When I was in the cattery whiling away the hours waiting for my human to come back, I reminisced that I used to have a boyfriend at Tom Cat Towers, albeit briefly.

He was a stray cat that used to come calling. I would sit on one side of the gate looking under the metal bars at him whilst he was on the other. I would make eyes at him and flirt round, trying to raise my fluffy tail, then lying on my side to show him my set of tiny nipples.

But he only had eyes for Dumpty. My love was unrequited as he would try and stare in the bedroom window at my rival for his affections. It was as if I didn't exist.

He did seduce my human; he would play the fool as he meowed, growled purred and chirruped. He could do all these things at once; a cat that could multi-task. He was magnificent! He did these things to impress my human so that she would feed and love him. It worked. She became besotted with him.

Bit by bit he started to come into the house and eventually he snuggled up in the snoozzee with the ginger idiot. Saint Ben of Park Street was appalled.

The stray cat, who the human called Mikey-Mike could have all sorts of diseases such as Feline AIDS, as he was an intact tom! He was tested and found to be OK but he did have liver problems.

Mikey-Mike was a clown. He would run up the drive doing ‘meet and greet’ every evening as my human came home from work. He would upend the bin in the kitchen looking for food, despite being stuffed with good things to eat by our human. He would lie on his back like a baby in my human’s arms and purr and drool for hours as she cuddled him. He would have such a soppy look of love on his face for my human, and Dumpty.

But never for me. He never even looked at me.  I suppose he thought I was too imperfect to even consider loving.

He spent the last few months of his life at Tom Cat Towers, being spoiled and loved. He spent every moment trying to be alone with Dumpty, but he was banned by the human from going into her bedroom, or even approaching her. I found all this rather annoying as it was me that adored him, utterly.

When he died suddenly, we all were heart broken except Dumpty who saw him as a bit of a stalker and was glad to be rid of him!

What happened next was so, so sad.

Mikey-Mike was buried in the garden with a huge slab on top of him. But after three weeks a fox dug him up and dragged him onto the lawn.

I was gutted, the human closed the doors and curtains so I could not see what had happened to the love of my life. Then she had to gather up all the pieces of what was Mikey-Mike and take him to the tip. A devastating end to what was a fabulous cat.

Dumpty was just pleased that he had gone for good, as she rolled over for another beauty snoozle.

Something should have been done, according to Dumpty, about security before he got his paws inside Tom Cat Towers.

Willi’s version

It’s good to be the number one tom cat here at Tom Cat Towers, but I do miss Tushtots. 

I also miss my old chum Mikey-Mike who would come into the house and share my snoozzee. He was really just coming round for a glance of Dumpty; he had a massive crush on her. Needless to say it was completely unrequited. Even the world’s supreme champion tom cat would be beneath snooty pantaloons. There was no way the regal grey floozy pants would even glance in his direction.

What was sad was that Dippi quite fancied him and would gaze in adoration under the gate at him for hours. But he would just bowl her over onto her back in a rush when the gate was opened and he raced towards the second love of his life ... my human, who was just as daft on him. Mikey-Mike was a charmer, quite a rogue with the ladies!!

He disappeared one day, and he never came back. Most odd!!

I do miss cuddling up to Mikey-Mike.

But not to worry, I now have Dippi all to myself to dote on. I have to be careful that at three times the size of her I don’t roll over and crush her!!


A Morning Kiss

A morning kiss, a discreet touch of his nose landing somewhere on the middle of my face.
Because his long white whiskers tickled, I began every day laughing.

Janet F Faure

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