The Amazing Life of Cats Read Online Free PDF Page A

humans will accidentally lock us in a room, or forget to clean the litter box often enough. We all know what to do to the human on that occasion, don’t we.
    Gifts
    Humans don’t think they are animals, so they don’t understand gifts. Don’t bother. Keep the mouse for yourself.
    Expressing affection—i.e. ‘love’
    The deal is we get a free place to live that is dry and warm, and adequate food, in exchange for once in a while recognising the human exists and letting it touch us. Humans like to hear us purr, because they think that is our way of saying we’re happy. They have no idea. Don’t get too standoffish as the human will not understand, and will become anxious. A calm human is a reliable human when it comes to dinner.
    Names
    Humans immediately give us stupid little names. If you don’t like the name, act deaf. Only respond once they pick a name you like. If the human is really nice to you, and understands our language, then tell them your true name.
    Conclusion
    Humans are much easier to train than, for example, their stupid dogs.
    From ‘Rescuing Animals in Need’, Anonymous

A cat has absolute emotional honesty:
    human beings, for one reason or another,
    may hide their feelings, but a cat
    does not.
    Ernest Hemingway



A Tale of Two Sisters

    T wo sisters, non-identical twins; one black with deep green eyes, one white with sky-blue eyes. Little bundles of fluff with very different characters from the start: Motchka, the white one, was always gentle and loving; Trouble, the black one, more lively and playful. One was more likely to be found curled up on a child’s lap, the other chasing shiny tinfoil balls and killing shadows.
    The intention was always to have them desexed when they were one, however, as the time approached it became evident that they were both pregnant. We had an old baby bath and when the kittens were due we filled it with towels and introduced the sisters to it. Motchka loved to lie in it, while Trouble would jump out disdainfully.
    Trouble was the first to have her kittens, six in all. An hour after giving birth she left the baby bath, went outside and stayed there for an age. The kittens mewed piteously and Motchka, whose distress was obvious, climbed in and out of the bath, came and found me, then returned to the kittens, unsure what to do. Eventually Trouble returned, made a cursory attempt at feeding them and went out again. That night we locked her in, and after a number of failed attempts to get her to sleep with the kittens I decided to sleep on the sofa. I was woken in the night by loud kitten cries and saw Trouble carrying one by the scruff of its neck to the far side of the sitting room. She lay down with it and, leaving the others strewn about the room, went to sleep. For three days and nights I spent my time collecting her kittens from the random places she left them and bringing them back to her.
    Motchka was deeply distressed but did not instinctively know what to do during this time. The next day, she gave birth to seven little kittens herself; minutes later she went and collected Trouble’s kittens, knowing now how to pick them up correctly. From that moment on she was mum to thirteen kittens, all of whom grew to be huge and happy cats.
    The following year I had my first child; after a long and difficult labour I was exhausted and soon showed signs of an ever-deepening postnatal depression. Trouble took up residence on the edge of my bed, from which position she could look into the Moses basket that held my precious daughter. Despite all the advice to the contrary, I knew that I could trust her. If I needed a bath, or went to make myself some food, she would sit and stare into the basket, and if the baby woke up she would come and find me, informing me at the top of her voice that I was needed.
    Back then I never doubted that Trouble was doing for me what I had done for her; even now, twenty-four years later, I well up at the thought of the support that little black