There she was the last in the pet shop, a scrawny, pathetic multi coloured little kitten. She had runny eyes which were hardly open. We couldn't stand it. How much? R5 was the answer, so we duly delved into our wallets paid the 5 bucks and shelved out another R20 for a kitty litter box and a food bowl. All the way back to town she sat cradled in my lap, hardly making a sound. She didn't look too good at all. First stop the vets. One injection, some ointment for her eyes and a not too promising prognosis later we sped home to get her settled in.
What proud parents we were as she scratched in the litter box for the first time. The ointment worked her eyes cleared up and the fun began.
We were staying in a flat on the top floor, not too suitable for pets I hear you say. Indeed we were not really allowed them if I remember the lease, but what "they" don't know cant harm 'em was out attitude, besides she was such a tiny thing no one would even know she was here... quite. It wasn't too bleak an existence for the newly named Scooter - strange name for a cat but then not every cat I know can scoot along the kitchen novilon on her backside as fast as she could! actually I've never seen one do it before or since.
But I digress.. we had a long balcony with quite a collection of plants for her to hide among and destroy. Oh yes I had to be very careful what plants I gave any attention to. Scoots would watch me intently and as soon as I went back indoors she would purposefully walk up to the plant and begin shredding the leaves or mutilating with more enthusiasm than I am sure is natural. Well she does have green eyes.
She went along fairly happily doing all the usual kitten things, playing with ping pong balls, playing with her toys which hung from various doors, bells would jangle and things clatter at all hours of the day and night.
Then one day she grew up, no longer was she a mere kitten she was now a female cat on the prowl for a handsome male cat. In the absence of one close by she decided that any male was worth a go, she would yowl and rub herself up against Stephen and ever so accommodatingly lift her tail nicely to the side, in fact she wouldn't leave him alone. Initially we thought it very amusing and thought that she really can't come to much harm and we really must get her fixed.
Then to coincide with the office Christmas party the insurance man came to visit, to be fair he had made an appointment. Suffice it to say I was feeling somewhat under the weather and had adjourned to the bathroom. Stephen actually agreed that maybe under the circumstances (me being tired and emotional) that I should rather stay put.
Well Scoots couldn't believe her luck there she was alone in the flat two males to herself. Having grown tired of Stephen and the lack of response she thought she should give this new chap the eye. In a way I was glad I was indisposed, as I am sure I would only have added to Stephen's discomfort. Scoots made a bee line for the insurance man, gleefully rubbing herself up and down his trouser leg and rolling on his shoes, all the time making that little yowling come hither noises. Stephen was apparently beside himself trying to tell the man to just ignore her and eventually prising her off his shoes and bundling her into the kitchen. Scoots, has never liked closed doors....
Meanwhile I was feeling most unwell in the bathroom. Has anyone else ever signed their last Will and Testament on the loo I wonder. I think the clause of sound mind came close to making it null and void!
After that incident we decided there was nothing else to be done but to have her fixed as soon as she came off heat. However unbeknown to us Scoots had other ideas. I remember seeing a rather handsome brown tabby tripping the light fantastic across the wall and roofs of neighbouring houses, but I also thought that everyone has their animals fixed, well don't they?
A couple of days after the insurance man cometh and wenteth, we woke up to an empty flat, well empty of Scoots. I was frantic, I always over react and this was no exception. I searched everywhere, even inside the bed - a favourite hiding place for her away from that monster the vacuum cleaner- but nothing, she had simply vanished. I asked a few people in the block if they had seen her, no one had.
I went to work phoned the vets and the SPCA and was all set to put a notice in the paper. At lunchtime I dashed home to see if she had returned, still nothing. I put up a notice in the flat's foyer and went back to work. Later that afternoon the phone rang. It was a woman from a flat on the ground floor, she had found Scoots but couldn't keep her as she had birds. I quickly dashed into my boss's office and explained all, he sent me off home to rescue Scoots.
There she was a bit the worse for wear. In fact I am sure she had had the best time. There was nothing else for it. She was bundled into the car and taken to be, "fixed" at the vets. One extremely pissed off cat came home with us the next day, all sleepy from the anaesthetic. We had bought a kitty bed. suckers huh?. yep.. Scoots was popped into the kitty bed and placed on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe, just in case something was wrong and we were then close at hand.
Ah yes, I haven't told you about the specially designed kitty toilet. This was a necessity so that Scoots could do her thing outside on the balcony in all weathers. Stephen made a wooden over structure which was placed on top of the litter tray it was open at one end rather like a dog kennel in fact, quite smart and meant we didn't have to have a smelly tray in the house and Scoots had her privacy as well.
No sooner was she feeling more like herself that she took about removing the stitches in her tummy. So back to the vets we went again. This time she emerged ears plastered tight to her skull, yowling and with an elastoplast bandage wrapped around her midriff. I felt sorry for her. I took off the elastoplast and replaced with a normal bandage, I have never seen a cat remove anything so fast, she would make Houdini look inept. Thus passed a few fraught days until the wound healed and she was once again more herself.
One of Scoots more endearing little foibles is her ability to take an instant dislike to someone, for absolutely no reason whatsoever she will growl, hiss and spit and rush off to do more important things. The trouble is she looks so beautiful, that everyone always wants to stroke her, she invites it really. She also invites herself onto laps and on the arms of chairs and blinks those big green eyes which seem to say -" go on stroke me then, you know you want to"... she purrs, she drools, she pummels and she sits. Apparently all is well, then without so much as a bye or leave she snaps her head around and bites, hisses, spits and disappears, tail flashing from side to side, leaving the poor human screeching in discomfort and looking amazed and in dire need of a band-aid. Its happened to everyone that has ever nursed her, except me.
After a about 18 months we moved out to the suburbs into a house with a garden. Well as one of our friends said when they paid us a visit, hell this is like the Sahara desert. No grass, just sand. Scoots was not at all sure about this. She spent alot of time under the duvet, inside the drawers of the bed or skulking onto the 2x 4 bit of paving at the side of the house. Not a happy cat.
Not long after we moved in maybe 3 weeks she began to find her feet and we were woken many nights by a yowling and a caterwauling followed by ear piercing, blood curdling screams, Scoots had found the neighbours cats and was systematically sorting out her territory and them. She wasn't always the victor but eventually they came to respect that she was queen of the walk and let her be. Queen of the feline community hereabouts she might be but there was something that terrified her beyond all reason. The vacuum cleaner! The moment she heard the scrabbling in the cupboard for the hoover, she would make her bid for escape, pouring herself through the burglar bars at tremendous speed and haring across the garden and down the road drain, among the spiders and creepy crawlies, much safer than doing battle with that dust sucking monster!
Scoots is now 9 years old and has hung up her boxing gloves in the neighbourhood, unvanquished, undefeated, she still rules the roost at home, sorting out a rottweiler, bull terrier and 3 other cats, more about them in the coming pages.