BARNHAM: a one-sided holiday romance!

I knew I should have included a box of cat kibbles when I packed my case. I usually do.

Part of the joys of a holiday abroad is ‘adopting’ a local stray cat for the duration and filling its starved tummy and her clutch of kittens for a week or so. Cats always seem to root us out when we’re abroad and migrate to our balcony with an assortment of kittens and furry friends, all grateful for a free feed before trying their paw with another set of holidaymakers shortly after we’ve departed for home and Tom Cat Towers.

Tushtots, Willi Whizkas and Little Dumpty Roo, my cats, call these temporary adoptees ‘holiday romances’ as they know however cute these cats are, or how much I fall in love with them, I will always come home and back to them without a 'new brother or sister' in tow!!

When I arrived at Paphos airport, Cyprus, in April 2008 I half expected the island’s feline population to be there in ‘Arrivals’ in the meet and greet section with a board declaring:-

 ‘Paphos Pussies Welcome Turners on Tour. Please let us escort you, your wallet, credit card and holiday money to the nearest supermarket’!’

We’d barely been in our room an hour when the first cat strolled by. We found a supermarket which was used to soft touch humans being mugged by the local moggies for food and they catered for this niche in the market by selling cat kibbles in big bags – at a price of course!!

They also had an extensive collection of hams and cheeses for the moggies with a more discerning palate.

And so began the morning and evening rounds of walking along the coastal path by the St George Hotel feeding and fussing the local cats. We noted how they would ignore humans who didn’t pay them attention, but looked out for the ‘certain bet humans’ who looked like they would have scraps for them and they would appear out of undergrowth and come running, yowling their desperate greetings of cupboard love. One German lady would take milk and roast chicken to them each lunchtime and they would wait patiently for her. They certainly didn’t go short!
 

They were grateful for the bits and bobs which we lifted from the buffet. One night we were sitting by the hotel swimming pool feeding a heavily pregnant cat when one of the other guests approached us. I thought I was going to be in for an argument for feeding the strays, but this lady was almost in tears that we were feeding this little scrap of a thing. She thought it was such a marvellous thing to do. She joined us the following night and was again curious that we were feeding the cats which were all quite affectionate. Next morning she tipped all the bacon and ham from her breakfast plate, wrapped it in a serviette and bought it over to us ‘for the cats’.  We added it to our rucksack which already contained cat kibbles and packs of sliced chicken; I think the cats could smell us coming with our assortment of gourmet goodies!

We had a cluster of regulars who would come out when we appeared and they would purr and roll around as we fed them. They were very well behaved, never snatching or growling.

And then we met Barnham!  We called him Barnham as he looked like a little lion that had escaped from the circus. He was an intact Tom cat and by the look of the various marking on the cats all around the St George resort, he had clearly fathered the lot!! He had two pregnant females who also had half grown adolescents. They each lived on their own side of a wire fence and clearly did not get on. We couldn’t decide which was the ‘wife’ and which was the ‘mistress’ but he shared his time equally between his families.

He was the biggest, dirtiest, moth-eaten, flea-ridden, scabbiest, battered cat we have ever seen. His tail was encrusted with dirt. His whiskers had been ripped out by the sprouts and the scars all over his body were a testament to how he had clung to his territory, fighting off all-comers.

Barnham swaggered round like he owned the joint. He was a big boy and didn’t do cupboard love. He took what food was given and did not acknowledge in any way, the hand that fed him. I don’t think he’d ever been cuddled by a human! He never meowed or purred; in fact he just totally ignored me

I just fell absolutely in love with him. He had the saddest face I have ever seen. If there was just one cat I could have bought home, it would have been Barnham (note from Tushtots and Willi Whizkas – We’re glad she left him there!)

He wouldn’t come when called. He would just appear like a beige ghost lion from the bushes when he felt like it. He begrudgingly shared his scraps with his female and her sons then slinked off to his other family for another feed.

On the final day of my holiday I had a bumper bag of food, a ‘farewell feast for the furry felines’.  We walked up the coastal path in glorious sunshine feeding the cats as we went. Then at the top of the path we found Barnham. He greedily wolfed down the pile of ham and cat kibbles without even looking at me.

As a mark of his gratitude, he turned round, hoisted his tail into the air and sprayed magnificently onto my trousers and rucksack as I was bending down. Then tail still erect, he moseyed off at a slow pace into the bushes without looking back. What a parting gift! That was the last I saw of Barnham!

The only clothes I had were what I was wearing, my suitcase having gone ahead to the airport. My rucksack was my hand luggage with my documents and sandwiches in. I absolutely stunk of tom cat. As the morning wore on the smell got stronger and stronger. When I got onto the plane it was as if a skunk had got on with me, the whiff was horrendous. ‘Eau de intact tom cat’ was clearly not a fragrance I’d bought in the duty free shop!

For five hours I endured the glares of passengers around me and when I moved up and down the plane people parted like waves, gagging. It was so embarrassing and the warmer it got the more fragrant I became. We drove home from Manchester airport with all windows open and the fans on full blast!

When I got back to Tom Cat Towers, Tushtots took one sniff of me, gave me a really disdainful glare then just walked off in a huff hinting heavily that I needed a good bath and a scrub!

I was straight into the shower and my trousers in the bin. I threw the stinking rucksack down the garden. Willi Whizkas stalked it, cautiously sniffing as he went. Then he lay on it for 2 whole days, gripped on, just drooling with a silly glazed look on his face. He must have thought it was another cat!! It took 3 washes to get rid of the scent of Barnham.

We’re off on a cruise to the arctic in 3 weeks’ time on the Cunard Queen Victoria.  I hope the captain has his own ship’s cat who can be rented out for cuddles and purrs, to stop me feeling homesick for my 3 mogsters who will be relaxing at a FAB approved cattery enjoying being pampered and spoiled while I’m away.

Somehow, this time, I don’t think I’ll be having a holiday romance while I’m away!!

Carol Turner at Tom Cat Towers
www.williwhizkas.co.uk

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