I have never been a huge lover of cats ( probably because I’m quite allergic to them), and always resisted the notion of cats living in our house. The Pizzeria cat was one thing, it was there to keep the rodent population at bay, a house cat was a different kettle of fish!
One day I called my friend Roland Sardine, and asked him to drop in the next time he came to Bequia. My piano was making funny clunking noises whenever I hit certain keys, and he was the only person I knew of who could perhaps fix it. To my consternation and intense embarrassment Roland discovered a nest containing dead mice in the innards of the piano, and THAT’S the day I reluctantly agreed to get a house cat.
Shortly afterwards we got a little orange kitten, and I DO mean LITTLE. She was very small, perhaps just 6 weeks old, and had to stay in our bedroom until she grew big enough to fend for herself outside. The largest part of the kitten seemed to be her eyes, and that’s why she was given the name E.T. Our new pet looked like a tiny orange alien and, although small, her arrival resulted in the immediate departure of rodents from the house.
Before we had a chance to get E.T. spayed she got pregnant, and gave birth to three kittens. Two of the kittens went to friends in Martinique and that was fine, but Nik wanted to keep the third kitten so that E.T. had company. I hadn’t signed on for a second cat but Nik had a point, and as E.T. was a fine mouser her off-spring probably would be too. When the kitten broke a plate during an exploration of my kitchen cupboards Nik promptly named her “Dish”.
E.T. was affectionate and playful, and I grew quite fond of her. She sensed that I didn’t want her on my lap or (heaven forbid!) in my bed, and because of this we got along just fine. Dish was a different story, she was quite feral in behaviour as well as different in appearance, and avoided human contact like the plague. Although a good mouser she was incredibly unfriendly, and I demanded she be spayed so that the house wouldn’t be subjected to more wild cats. Dish hated to be touched, so Nik crept behind her on “vet day” to grab her while sleeping, and arrived at the clinic with the cat in a box and deep, bleeding gouges on his hands and arms. Dish was definitely NOT a nice cat! Both E.T. and her daughter lived to the ripe age of 18 – quite old for Bequia cats – and I missed E.T. when she died. The last year of Dish’s life wasn’t pleasant, and I was relieved when she finally took her last breath.
A year later Nik and I returned from a trip to find that the rodents had moved back in, and promptly looked for a new cat. I heard about 2 rescue kittens on Union island, and made arrangements to have them sent over to Bequia. Once again I had to deal with allergies; the kittens were far too small to live outside, and until they grew big enough they stayed in our bedroom. One kitten was a titch bigger than her sister, and until we came up with names for them they were referred to as “the big one” or “the little one”. These are the names they ended up with – Miss Big and Miss Little, and they’re terrific cats. Like E.T., they know not to climb on my lap, but often tap me gently to let me know that they care. Both cats are excellent mousers and leave the birds alone, and although they chase iguanas I don’t think they do them any harm.
I may not love our feline pets the way most cat-owners do but I like them a lot more than rodents and we therefore get along fine. Except for Dish. Dish hated me and the feeling was mutual!
