Leela is our littlest, an impetuous tortie through and through. Whatever Leela does, she does full pelt, whether it's darting up and down the stairs in our tall terraced house (how can a 6-pound cat make as much noise as a rugby player?), gobbling down her dinner or diving into someone's arms for a fuss.
|What's for dinner, then?|
|Beautiful Fry - so dashing!|
Fry is our boy cat; jet-black of fur and oh-so-gentle of nature. He has a squeaky little miaow attempt, but the deepest, loveliest purr. He loves to give 'kisses' and is the soppiest of our three - he likes his humans and his sister and his mother home and likes nothing more than hanging out in the living room and napping on a person.
|He loves to hang out with me when I'm writing!|
|I don't think Poppet has got the hang of this shopping malarkey.|
Poppet, well, Poppet is the boss! A sweet natured calico girl who we are all well aware rules the roost. Loving and sweet, she's also delightfully barmy and never fails to make us giggle with her adventures. One of which is the adventure of Poppet & Mousie...
We live in an area of London where in the late autumn and winter months there are a *lot* of fireworks. Bonfire Night, Diwali, New Year's all set off a trend for loud bangs and bright fizzes. We keep the cats in on the nights we can predict (November 5th, NYE, the culmination of Diwali), but sometimes we miss a night and scramble to get the cats in safely. On those nights, Poppet's mama-bear instincts turn up to eleven.
For the neighbourhood mice.
We're lucky enough not to have a big house mouse problem (see; three cats. Also, touch wood). In our garden, however, we do spy the occasional dormouse or field mouse sized critter, which may have wandered over from the nearby open spaces. They may even be house mice who have given up their establishment gigs for life on the open highway. Who knows. I think these little guys live under the decking some of our neighbours have, or that they scurry between the fences of the terraces, where there's often a gap of a few inches. One mouse, however, Poppet adopted as her own. On nights where there were fireworks or rainstorms or thunder, we'd hear the clack-clack of the cat flap, one-two-three, and then all too often the high pitched squeak of Mousie would follow.
The first time he was clearly distressed, and Matthew and I managed to separate him from Poppet and let him go safely. As he scuttled off I noted there was no blood or bite marks, just a rather cross mouse. We gave him plenty of time to head off safely and wished him well. A few weeks later, however, Mousie appeared again, and he seemed much more chilled about proceedings. He and Popps were communicating and sat quite happily next to one another as though this was quite a normal arrangement. When I got close to Poppet, I saw she wasn't biting him, or even nipping. Nope, she was carrying him gently by the scruff. Like a kitten.
Yes, friends. Our head-of-the-house cat has an adoptive mouse she brings in from rainstorms and loud noises. It's happened a few times and after that first time Poppet has roundly refused to let Matthew and I have her pet. Clearly we can't be trusted. According to my research, mice live between 6 months and 3 years, so I do wonder if we'll see Mousie again this year... Other cats may be great mousers; Poppet justs wants a chat!
|Fearsome she is not. Unless you're a very small worm, in which case, be afraid....#wusscat #thankheavens #notcutoutforahighkillcount|
I was asked to write this post as part of the #PawHumour campaign, which flags up the new partnership between MoreTh>n and the RSPCA. They've produced a webpage on all the ways you can keep your furry friends safe and well which can be found here. I was compensated with a voucher for this post, and let's face it, cat posts are certainly nothing new on this blog!