Not quite black-and-white
I was thinking about cats the other day. I find some of them quite cuddly and strokeable but if I am honest, I am not their biggest fan. The sign I saw in a shop window in Folkestone the other weekend summed it up. It was one of those joke signs akin to 'Beware of the dog' - you know the type. This one said, 'A cat lives here with several servants.' I thought that was pretty apt.
I used to have a cat myself when I was eleven. Her name was Twinkles and I got her as a kitten from my then big birding buddy and local neighbour, Cornelious Ravenwing III. Twinkles was a doppelganger of her mother; slender, black and white and likeable. As a kitten she was very playful. I used to routinely have lascerated hands after a bout of boisterous playing with her. Perhaps the best thing about Twinkles was that she used to meet me as I walked home from school. She would wait on our street standing on someone's wall and then jump into my arms. Sometimes I'd whistle for her as if I were calling a dog and she would appear out of nowhere, delighted to see me.
One day, I came home from school and Twinkles was nowhere to be seen. Wailing, I searched the streets for two days. No sign. I had only had her for six months although it seemed like an eternity. I was heartbroken.
There. That's my cat story out of the way and I bet you thought I was going to talk about cats killing birds!