COLOURFUL ECCENTRICS

Two grand ladies progenies of a high Oriental culture, with a heritage extending back to the ancient east. No! Not two aristocratic eastern princesses, but the equally grand Persian cat. They became part of the family at six weeks old - an age at which we could mould and instruct prior to complete assimilation into the household. We hadn't reckoned with their iconoclastic characteristics. Our carefully planned schedules were drastically altered to accommodate their various whims and fancies. Persians organise you… you do not organise them. You develop a sense of inferiority; utilised as necessary adjuncts to their existence, you are mere servants at the behest of their ladyships. As befits their status the arrival of a visitor heralds a grand entrance. They are immediately the centre of attraction awaiting suitable flattering overtones. The response from the feline duo will be in direct relation to the degree and familiarity of the tactile appraisal. If sufficient homage has been paid to them, the just reward to the individual is an unremitting incursion into the flesh of sharp claws, an accompanied purring and finally the oblivion of sleep. Persians like many other species of cat maintain a high degree of personal cleanliness. Their glamorous and seductive personas are subject to constant attention to maintain their high society standards. Brushing and combing twice a day is obligatory; in the interim periods time is spent self-preening, the viper-like tongues abrading the hair to a silky magnificence. " What you eat is what you are ", is a familiar adult saying. No less applicable to our Persian duo. They demanded the best, not for them table-d'hote, after all it's all expenses paid, lets get straight to the a la carte. Stale food and dirty dishes would not be tolerated, along with a complete refusal to eat if the offering was from a dented tin. Had we the only two cats that could tell when the contents of a tin were not entirely fit for their discerning palates? Scraps of high calibre are also considered for consumption, but on no account must be mixed with the day's tinned food. If this were to happen by mistake the fault could be easily spotted without resorting to looking in the food bowls. They would parade nonchalantly past the food bowls and with a disdainful flick of the head move on. Suitably annoyed they would take up station in close proximity to the unacceptable food. Along would come a pathetically minded adult and enquire as to why they were so morose. You could almost imagine their brains reacting to this situation…. " Well, if you care to look you will find a mess of disgusting proportions; gristly chicken pieces mixed with yesterdays sardine and tuna lumps ". The looks befitting this situation suggested something had to be done. The chef would have to be reprimanded and a suitable food alternative found immediately. Suitably arranged in a clean dish the morsels would be swiftly devoured. If for some unaccountable reason scraps were not forthcoming during the families plat de jour, a gentle reminder would come by way of a tap on the arm. After the meal the two would repair to the lounge or conservatory for a rest. Despite our endeavours to create sanctuaries for them, they preferred to occupy the best chairs in the house. The chairs were bought for our creature comfort, the ambiguous reality was however perfectly clear to the cats - the chairs were for creature comfort. They were the creatures and the comfort was for them. Exercise was casual and spasmodic, inclement weather would preclude any excursion outside; after all would you go out in rain or snow without shoes or a raincoat? In their seventeenth year old age precluded over exertion. The days of playful fisticuffs had receded, to be replaced by the occasional histrionic race up and down stairs to celebrate the successful use of the dirt tray. Another exception to their normal passive behaviour was the presence of an interloper on their hallowed territory. Dog, cat, squirrel…. would turn these staid, serene and elegant ladies into snarling tigresses; speed transcended age, the battle was joined. The encounter was normally brief, the odds against the intruder were 2 to 1, very unfair, but it has to be said that this was trespass with possible evil intent. The visitor would leave making sure never to return. The victors would sidle away; the posture unconvincing considering the total defeat inflicted on the enemy. After this deviant display the warriors would rest and recharge their batteries. And so to bed. We all retire together; that at least is one dictate they agree to. An extra blanket on the duvet is necessary during winter. In summer the same blanket is placed in close proximity to a draft of cold air close to the bedroom door. Sleep is generally unpunctuated by extensive movement, until it is time to rise; time for them to rise, that is. If they decided it was time to rise your option for a lay-in is negated. You are trodden on, purred at, pummeled and nudged until you concur with their wishes. We often wondered how we had time to do anything else other than look after these two feline companions? We did and we loved it Now they have departed, an isolation and emptiness devours you. That daily greeting is missed when you returned from work. Those scraps remain scraps; that subtle touch that reminded you about sharing the family food, is missing. Those occasional contorted acrobatics when we just hoped that the expensive porcelain vase would be saved from destruction - it always was. Memories abound of these colorful eccentrics… To try and replace them as we remember them would inevitably lead to disappointment. The emptiness and lack of feline activity may well induce a search for suitable replacements. Once again we shall hear the patter of eight tiny feet.

John Read, Torbay.