It is said that once you let a cat into your house, it is no longer your home, the feline ingratiate will assert total control over you and yours.
Haughty and elegant, they owe allegiance to no man, but bestow their favours according to their inner need. As they slink from lap to lap, kneading and pawing to convince their current berth that it is you to whom they cleave, you can be seduced into believing that they are indeed a companion.
Then, suddenly, with ears alert, and back arched, they pull themselves up – some whisper on the wind, heard only by them – and they are off with a swish of the tail, in slinky, slithering, anticipation of catching a fresh morsel, a new bauble to play with.
The most dramatic body language occurs when rival males meet, then you will hear the midnight yowling, the fur and nokias flying; but our feline cat is more subtle. Purring to each other “anywhere but the face, Darling”, they prefer to stare each other down, sometimes it is so subtle that we mere humans are not too sure whether there has been potential conflict, but the dominant feline, having won the confrontation, will simply leave the loser licking his balls, and sit down in a fresh corner, with back turned disdainfully towards the ‘friend’ that they once groomed.
As befits such a creature of the night, the feline desire to mate with a new Tom is influenced by seasonal changes in the amount of daylight. As the days pass the winter solstice, our feline friend will spring clean her ermine fur, arch her spine, clench her buttocks, and holding her tail stiffly erect to present an easy target to her intended suitor, high step slinkily in pursuit of the cat she perceives as the most dominant Tom.
I am indebted to a fellow blogger for increasing my superior talent at Scrabble and giving me the correct veterinary term for this coquettish behaviour.
It’s Lordosis.
No really. Look it up. HERE.
{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
Sounds like a perfect allegory of Mandy and how he smooched a £21,500 Patek-Phillipe wristwatch out of media mogul David Geffin!
Nice to know “public service” is being properly rewarded nowadays.
I have always felt that the old phrase ‘a smart rider will jump on the best horse’ is also applicable to fleas.
I think Mandy is totally confused at the moment: he loathes both Kirsty McCall and Alistair Darling, and so knows not upon which lap to sit. Zanadu Labour is now sharply divided into Old Brown and New Blair. The Lord High Rear Admiral for Failed Negotiations, Funny Business and Media Presence knows he really belongs in New Blair, but they don’t have the bottle or the power to satisfy him.
What’s an alley cat to do under such circumstances?
Make mischief, I fancy.
YM x
Very funny, he is indeed a sly old moggy . . .
What a massive insult to cats to compare them to that over-painted bitchy old Queen.
The way to get rid of a ponderous pussy is to drown it in a saucer of cream.
Lord Fondlebum is one cat that should be tied in a sack and thrown in the local river to drown.