My Ant’s gone. Why should I worry? I am a cat, and cats walk on the wild side. They have no masters but themselves blah de blah… So obviously I am not really a cat then. Perhaps I am a reincarnated person – risen to cat state. Probably.
I am half wild cat, and I tell people I walk on the wild side. I do all the things cats do. I lie around, make sure my arm is hanging over the edge of the chair or what ever it is I am lying on. I am very beautiful. I know I am because I often hear people say things like “Wow. What a beautiful cat.”
My name is Vikki.
Ant has been gone for some time. I’m a cat, so I don’t know how long it is, but no other bed feels right. Ant scratches my back in just the right spot, strokes me just right.
I live in a house, far away on a farm, with as many birds as a cat could wish or hope for. There are a stack of other cats here too: my mum and several of her litters.
None are as beautiful as me. Everyone says so.
Although I know I have a reputation as a wild cat to uphold, I never stalk too far away from the house. Actually, I’m scared of the large world outside. You see, I was brought up in front of the fire.
When Ant discovered my mum was pregnant and to a wild cat, he insisted we be brought into the lounge to be tamed. As if I would need taming, but hey, why would I complain when Ant also likes to lie around in front of the fire, and he knows just exactly how to scratch my ears.
I wonder where Ant has gone. I miss him. But don’t tell anyone that, hey.
Ant’s mum, Frankie is a pain. She is always fussing around, worrying about this or that. I hear her on the phone always talking, making plans. And the next thing, we are in the car. And she has put me in a cage. I am outraged. A cage??? But I am a cat, and I dont show anything on my face. I just lie there, after all, its better than remaining in the house when no one is there. When no one is on the farm, I get no comments on my beautiful coat, or my cute white feet. I just get fed like I am one of the masses, when I know I am special.
Soon Ant’s dad says “Vikki looks fine, why don’t we try letting her out of the cage.” Of course, Frankie starts: “Are you sure? What happens if she gets scared?” Get real. I would even not get scared in order to get out of this cage. The indignity of it.
Actually I am a nervous type. The silliest things frighten me. I blame it on my heritage. After all, I am a wild cat. I have been practicing this whole new nonchalant look. When something scares me, I just pretend it was just fun. Sometimes I have a big scare from grass which moves or rustles near me. After I jump up, I work on pretending it was all just fun and I wasn’t really scared. Ive been practicing lifting my leg past my ear and licking my butt. Eeewww
I was really glad to get out of that cage though. As if I would want to run away…
We drive and we drive, and my tummy feels ikki, but I just lick myself, think about going to Ant. Cos I heard, that is where we are going. Frankie, is of course as usual fussing. I heard her on the phone to the vet. He is going to come out to the car to give me an injection – to calm me down. WTF?? I’m calm. I don’t need an injection. Ant told me all about them once. He lay on his bed, stroking me and he told me he hates injections. He wont go to to Mozambique cos of the yellow fever one. He had to have something called a tetanus, and he said it hurt like hell. So I don’t want to be calmed. Stupid woman.
When we get to the vet, I move over onto Frankie’s seat, rub against her but she picks me up and puts me in the cage. I take a deep breath and lie down, defeated.
I’m going to get an injection to calm me down and maybe I’ll die and never see Ant again.
Inside the surgery, Frankie says “Hey Vikki. I cant believe how good you are,” and she takes me out the cage. I curl up on her lap, pretend I’m not even looking at that really strange dog across the way and the cat with the cone on its head. Frankie talks to someone she doesn’t know, going on about the long journey we are about to take and..hell, I don’t know. I just zone her out.
“So.” says the vet when its our turn inside his little room. “Where is the wild cat?”
Frankie has the grace to look embarrassed.
“Ah, this is it.” I blink at the vet, with my green, green eyes. I slink over to him with my special ‘cat’ walk. I rub up against him and I say “Hi, I’m Vikki” You know, with that really sexy voice. He cant resist me, my shiny coat, my white paws and that ‘wild look.’ He cant stop stroking me, and the pair of them talk and talk and then he pinches me above my neck and says “OK all square away now. You can leave tomorrow and all will be well. Just remember if she gets unhappy, give her the sedative.”
Mr Frankie put his foot down the next morning about the cage. “I’m not having that damn thing in the car all the way there and back. Put Vikki in a bag. She was fine coming in from the farm, so she should be fine now. You have a sedative, we will use it if she gets unhappy.”
Well, at least someone is talking sense around here.
I don’t remember much of the journey, but I do remember the ‘nature break’ we had somewhere near West Nic. I jumped down from the car and I couldn’t ‘go.’ I mean, who can ‘go’ when everyone is staring at them. Eventually, I hid behind a bush.
I climbed back into the bag, and the next thing I remember is when we got to the tollgate just outside Pretoria. It was dark by then, so I must have been asleep for a long, long time. I hopped out the bag and stood on the middle consol of the car and stared through the windscreen and I saw this: I looked around at all the lights, the cars, the smells and I thought…
It was all too much. I shook my head and retreated back to the bag. Of course when we got to Ant, Frankie started fussing. Put butter on her feet. Make sure the doors are locked. Watch the dog doesn’t eat her. For goodness sake. Butter?
Oh joy. Ant. My very own Ant. The dog wasn’t a problem, you see I am so pretty and she knows it. She is called Lindsay. Ants says he called her Lindsay Lohan, cos she is a dog. Well duh…Frankie of course was going on and on. Telling me to be careful cos the house is a double storey and I must watch things don’t frighten me so much I jump out the window. “Ya, Vikki. You think you clever hey, but there is a motorbike down this road. Frightens the life out of me. Watch out…” she goes on, but I zone her out like I usually do. Me, go splatt…Ha.
I wish I hadn’t, cos the very next afternoon, I’m sleeping on Ants bed and I woke up to a noise I cant describe. Like a hundred dogs barking, sixty leopards growling and ….I don’t know…awful things. I shot up, ran up the wall, headed for the window, deflected at the last moment, glad I had only zoned Frankie out after that little pearl of wisdom.
Motorbike. My goodness, what a noise. Definitely something created by a maniac. Who would want to sit on one of those noisy things.
I pretend not to notice Frankie’s terrible, loud laugh. I know it is. No other human has a laugh like hers and she goes on and on, so chufffed she is right for a change.
I’ve lived with Ant for a couple of years now – its great – he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he buys me my favorite food and he strokes me just right. This is where we live: And in return, I sleep on his bed, do lots of exercise to keep my looks and trim figure. Below are some of my all time favorite pictures of myself: