She was thirty-one when I got her. Mangy and with a bit of a whiff, but also affectionate. She took time to settle down, and it was clear she had been badly treated in the past, because her mood swings were abrupt and inscrutable – one minute running about like a maniac, the next flaked out in weird angular poses in random places on the carpet. But gradually I earned her trust (and she learned some basic grooming), and now she has this peculiar habit of rubbing her face against my leg, which is quite pleasant actually, though a bit of a nuisance when you are trying to walk downstairs.
To friends who haven’t got one, I always say, ‘Get one.’ I mean it, no hesitation. Yes, they are selfish. Yes, they moult. Yes, they yowl a bit in the night-time and they make it difficult for you to go on holiday. But they make it up to you in so many ways. For one thing, they can sometimes be persuaded to pose with ribbons around their necks. And for another, they are absolutely fascinating to watch. For example, mine spends hour after hour just staring at a big box in the corner of the living-room, not moving an inch, but silently grinding her teeth and tensing her muscles as if to pounce. I have said it before and I’ll say it again: I am convinced they can see things we can’t see.
For about three years, actually, I had a pair – a male as well as a female – but the male disappeared one day last summer, as abruptly as he arrived, and I never found out what became of him. Run over, possibly. Or locked in a garage by mistake. The sense of loss was awful (that’s the problem with getting too attached). They are so frightfully independent, yet incredibly stupid at the same time, so they run into danger while you sit at home worrying yourself demented.
Anyway, my dilemma was: should I get a new one immediately (friends said, ‘Get a younger one this time’)? But I was worried how the female would react; she might resent it. Certainly she got a bit thin and straggly when he first disappeared, and clawed at the windows. But now she is back to sleeping twenty hours a day, and quite often buries her face in a bowl of food, so I think she has probably fallen on her feet.
I have had her for six years, and she still surprises me. Her only unacceptable habit is that sometimes during the day she will suddenly drop whatever she is doing, dash for the door and disappear; and then an hour later return with all sorts of inedible rubbish – vegetables, pasta, washing-powder – which she dumps on the doormat, looking pleased with herself. It happens about once a week.
Evidently this is standard behaviour, especially from childless females, and I ought to respond magnanimously to these offerings (‘Muesli, how lovely’) rather than offend her. But it is so clearly a throwback to some primitive hunting-and-gathering instinct that it unsettles me completely. I just don’t like to face up to the fact that, you know, deep down, she’s an animal. ‘Look what I got,’ she trills, and starts spreading the stuff on the floor. ‘Oh yuk,’ I say. ‘Why ever did you bring home yoghurt?’ And I give her one of my looks.
Sorry, there’s not much point to this. I just thought I’d fill you in. A couple of years ago, you see, she read a pile of books called things like Catwatching and Do Cats Need Shrinks? and learned some quasi-scientific nonsense about cat behaviour that has honestly given me the pip. For example, she now believes that in the cat world it is a sign of friendship to narrow your eyes. I ask you. Round eyes means aggression, you see; while slitty eyes means ‘I’m just a sweet old pussy-cat and I’m your friend.’ Several times a day, then, she catches my eye deliberately and then squints. It gives me the screaming ab-dabs.
But on the other hand, how sweet of her to try to get an insight. She read somewhere else that cats respond at some deep atavistic level if you lie on the floor, chest up. So she does this, too, and although I have no idea what atavism is, I certainly appreciate a nice thick warm body to lie on, so I clamber aboard, no problem. And this is how I think I will leave you, actually: with me snoozing happily on my pet.
She is happy, lying here chest up, eyes a-squint, for she is cocooned in the pitiable belief that she is practising cat psychology, when in fact cat psychology is practising on her.
Acknowledgements
These columns first appeared in The Listener, The Times and Woman’s Journal. At The Listener, where I was Literary Editor, Alan Coren encouraged me to start writing a column called ‘Margins’; his successor Peter Fiddick was, I think, too scared to stop me. As for the numerous columns from The Times, I owe a great debt to Simon Jenkins and Peter Stothard; also Brian MacArthur, Brigid Callaghan, Robert Crampton and Jim McCue. At Woman’s Journal, Deirdre Vine and Cherry Maslen regularly ring up laughing after receiving my columns. Luckily, this is the desired effect.
This book is a tribute to Kate Jones at Hamish Hamilton, who read all the cuttings I could find, allowed me to laugh like a hyena at my own jokes, and then did all the heavy brainwork. If anyone calls this a scissors-and-paste job, Kate will be very cross. Finally, I must mention Cara Chanteau, formerly of The Listener, who warned me in 1987 that if I once became associated professionally with ha-ha jokes about cats there would be no turning back. You were right, Cara. So right.
About the Author
LYNNE TRUSS is one of Britain’s best-loved comic writers and is the author of the worldwide bestsellers Eats, Shoots & Leaves and Talk to the Hand. Her most recent book is Get Her Off the Pitch! She reviews for the Sunday Times and writes regularly for radio.
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By the same author
With One Lousy Free Packet of Seed
Making the Cat Laugh:
One Woman’s Journal of Single Life on the Margins
Tennyson’s Gift
Going Loco
Tennyson and His Circle
Eats, Shoots & Leaves:
The Zero Tolerance Approach to Punctuation
Talk to the Hand: The Utter Bloody Rudeness of Everyday Life
(or Six Good Reasons to Stay Home and Bolt the Door)
A Certain Age: Twelve Monologues from the Classic Radio Series
Get Her Off the Pitch!: How Sport Took Over My Life
For children
Eats, Shoots & Leaves:
Why, Commas Really Do Make a Difference!
The Girl’s Like Spaghetti:
Why, You Can’t Manage Without Apostrophes!
Twenty-Odd Ducks: Why, Every Punctuation Mark Counts!
Copyright
Fourth Estate
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers
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Hammersmith
London W6 8JB
This Fourth Estate paperback edition published 2010
1
First published in Great Britain by Penguin Books in 1995.
Published in paperback by Profile Books in 2004.
Copyright © Lynne Truss 1995 and 2004
Lynne Truss asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-0-00-735523-5
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Epub Edition © MARCH 2011 ISBN: 978-0-007-43756-6
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Lynne Truss, Making the Cat Laugh
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