The Amazing Life of Cats Read Online Free PDF

loveliness gave me at that difficult time.
    Ellie Baker

After scolding one’s cat one looks
    into its face and is seized by the ugly
    suspicion that it understood every word.
    And has filed it for reference.
    Charlotte Gray

Reigning Cats and Dogs

    I f you listen carefully when animal stories are being shared—and let’s face it, most of us can’t resist talking about our animals—you might be misled into believing that people fall into one of two camps: either they love dogs and dislike cats, or adore cats and are rarely— if ever—impressed by dogs. You may also glean the impression that dogs and cats are beaten only by Montagues and Capulets when it comes to being sworn enemies. But this is by no means the whole story. Many cats and dogs live comfortably side by side—some even form private mutual adoration societies.
    The first dog I remember was Prince, our family pet, a beautiful, gentle rough collie. Mum and Dad called him a ‘Lassie’ collie as he resembled the dogs in those gorgeous mushy old movies many of us pretend to disdain. I only ever saw Prince angry once and that was when we children were under threat from a marauding neighbourhood boxer dog. Prince was a sitting target for neighbouring cats and often came in with his nose scratched, but this did not prevent him adopting Timmy, the kitten we acquired from Grandma when both Prince and I were about seven years old. Timmy was a tiny black and white scrap of a thing, lonely and bewildered in this big new world after leaving his mum and the rest of the litter. Prince befriended him, watched over him and shared food from the same bowl. There was no growling or snarling, no spitting or scratching, just simple, endearing trust. Whether Timmy actually defended Prince once he grew into a small but handsome tomcat I cannot say, but certainly there were fewer scratches on the collie’s nose.
    One day about two or three years after Timmy came to live with us, Prince barked his last. Faithful to the end, he was found lying beside the garden gate where he had been waiting for Dad to come home from work.
    There are those who believe animals do not grieve; based on all I have witnessed I cannot agree. We already know they suffer separation anxiety, resist change, respond to strong emotions or aggression and generally think for themselves. Timmy grieved. He was devastated— lost and lonely, sad and listless—until a few weeks after Prince left us when one of the aforementioned Lassie films was showing on television. At the sound of the familiar collie bark, Timmy perked up and trotted towards the screen. But there was no Prince; just a sound and an ambiguous image. His response was unforgettable. He turned around, wandered back to what we called ‘Timmy’s corner’ by the hearth, curled up and cried.
    Later that year when we adopted Kim, a German shepherd puppy. Timmy was furious; he sulked, refused food and did not deign to re-enter the house for six weeks. I suspect it was only the autumn chill that finally drove him back indoors. He and Kim were never close; you might say a truce was signed but a friendship never grew. At least there were no open hostilities.
    I cannot tell you the end of Timmy’s story since it remains one of life’s eternal question marks. We spent two summers in the late 1960s close to the English Lake District—all rolling hills, green fields, babbling brooks and a river for summer swimming. Timmy loved it but did not remain with us for long. Whether he joined the nearby farm cats, fell prey to a fox or was a victim of rumoured local cat-poisonings we shall never know. He simply disappeared. If Kim knew where he went she never told.
    If I may digress briefly from the cats and dogs theme, there was a Timmy-coloured sequel to this saga of which I knew nothing until I began trawling the family archives. Almost twenty years after the start of Timmy’s story, my parents were running a milkbar in Koowee-rup in Victoria’s southeast