A Cat Called Merlot

Thursday 21st May 2020

I’ve just been down to Number 16 to see my friend Alfred. He’s eighty-nine and chats a lot to himself. To be fair, there’s nobody else to talk to given the world is still pretty much in lockdown. I often pop in to see how he’s doing knowing he’ll have a packet of treats to entice me in. He’s lived in the road for nearly forty years and sometimes we sit on the sofa together watching the snooker. I listen to him chattering on about the war and how life was better then and I can see, from his perspective, how it might well have been. I’m particularly fascinated that he takes his teeth out after meals to wash them under the kitchen tap. I sit on the draining board and watch, with interest, as his mouth sort of collapses into a sucked-in, wrinkly “o”, then returns to normal when he puts them back in. It makes me chuckle, every time.

When I return home, Queenie is getting ready for a COVI-DATE. Apparently that involves chatting remotely, to men that she can’t really meet, except in a park when nobody else is around and they might be wearing a mask…Hmm? I wander through the flat to find her doing her make up and taking selfies to see how she looks on the screen. “What do you think, Merlot?” She asks as I jump on the bed to get my head rubbed. I would like to reply: “Too much lipstick and too little fur, for my taste,” but that might give her a heart attack and, despite people thinking cats don’t invest, I’m actually very fond of her. In response, I purr and she pouts. Eventually she remembers to feed me. I’m given a sachet of tuna flavour but I fancy beef so I stare at my bowl, then back up at her, then back at my bowl. She ignores the hint, so tonight I will be dining at Number 22, where the cat flap does not contain a chip and the food is gourmet. It’s annoying really, as I don’t fancy going out.

On my way to 22, I deviate and wander up to Number 36, the home of the Wright-Smiths. They are the purrrfect family. At least you would think so, if you met them. They have two nicely brought up children, Oliver and Emelia who are practicing mindfulness whilst being home-schooled, during Covid. This evening, as I pass through the garden I see Mrs Wright-Smith (Saffron) is baking bread and making the family sing songs to get their endorphin levels up and increase positivity. Mr Wright-Smith (Luke) can’t wait to get back to his job in the City and get away from them all. Out of sight of his wholesome wife, he can escape from responsibly-sourced-wholefood and indulge in a crafty burger and chips at lunchtime. I only know this from his text messages to his work colleagues and rather unsettling doodles on the writing pad in his study. Saffron won’t let the children have ‘pets’ but she’s happy for me to pop in every now and again and I love having a good nose around.

Having eaten, I sit on the wall of Number 27 to incite the stupid dogs into a frenzy. They oblige and my work here is done.

A Cat Called Merlot Uncategorized

A Cat Called Merlot

It’s Friday. The flat is quiet. I call the woman I share my life with, Queenie. It’s not real name but it’s what cats call their significant human. Anyhow, I digress… I decide to borrow Queenie’s lap top whilst she is out on her walk, to do my Blog. It’s an Apple. Not a very imaginative name, I feel. I have a brief window of opportunity before she arrives home to feed me and join her friends for an online dance party. It’s a noisy affair, where everyone talks over each other before throwing themselves around their kitchens for half an hour, to dreadful music. It’s their way of keeping in touch and keeping fit. It’s my cue to exit through the cat flap until it’s over.

I’ve decided COVID-19 is a bit like cat flu with a touch of insanity. Whilst the government is slowly lifting their lockdown rules, things apparently won’t be back to “normal” for months, if ever. There was a moment of panic at the start that nobody would be left to open the tins or pouches but thankfully infection rates are slowing, so I won’t have to learn to hunt again. I was sitting on the wall opposite the pharmacy only last week and watched people ‘social distancing’, in queues. I’d like to point out that cats invented ‘social distancing’ and at least we’re good at it! Knowing how humans love a queue, they must have been in their element. This one went on for miles and they stood in it for half the morning in silence, with their strange face coverings, bad hair and with a deranged look in their eyes. At this rate, I reckon ‘lock down’ might well result in ‘lock up’ for some of them.

