Malice. My cat.

She’s still not back and has been missing for nearly 24 hours. I know she may well come home yet, I know she may well be locked in someone’s shed or garage, stuck up a tree, nestled on the lap of an elderly neighbour being hand fed freshly caught fish. But she is 14 to my knowledge, prior to last summer she had a been a full time house cat and never really wandered further than the side of the house where she had a sunny spot in some tall grass so I am slightly less than hopeful that she is about to nochalently walk in having suddenly decided to prowl a whole day and nights worth away from home.

I sincerely hope she does though.

My first experience of grief was when I was about 9 and out family cat Sammy died. I sobbed for hours and had to be taken out of assembly in school two days later when the headmaster read out the lyrics from The Nine Lives of the Ginger Cat from Captain Beaky.

As soon as we bought our own house I wanted two black cats and we had kittens called Colgate and Malarkey who were charming, cute, bundles of personality. They were both run over on the road outside our house within a month of each other just after they were a year old. 🙁

We vowed not to have more cats living on such a busy road but within three months I was desperate to have more so we went to the local RSPCA rescue home and sought out cats who would stay inside. We chose two black cats who had been resuced from the same place and were semi feral. There had been about 30 cats living in one house with an old woman, running wild and continuing to breed and breed and breed. Some had been put down as just too wild to rehome and the two we chose had already been at the RSPCA for six weeks with no one interested in them. They cowered at the back of their cages, spitting and hissing at anyone who came near them with their ears flat to their heads and evil glints in their eyes. We thought that if we gave them any sort of life it would be an improvement so we brought them home. They were already fully grown and had been aged at two although I actually think that Malice at least was older than that. That was 1994.

They were originally called Candle and Bell (from, I assume the film Bell, Book and Candle about a witch and her cat Pyewacket) as they did look like witches cats. We kept the name Candle but Bell was so utterly unsuitable for such a spitting, hissing, ball of black fur that we rechristened Bell with the far more suitable name of Malice. Candle was Ady’s cat, Malice was mine.

For the first six months they only came out from behind the sofa or under the suitcase to eat, drink or use their litter tray. Usually under cover of darkness at night and woe betide anyone thinking they might give them a friendly stroke as they risked having deep lacerations cut into their arm. I very clearly recall the first time Ady lured one of them out with cat treats and got to stroke her while she ate them. There then followed a period of a whole year when Candle lived in our bathroom because every time she snuck out Malice attacked her. She ate in there, had a litter tray in there and simply never ventured out. This went on until one day, just as suddenly as they had started this weird relationship they stopped and got on fine and were often to be found cuddled up together asleep.

Given their history we were slightly concerned when we had Davies that they might attack him or smother him or any of the other horror stories you hear about cats and babies but aside from being very cautious of the new addition to the home they were fine. Candle has on occassions scratched both the children, but never unprovoked. Malice mellowed with age and has been the gentlest, most patient cat who puts up with all sorts of pulling and prodding and frequently is to be found being carried around the place by Scarlett.

Over the years she has gone from a small cat to a small but rather fat cat, her once black whiskers have one by one all gone white and she happily spends her day curled up asleep in a sunny spot. She nearly died just before Davies was one when she walked across a worktop just sprayed with antibacterial cleaner and licked it all off her paws, she’s had all but one tooth removed as they were rotten, she coped admirably with the move up to Manchester and then back again two years later. She sat by my head for the duration of Scarlett’s home birth and has on many occassions purred round my legs and been cuddled and soaked my tears up in her soft black fur.

There’s a lovely pic of her here and here she is enjoying the sunshine last week.

I’m feeling very bad that we’re off for six days tomorrow morning but Dad has promised to keep looking for her while we’re gone and I really hope I’m blogging with happy news about her very soon. 🙁