The Quiet Cat
Francesca, thankfully is a rather quiet cat. Sleek , beautiful, playful and quiet. I have had quite alot of doubles (pairs of cats) over the last few months and while there are benefits to having two cats together (they take care of eachother, play together, keep eachother company ) they also chase eachother around the flat late at night, fight, gang up on you at dinner time, and are often so similar they are impossible to tell apart. So when trying to track them down you often find the same cat ten times. So whilst I miss the energy of having two cats, Francesc (singular) is perfect.
The first night Francesca stayed she was a little needy, twisting round my legs and tripping me up anywhere I walked while staring up at me endearingly. That night I woke up at 3.30am to her pawing the bedroom door and meowing gently. But with a bit of attention, love and reassurance she seems to have settled in well and after her first night has been particularly quiet and undemanding. She will trot past and brush my leg when she wants a stroke and she may follow me into the kitchen and lick her lips when she's humgry or stare/paw at the window when she wants to go out but, more often than not she will just curl up on the armchair, sheepskin rug or in the shoebox under the bed, and have a sleep. Last night an old friend brought his two young daughters and new baby over. The girls squealed with delight when they saw Francesca, determined to play and clumsily trying to stroke her as she ducked swiftly behind the sofa. Bothered by the sudden noise a family of five inevitably make, Francesca dissapeared into the bedroom away from the dissapointed squeals of the children. She looked just about ready to stuff her paws in her ears in an effort block out the sound when they descended on her armed with a feather toy and instructions to keep very quiet. Little by little Francesca reluctantly emerged from the bedroom. A slave to her instincts she followed the bunch of feathers that were being inched slowly away from her on a string and towards the mayhem of the front room.
Once there the children managed to engage a reluctant Francesca with the feather toy, the little one shuffling back on the seat of her chair, her forehead wrinkled with fear , as francesca instinctively pounced on the feathers, tackling them to the ground and gnawing them determindly with her teeth.
The game was soon over with Francesca silently destroying the toy leaving severed feathers strewn all over the rug. Satisfied she walked with her tail high and dancing, passed the horrified girls, out of the front room and headed for the comfort of the shoe box under my bed.