Queenie sat down in the afternoon to watch the news. I sat on her lap whilst she raised her voice at the TV. Is it my imagination or do all the Ministers look the same: shifty and terrified? They keep referencing Sage. Where is he or she? The big blonde one with the floppy hair is back in charge so we can all rest easy… He’s had another child but nobody’s quite certain how many litters he’s had, to date. Still, who’s counting? Certainly not the Chancellor of the Exchequer as he’s too busy! All the while the news was on, Queenie kept wobbling around with agitation and it made me feel motion sick, so I gave her a bit of a nip to show my displeasure, jumped down and went out.

When I came back in, she was on Zoom with her writing group. As usual, I was paraded in front of the camera so everyone could bill and coo. I just glared and listened to them reading their creations aloud, thinking I could teach them a thing or two.

Yesterday evening, I popped down to see my girlfriend, Lola, who lives in the next road. I met her on the feline dating app, YOWL. Like me, she’s a tabby but delicate as a flower. She’s not in. I hope the young grey and white who lives a few doors down isn’t trying to muscle in. I’ll have a word when I next see him trotting across my garden with a cocky look on his face. Disappointed, I stomp off home to find Queenie comfort eating, half way through a packet of chocolate biscuits and on a second glass of red wine. She’ll need to dance more, that’s for sure or she’ll end up obese. At least her lap is spreading as her thighs are expanding, which is good news for me. Wondering where Lola is, I settle down on the back of the chair and stare gloomily out of the window.

A Cat Called Merlot

I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Merlot. I’m a male tabby cat with an unenviable past. I’m now aged between six and eight in human years but when my story began, I’d been living on the street since the family I was born into, moved house and left me behind. I’m not sure what I did to deserve such shabby treatment. Then, after a particularly rough few weeks sleeping in a disused coal bunker, I was picked up, thin and battle-worn, put in a plastic box and taken to a Rescue Centre. I spent ten long months there, albeit safe but in a small pen. The sign on a chalk board outside, gave me an unpronounceable name and described me as “frustrated”. That was an under-statement!

People came to visit regularly and stared at me through the glass door as though appraising an exhibit at a freak show. Some ventured into my confined space and waved my knitted fish toy around in my face but in response, I just bit them. It was no more than they deserved. I wasn’t in any frame of mind to trust any human after being abandoned, so they all left without a second glance, invariably with a nice natured black and white.

Angry and resentful, I paced up and down day in, day out, dreaming of a nice home and a garden of my own. Each morning I woke up full of hope but by the time the Centre closed, I went to sleep disappointed, with all the other ‘Unwanteds’. Week after week, cats came and went but nobody would take me and I was too depressed to show myself in the best light.

Then, one day, in early October, almost seventeen cat years ago, just as the Centre was about to close for the evening, two women arrived.

Half asleep from my afternoon nap, I heard my name. Curiously, I got up, stretched and sat by the door. They peered back at me. One of them described me as ‘beautiful’ but that certainly wasn’t enough to prove her worth. She came in and sat down with me. There was something about her eyes that was different and she appeared gentle. Nonetheless, she had to be tested and so I bit her, hard. Unlike the others, she remained seated, telling me she understood how miserable I felt and that she was going to take me home with her and look after me. Unconvinced, I bit her harder. Her friend was smiling and nodding in approval from the other side of the door and, before I knew it, I was in a wire crate surrounded by all sorts of brand new cat paraphernalia, on the back seat of a car.

I panicked a bit and cried like a young queen for a while but after what seemed like a lifetime, I was liberated in a big, airy flat with a large, leafy garden. That was to be my new home.

So, that was where my new life as Merlot began and, two and a half years on, I’m very settled and as I’ve got a lot to say on many subjects, I’m ready to begin my weekly blog. I hope it will entertain you as we take a journey together, through my world….