Stories from my Sketchbook . . .

I think I may have mentioned in the past how much I have always loved cats.  I know I only (Only!!  Dear God please don’t tell my girls I said that!) have dogs these days but I was owned by cats long before I was owned by dogs.

My last lovely old cat, Cleo, passed away many years ago now.  She was 18.  She and her brother Jesse (who had passed away the year before) had been with me since they were tiny kittens.  Although I missed them both deeply, at that stage I also had two dogs, one of whom, Harry, came out of the womb hating cats.   Although he eventually learned to tolerate (under severe sufferance I might add) ‘his’ cats, he nevertheless continued to consider every other cat on the planet to be ‘fair game’ and nothing I ever said or did over his long, long life could disabuse him of this view.   Once Cleo passed I really felt that bringing another cat into the house might be pushing his patience a paw too far . . .

And even after Harry himself had wandered off over the Rainbow Bridge it was not very long before puppy Mabel made an appearance, followed closely by Maudie . . . and then Molly and . . .  well . . .  suddenly there were lots of little doggie feet coming and going and I found I had more than enough to keep me busy (and amused) without contemplating adding a cat to the mix.

But then a couple of months ago a new kitty-cat moved in next door and suddenly all those wonderful things I had loved and missed about my own dear cats came flooding back to me.  Their sparkly eyes and deafening purrs.  Their air of disdain and complete belief in their own superiority.  Their lovely squishy kitty-cat feet . . . 

Our new neighbour, Sable, is around 8 months old, soft and glossy and sleek and black . . .  and very, very cheeky (and we all know how I like critters with ‘attitude’.)  He’s very young yet and still getting his bearings but it won’t be long I think until he has the whole neighbourhood under his sway.  But, for now at least, he seems happily content to spend most of his days reclining regally on my garage roof, gazing benevolently down upon his new kingdom and all his adoring subjects.

Well—at least I am adoring.  Mabel, Maude and Molly may take a tad more convincing . . .

This is most definitely NOT a sketch of Sable.
It is however the only thing in my sketchbook that anything like resembles a cat—so for this story it will have to do . . .