Cats, Mostly

When I was teaching English one lesson that was a sure-fire success with any group of eleven-year olds was The Difference Between Cats and Dogs.

"I am from Mars," I would begin - the class registered little surprise at this new information - "and I can't tell the difference betweeen cats and dogs."

The class would register a bit more surprise and a few murmurings of dissent would be heard, along the lines of 'course they're different, she's even more off her trolley than normal.

"So what's the difference then? They look the same to me."

Louder murmurings of dissent. I continued.

"Cats and dogs. Four legs. Two ears. Tail. Two eyes. Look at this! (Picture of white poodle) And this! (Picture of German Shepherd) And you're saying they're the same thing! Now look at this. (Fluffy white cat) Surely that's nearly the same as the first picture? Because it's not at all the same as the second picture - - "

A Heated Debate would ensue and lots of words to describe the difference, and, generally, some interesting writing afterwards.

Our cat, Froggie, knows all about How to be Cute - she is very small and very human-oriented. When the doorbell rings, she runs to answer the door, which is most uncatlike. Here she is with my mother, looking cute:

(I feel I should point out that the old caravan behind them is NO LONGER THERE, HURRAH! And how I am enjoying looking out of the window at the space where it isn't.)

But in our garden lurks a most uncute cat, with only three legs.

Carry christened it Tripod and the name stuck. Now it comes running if you shout. Or if you open a tin of anything, or open a window, or do anything at all that might mean food. Although it must live nearby, and is clearly well-fed, it could win an Oscar for its Starving Cat routine. The milkman claims he sees it do this about-to-die-of-starvation act (which works well on me, I can tell you) at a number of houses in the area.

The milkman reckons it bit its own leg off in a bid for sympathy.

That's it. The rot has set in. I have started writing about cats. And that way madness lies. I must be stopped before I start making rugs out of old plastic carrier bags and exhibiting them at art exhibitions, and making a long thin draught excluder out of felt and embroidering the words Long Felt Want on it and then going into production and selling them at handicraft stalls.

Not that there's anything wrong with cats. Just with writing about them.