I have two cats – a tabby one called Hobo and a white one called Lassie. My wife and I first met Hobo when she came round to our old house one afternoon and interrupted Jo decorating. She miaowed, then ran in and went to sleep on the sofa. Jo and I thought she must be a stray, as she had no collar and looked pretty mistreated. I reckoned that she went from place to place having adventures, like the dog from The Littlest Hobo (“There’s a voice…”), and so that’s what we nicknamed her.
Unfortunately it turned out that she did have an owner – a rather unpleasant fellow who we once saw throw her against a wall. Luckily, though, when he left the flat he was living in, his new place wouldn’t allow cats and so we managed to save her from a life of misery. And introduce her to endless sliced chicken from the fridge.
The white cat, Lassie, came round as Hobo’s friend one day and turned out to have the same owner. So we ended up taking him, too, and gave him another ‘adventurous dog’ nickname to keep the theme going. He was always a very nervous cat, and was terrified of white trainers – coincidentally the same colour as his previous owner wore. Go figure. He looked even more mistreated than Hobo at first, and really needed the cattie equivalent of a Gok Wan intervention.
Happily, both he and Hobo are very content these days. It’s a tough life being a cat, all that sleeping and eating and eating and sleeping. But in recent weeks, Hobo has started being a bit of a mischief for one reason: she’s finally started to realise her role as a hunter. This is bad news for the fieldmice in our garden, and equally bad news for my sleep patterns. Hobo likes to talk to her new squeaky friends – loudly – and so whenever she decides to bring in a mouse at around 5am to be her new plaything, Jo and I are inevitably woken by the noise and have to decide whether to try to save the doomed rodent. Our consciences get the better of us, of course, and there have been several bleary-eyed hunts for Hobo’s prey over the past week or so. Sometimes we even find them alive.
Does anyone have any advice about how to stop my cat bringing in mice in the early hours? I admire her initiative, but seriously it’s getting bloody knackering having to deal with it. Still, I wouldn’t swap my cats for anything. They’re absolutely awesome, and I love them very, very much.