The first cat I remember was a cheeky tabby. I called her Bobby after my grandfather, even though she was a girl. "Oh well," said mum "It can be short for Roberta."
The second cat I remember was a fine looking tortoiseshell called Kate. Kate was Bobby's sister. They fought like cats and...er...well like cats I suppose.
The third cat I remember was an aggressive, smoky coloured cat called, quite originally, Smoky. Smoky often sat on the top of the TV with her tail hanging down over the picture. If anyone tried to move her she was extraordinarily defensive.
The fourth cat, Tymmy, was my very own pet. I had to pay for his cat food out of my pocket money. He was slim and ginger haired and miawoed like a simese. He choked to death in a house fire on Christmas Eve. I was eleven years old. It was devastating.
My fifth cat was Tyger, a stripey tortoiseshell. But I had a Tymmy shaped hole in my heart and could not love Tyger as much as I wanted to. So Tyger ran away.
Now please give a big round of applause to my parents for allowing me the opportunity of living with cats.
