Is it Possible to be Spurned by a Cat?

Two weeks ago, I would have said no (or would have, had the issue ever crossed my mind). After all, a cat’s cortex is simply too small to generate the complex emotions that animate human relationships: love, hatred, jealousy, remorse. Or so I thought.

Now that I am the temporary custodian of a cat, however, my opinions have changed. I am house-sitting for my friend, who lives in Richmond. She owns a rather lovely tabby, which shall remain nameless. Suffice to say that she is tiger-coloured (the cat, not my friend), which is my favourite type of coat. Although she is fatter than any known tiger (I’m still talking about the cat), she gives the distinct impression that she could unleash the compressed power of her limbs any time she feels the need. As Darwin might say, The Cat still retains the indelible stamp of her lowly origin.

I have been rather busy this week, and have spent little time paying direct attention to The Cat. I have been performing all the obligatory ‘cat-maintenance’ tasks – food bowl filled, water bowl filled, kitty litter emptied, window left open – but beyond that, admittedly, there hasn’t been much quality ‘Tim and Cat’ time. Although I was planning on spending an extended scratching session with the Cat (that’s when I scratch the Cat and she purrs contentedly, not when we both scratch the furniture together, which isn’t allowed) this never eventuated.

Too late. I came back at 7 pm the other day, an hour later than usual, whispering ‘Here, Puss’ in my guilty-as-hell falsetto voice. No answering meow. I looked outside. No Moggie hunched up soggily in the courtyard. I rattled the dry cat food container. No Cat at all.

Fine, I thought, as I schlooped the miniature rotten-fish-smelling cat food into the bowl. Be that way. I heard jingling (The Cat has a belled collar), and looked up expectantly.

The Cat was back!

But The Cat wasn’t back. Not really. She simply stood in the doorway to our room, staring me down with those reflective eyes. There was pain in them, but also a hint of malice, as if she knew how much I wanted her to be a Nice Cat again, and how much it would upset me if she wasn’t. Using all her powers of restraint, she refused to scamper across the room and eat her Dine: she had bigger cares than her own hunger. We looked at each other for perhaps a minute; I felt as if I was supposed to say something comforting, but couldn’t think straight. An invisible line divided us, where the corridor ended and the living room began. She wouldn’t cross it. Why did The Cat have such a hold over me? Did I need to get out more? More to the point, did I need a girlfriend?
‘Puss, I –‘
She cut me off.
‘Meow. Meow. Meow.’
It doesn’t come more straight-down-the-line than that.
‘But I had to go and get some –‘
‘Meow.’
Every excuse I could come up with was swiftly murdered in its cradle. With a (feigned, in my opinion) stately walk, she slowly vanished into the bedroom, her tail flickering around the doorway one last time, a final stinging barb.

At this point, I was tempted to leave The Cat to her own devices, but I – O quintessence of dust! – crumbled. Slinking like a mutt with the family’s leg of lamb in its jaws, I crept into the bedroom. She looked straight at me as the door opened. When I stretched out my arm to stroke the fuzzy patch on the top of her head (which she used to like, when things were good), The Cat growled. Then, these low growls would unfurl into meows, her shallow surface anger parting to reveal the cool depths of sadness beneath.
‘Grrrrrreeoww. Grrrrreeow’, she cried. It was wrenching.
My hand was paused in midair. Would she bite it? Or claw it? Should I just back away, and leave her to forget about me, heaping her food bowl high enough to keep her going? After all, I’d be gone on Saturday, and then she –

We made eye contact, and The Cat started head-butting my hand, hard. I thought it was a fresh assault, and sprung backwards off the bed. But I soon realized that it was a gesture of peace, and sat back down again.
'Butt, butt, butt, butt', butted her little head into my hand. ‘Meow.’
'Butt, butt, butt, butt'. ‘Meow.’ This blissful, simple little dance continued for a while.
I tentatively scritched behind The Cat’s ear. She smiled. (Cats can smile: forget what you’ve been told). I smiled. Everything was perfect again.

And to keep it that way, now I have to go and feed her again. But it’s worth it, and I'll miss her.