And Shadow makes six!
It is becoming a regular thing.
Between seven and eight in the evening the little black flash with white hairs in his ears trots in to the kitchen and after a quick munch, heads for the chair by the fire–which I happen to be occupying.
He nuzzles his way up between my left trousered leg and the arm of the chair, tries out various positions located in or around my lap, and finally settles himself.
It’s impossible not to stroke this beautiful ball of shining black fur that’s snuggling down so close and contentedly. Gentle stroking elicits a deafening purr.
The kitten has landed and expanded.
Shadow–the name bestowed on him by brother, Jack, who spotted how he would “shadow” the older cats–has filled out. Kitten–no longer!
He turned up one evening last August. We were alerted to a faint high-pitched mewing.
It seemed to be coming from the edge of the field that runs down to the road that passes by our driveway.
We waited and watched.
A little face peeked through the undergrowth.
Meredith called him and left food–but he retreated when she approached.
Clearly abandoned by someone who knows this to be a cat friendly house–it is not the first time this has happened–they left him with nothing but an instinct for survival and a spirit strong enough to take two steps forward, one back if necessary.
He playied grandmother’s footsteps without knowing it for days. Something told him to press on, persevere. His stomach most like.
Even as he crept closer, the pitiful mewing continued.
The other cats were in the picture and tolerant; he showed no fear of them–it was us he wasn’t sure of; one of our kind abandoned him, after all.
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Midnight shows Shadow the perks of life at St Martin
It took weeks for him to accept the outstretched hand.
That early caution is gone now.
“For the birds,” he cries as he stalks them–showing a less agreeable instinct to be alive and active. So now wears a red collar with a little warning bell attached.
Now It’s more like: “Here I am! What’s for supper?”
He’s the lowest on a totem of six so has no shortage of examples to follow.
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That’s the new kid up in the right hand corner while the elders dominate the chairs.
Our cats are some of the best fed on the planet and have developed a certain air of entitlement –which he has had no trouble adopting.
He is a curious youngster–cats have that reputation. Usually their fabled nine lives allows them to survive any unwise delvings.
Meredith tells me he is intrigued by the cat videos that are legion on the Internet.
I was watching TV the other night with him beside me when he jumped up on the arm of the sofa beside the TV set and began a forensic examination of the moving image. Puzzled by the glass barrier that was preventing him touching the seal that he was seeing.
Last night on our way to bed Meredith opens the front door to corral the cats indoors and finds a black cat convention in full swing.
Midnight, Blackie and Ben are sitting around in the courtyard, no doubt discussing how Brexit will impact their lives.
A heavy padding down the stairs announces Shadow. Keen not to miss out, he heads for the front door lengthening his body in a stretching movement to pass through the door and insinuate himself into the group, in one remarkable movement.
He “fell into the butterdish” here.
We feel happy that he’s joined our group–no insinuating movement needed.
We love him.
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