Well I’ve had a purr - fectly lovely time this week and I’m feline fine…….as you can probably guess from my bad puns, I’ve been painting my favourite subjects all week – cats.
It sometimes works like this. I don’t get commissioned to paint a cat for ages and then 3 come along at once. One of these lovely moggies belong to a very nice customer of mine and she is called the “Cat Lady “ on her sreet - even though she only has 3 cats. I know someone who has 18 cats and he doesn’t get called Cat Lady – mainly because he’s a man, but he doesn’t get called Cat Man either. She says she doesn’t care to be called this as it conjures up images of smellyness and holes in tights type of a person but she most definitely isn’t that!
This is Winter the cat- he’s very lazy and very fat and he hates the cold – quite ironic he’s called Winter – did the name come first I wonder?
Cat Woman – that’s what I’d like to be called if I had lots of cats. I don’t now, I have just the one – my girl cat Betty. Her brother, my beautiful boy cat Trevor (yes you can imagine the fun I had at the vets when “Trevor Clark” was called in reception – thanks to the Hubster and my son’s imaginative naming when he was a kitten) died just after Christmas and after much soul searching, we’ve decided to let his sister rule the roost and not get another one just yet. This is Trevor immortalised in painting – he followed me everywhere and was often covered in paint like this as he tried to sit in the middle of my palette. I miss him a lot.
Betty was a little bullied by her boisterous big bro when he was alive and she’s now coming out of her shell, - with a vengeance. This is all good as it’s her time now I guess - except she hates me.
Betty has an evil stare. If you’ve ever been at the other end of a cat stare – a cat that doesn’t like you, you’ll know the stare I mean. She has changed personality from the timid little thing she was when her brother was here. She’s never been one to sit and be cuddled but she’d let you give her a quick stroke as she ran past to get her food. Now she just sits and stares at me – just me – she doesn’t stare at anybody else. She doesn’t squint, she doesn’t purr, she just stares her little black ninja stare. Then she stalks towards me – me - no one else. She rubs around my legs, she meows until I get up to put a morsel into her bowl, then she eats delicately for 2 seconds and then comes and sits back down and stares at me and we have to got through the whole process all over again an hour later. If I put a hand down to stroke her she grabs it and I’m left with a red scratches where skin should be.
I can get up and she’s nowhere to be seen and then she’ll come flying through the hall or down the stairs, a black blur running under my legs so I nearly fall flat on my face.
I have took to calling her Kato. I am convinced she is an assassin in cat form.
If she thinks she hasn’t got my attention enough, she goes into the kitchen and opens every single kitchen cupboard door. My kitchen looks like a scene from Poltergeist most of the time and I go around shutting them all again. Honestly she really does it. She is clever and she is smart – and I’m ashamed to admit it but she scares me a little and she knows it!
You see her and the Husbter are great pals. He doesn’t feed her or clean out her tray, try to get the worming tablet down her neck or put the anti flea drops on her back. He doesn’t take her to the vets every year for her jabs and he doesn’t wait up till all hours for her to come in safely at night but still they are inseparable.
I ‘d do it all forever and a day because although she scares me- just a little – I know deep down, deep deep down, maybe she loves me just a little and one day she’ll forgive me for favouring her teddy bear of a brother over her. I hope so anyway because I’ve always loved her a lot – even though she’s put a price on my head. I’m cat meat.