by Judy Evans

While my mistress is stressed out writing 750 words about‘animals’ it seems a good time to write my own life story. I’ve been off my food and unsteady in the mornings so maybe I should get my story down sooner rather than later. My first memory is of Mother, a ‘Heinz’ variety cat, and my two siblings.  Certainly Mother wasn’t particularly pretty but I adored her.  She was devoted to us (you can always tell a good mother by looking at her children) and a mouser par excellence. Mother taught me to be clean and to wash behind my ears.  “When in doubt, wash,” she would say, and I’ve kept that as my motto. I was very small, taking after Mother in that respect.  (She would never speak about our father, saying he was a ‘tom about town’ whatever that meant.)  At six weeks old, I was given to a family.  I was a constant source of enjoyment to them and entertained them as best I could, chasing after string and feathers, and scrabbling at the TV images. I invented games.  I particularly liked being put in a cardboard box with a couple of holes cut in the sides.  The humans would scratch near one of the holes and I’d stick out my paw and try to snag them.  They quickly learnt to use a pencil rather than their fingers. I’d sometimes tip the box on its side with my vigorous pounces.  We still play this.  It’s great fun. My contract was to keep the house free of mice.  There was a bit of a plague at the time which was why I’d been offered a home.  I’d be having a catnap on the lounge when I’d be snatched up, shoved in a drawer and the drawer slammed shut.  The first time this happened I was still tiny and I didn’t know what to think. But a heady scent filled my nostrils, a thrill ran through my body, something moved among the socks and instinctively I flung my paw out, claws extended and, to my surprise, I’d caught myself a mouse!!  I was quite amazed.  A few moments later the drawer opened and I was smothered with praise.  Of course, I didn’t let them see I was as surprised as they were.  I became used to hearing a shout, “Where’s Smoky?” then being grabbed and stuffed in a drawer or a cupboard. We moved house often while I was young.  Once we only went a few blocks and the master didn’t bother to put me in a box.  I had a marvellous time.  I prowled along the back window ledge, pulled faces at the people in the car behind, checked for mice under the pedals at master’s feet and then - I discovered I could stand on the steering wheel and work the indicators and wipers!  What a great trip that was but for some reason I was never allowed to travel like that again. From time to time I’d have to share the family with other pets. Why they needed anyone other than me I’m not sure.  One ginger cat (the family named him ‘Blue’ for some reason I could never fathom) was as daft as they come. And I must tell you this:  he actually managed to catch a little bird and he was so pleased he took it into the main bedroom, opened his mouth to tell them how clever he’d been and of course the bird flew off.  It was just too much for me!  Blue’s looking around, trying to work out what’s happened, the bird’s fluttering in the curtains, everyone’s yelling.  I couldn’t resist.  I took off after it. Pandemonium! Now we’re down to a threesome.  I lie on the drive till master arrives home.  He drives really fast right up to me.  I ignore him then walk slowly home ahead of the car.  I never hurry no matter how much he toots and shouts.  He pretends to be really cross but he doesn’t mean it. I spend my days in the sun curled up in an old ice-cream container.  It is exactly my size.  If I get bored I demand to go in and out of the house every half hour or so.  I am very content.  I’ve kept my side of the contract and I know at the end of my days I’ll be allowed to pass away peacefully.  Life has been good.