A Little Bundle of Fur/ A Not So Little Bundle of Fur

by Charles Stott

I go for a walk most afternoons, and this Saturday in June was no exception. I felt good so I thought that I would go the whole fifteen kilometres. I had my MP3, I have some music with a good beat to it to march to, on and the app on my mobile had just told me that I had just reached the four kilometre mark. I was walking on the dirt track by the side of the motorway towards Almanzora, Queen and Bowie were blasting out ‘Under Pressure’ when I heard a faint meow. Must be hearing things, I thought, a few more steps and another meow. I stopped and looked around, at the olive grove to my right, back down the way I had come, up the track in front of me; meow, to the scrub on the other side of the fence and the bottom of the banking up to the motorway, meow. What the hell is it and where is it? Then I saw a movement under one of the scrubby bushes, it suddenly appeared and came through the chicken wire fence, a small slate grey kitten. It just walked up to me meowing and rubbed round my legs, I switched Tina off and bent down to pick the little one up, it started purring straight away. I looked around for its mama or any other kittens, what are you doing here miles from anywhere I asked it, there can’t be a house or anything within a kilometre or more, but you’re well fed, where have you come from? Well I can’t leave you here. So I undid a button on my shirt and put her inside, then fastened the button again.

What do I do now? Do I carry on with my walk? What can I call her? I thought about four K as I had just passed the four K mark when I found her, or fifteen K because that’s the walk I was on. In the end we decided on Dusty because of her slate grey, or ‘blue’ fur. I looked down at the head peeking out of my shirt front and set off for home after turning Tina back on. Arriving home about an hour later, the first thing my sister-in-law said was no. I took a picture and went on Facebook to see it anyone wanted her, but the only response was ‘isn’t it beautiful and aww’ Monday we took her to the Vets who told us that she was about six weeks old and to come back in two weeks for her injections; which we did. Then when she was five months old we took her for her operation and a chip fitting. She is now seven months old and a bolshie teenager, bouncing off the back of our fourteen year old cat and running round like a mad thing; I just wish that I had her energy.

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Two years ago I wrote a piece entitled a little bundle of fur, which was about a six week old kitten who found me on my afternoon walk to Almanzora. She is now two years old and wouldn’t fit into my shirt anymore. She is still a small cat, though a lot larger than when I first picked her up. She isn’t a lap cat preferring to curl up on a bed instead of a lap, but she is affectionate in her own way.

She sleeps on my bed at night and before I turn the light out we have a ten minute play time, where she goes under her fleece and attacks my hand as I try to stroke her. She used to go all out with teeth and claws, but she tends to keep her claws in these days, but still uses her teeth, which are sharpe enough, but not sharpe enough to break the skin. She spends most of her day outside, thankfully we are set well back from any road, and has gardens to play and hunt in. And she is a good little hunter and brings all her catches in for us to see, usually grasshoppers and locusts which she tends to leave in my shower. We leave the kitchen window open for her to come and go out of so quite often don’t see her as she comes in with a catch, it is only when I go to the loo or a shower that I see her little ‘gift’ she has brought in for us.

She will come in for her evening meal between three thirty and six, then settle down on the sister-in-law’s bed for a good wash and then sleep until bed time at about eight thirty, when she becomes a little bit naughty and either hides behind the wardrobe or I have to play chase where she will run around the living room until she feels that she has tired me out enough and goes into my bedroom. If I have to get up during the night she will come and ask for a cuddle and stroke until she decides that it is time for her to go back to sleep and settles down either behind my knees or behind my back.

She always has biscuits, water, and a loo in my bedroom so that she needs for nothing during the night. I could have another twenty years with her, if I live that long, my main worry is what will happen to her if I pop my clogs before her, which is quite likely.