He turned up this morning. The cat I thought was scared. The scaredy cat. In the back of my mind. But he was now on a mission. He'd had enough of avoiding. He'd got his courage together, or some other cat sense and decided to sort me out. Don't make assumptions about the one who runs away. Coz you never know if he's going to turn up again. Tigger did.
For some reason I awoke early. Went downstairs had brekky and listened to the Today program. Angel was doing her, I'm-not-sure-I-like-him routine. Being obstinate, not coming in unless she could do it by a window where I couldn't see her. Buffy doesn't have this problem, she just comes in eats and enjoys a stroke. However, as if from nowhere Tigger turns up. He's at the back door. Tail standing erect, proud, tall and he's meowing to come in. My, this is a surprise. Maybe he'd had enough of the rain. Maybe now he wanted some food. He walked past me with disdain like a member of the royal family coming to tea and hating every second. He walked into the kitchen and meowed. He walked into the front room and meowed. He walked round and round meowing and ignoring the food. His fur was partly up. He looked bigger. Tigger was telling me something and it was along the lines of "how-dare-you-be-here-ass-wipe, where's my owners?"
I'd locked the door after he came in. My assumption was he would be harmless and now needed sustenance. I assumed wrong. He was as much as a cat can be, actually a little scary. I'd put the keys to the door down. Tigger went to the back door after his disappointed nose around. He meowed "let-me-out-idiot" in so many meows. Sodding ell. Where did i put the key down. I hastily looked around. Tigger made his way to the window sill and meowed "so-you-going-to-let-me-out-or-do-I-get-rough?" I wanted to reach to the window's handle but he was in the way. And looking mean. In a moment I spied the key. Opened the back door and Tigger walked proudly scarily out the back door. Shite. And I thought he was just shy.
There really is no reason for a human being to be scared of a cat. After all they are quite a bit smaller. But for a few short moments I actually wondered if he was going to attack me. And had he hissed I'm sure I might of been a little more panicked. But I held it together. Not only that his meow was a little pathetic in decibel level. Although he had the John Wayne walk he just didn't have the voice to go with it. It was a little like the early interviews with David Beckham, where you think what a squeaky poofed voice he has and how the hell can a thicko like him be so famous? But like Beckeham who's intelligence was in his feet, Tigger's was in his attitude.
Maybe I should of gone for a pint today.
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