good minute or so before thinking about how it might be real thirsty or hungry with the feeding saucer in the car porch just over the other side. Then again I resisted the temptation go pick up and deposit the pussycat over the gate.

(Strangely enough if it could climb its way out, surely the cat can climb its own way in? The next day it was inside the gates, looking back at with its eyes heavily lidded like the average cat)

There's that grey mackerel tabby that I gave the nickname of 'Tiger' for the reason that it was pretty imposing - the skull of the cat itself is probably 10% or so larger than that of an average cat and its torso proportionally larger. Unlike the other two, Tiger was fearless - it doesn't flinch when I walk by, walking imperiously at the side without even acknowledging me. At times it would sit below the car for warmth (or shade on hot days), movingly leisurely away only after I start the engine. It carries the brooding look that matches its stub of a tail, like the patriarch of the pride of kitties.

Which is my favourite?

The Persian is a little too trim and scaredy (...) to me. Sure it's beautiful, my housemate once dub it 'Snow White' for the pureness of the fur but I find that to be a problem seeing that it would probably be a waste to get it dirty. Furthermore, it runs away at the slightest hint of me coming close, making the problem of approaching it well difficult. Still, its nice to see from afar, especially when its blue eyes sparkle in the light.

Tiger is out of the question as it has the look of 'mess with me and you will die in your sleep', the non-chalance of the alley's boss cat. I could actually imagine its fangs embedded into my hands if I as much as touch its ears. Still, it might not be a pretty as the Persian but I admire its aura of strength. From a perspective it actually reminds me of myself - I happen to look like an arrogant bastard to everybody at first impression, and I don't get fussed easily by the simplest and common of things in life unless it happens to be important. I had my fair share of life's scars like everybody does and appreciates Tiger not running away at my presence like the other two. It definitely doesn't come to rub around your legs like other friendlier cats would which mirrors what I feel about being territorial.

Which brings us to the orange tabby - we shall call him (or her) Orange. Orange is a small balance of both - its fur is a flamboyant mix of bright orange and calm white. Whilst its still pretty jumpy, it would actually sit at the pillar without moving until I actually get too close, normally staying there (eyes trained on this big threat) if I walk away. There were times that I would just stand there at the gate, locking eyes with Orange, wondering what it was thinking.

I would love to have my own Orange but I wouldn't know if I can care for it as well as Orange's owner does - the last cat we had for pets were two black tuxedo cats that look like Sylvester (minus the yellow canary) and all they didn't really need any help (they scoot off for the day, returns for meals, disappears again) but I'm certain for it to grow healthy with a lush coat of fur would require more than just normal food - grooming, visits to the vet, pet food etc - all of which I'm not sure I'm capable of giving.

As for now all I can do is to look at Orange from over the gate, admiring and envying its owner for having a furball to dig their fingers in and stroke, hearing the sweet sound of purring as it lays down lazily on the couch watching soap opera (or whatever junk that's on the telly nowadays). Sure, a cat might not give you undivided attention like a dog does but that's how I like it - it goes and entertain itself, comes back occassionally to renew the master-pet relationship - never clingy.

Purrrrrrrr...

I can almost see Mom smirking and saying that it would be better to go focus my affection at homo sapien females instead of freaking fur on paws, but hey, you can't hurry lurve...

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Sorry to hear about Mawi, Dik. You'll get a new pussycat soon enough.