The Catfather - Part 2

 After our half-Persian cat, Angel, had to be put to sleep when he became ill suddenly, David and I were bereft.  We agreed that we wanted to get a kitten as soon as possible.  We'd been very taken with Angel's placid personality, a characteristic of the Persian, and we decided that we'd like another Persian.

After some searching, we found a breeder in Somerset who had two kittens for sale - a tom and a queen, and we were originally attracted to the tom - however, someone else saw the kittens before we did and they chose the boy.  Accordingly, we went off to Somerset to view the little queen with her family. David picked her up and she looked up at him - and from then on she was Daddy's Cat.

Purebred cats are registered with an unique name, the first part of which indicates the breeder.  Mysti was originally called Callymicanti Bootylicious- however, the thought of the vet calling for Bootylicious Howell at her next visit persuaded me that the name had to be changed!  

It took us a while to decide upon a name - I was in favour of Boadicea or Lady McFluff, but David wasn't keen on either of them.  He liked Prudence, but I didn't much like that name.  A colleague suggested Mystique and we both liked it, so Mystique she became - Mysti for short.  One day a few weeks after our trip to Somerset, we met her breeder at Motorway services partway between her home and ours and Mysti came home with us.

One man and his cat

At the time, David was recovering from an operation on his knee and was on crutches, so I did the driving, and David had the cat carrier on his lap.  Mysti was behaving so well that he opened the door and brought her out onto his lap, where she sat, perfectly calm, the rest of the journey home.  When we arrived home, she emerged from the carrier, looked around the place, and settled down straight away.

She had clearly decided that David was her responsibility and she took her duties seriously, even washing his head when she felt it needed it.  She would perch on the back of the couch behind him and hold him in place with her paws while she gave him a jolly good wash.  If he tried to escape she would extend her claws to hold him still.  Just a bit, you understand...

In the morning she would waken him by jumping onto his chest,  and then, purring like mad, would turn so that her tail was in his face.  We called this the cat's arse trophy.

She wouldn't sit on my lap - she would sit on a cushion on my lap but not directly on my lap.  That was David's privilege. 

Yes, bunny ears, very funny!

Nowadays she's an elderly lady and rather autocratic (think Queen Victoria on one of her grumpy days).  She doesn't want to move much - she finds herself a spot and stays there until something prompts her to move on.  Right now the favoured spot is inside the couch, and as I am worried about her not eating enough I have taken to putting handfuls of treats under her nose to encourage her to eat.  Of course, I have now made a rod for my own back and every now and then indignant mews issue from under my seat - the anticipated treats are late and she's not happy about it!

Wearing the Cone of Shame after an eye operation

And once in a while, she goes wandering around the flat, mewing piteously.  Is she missing her beloved Daddy?  Maybe.  We miss him as well.

My Human!  You get your own!