I know everyone says this but ........

...... I'm sure our cat thinks he's a dog. I mean he actually walks to heel for goodness sake! After about eight months of having Austin as part of the clan, I thought he would revert to type - especially as he's "in" with that Tabby, who's not been "done" and is a terrible influence. But no, if anything he's becoming more like a well trained dog - but with an opinion - and I'm his pack leader. So picture the scene first thing in the morning. I let him out of the conservatory and we have a little chat about this 'n that and then I open the door to let him out to the garden to perform his ablutions:

me - go on, off you go
Austin - are you sure you'll be alright?
me - I'm fine
A - errr you don't fancy coming then?
me - not really
A - ok, if you're sure ....
me - yep!

He then strolls outside and sits on the step looking back at me and I say it's all right (again) and retreat back into the kitchen so he feels he's ok to go about the business of the day. Having kept watch over us all night, it's not in his best interests to allow one of his charges to be lost in daylight hours, for he takes his duty as guard cat very seriously indeed.

Well, this is what he likes me to think. In all honesty he's still a bit wary of the furry fiend Big Ginge, so under the guise of guard and protector he tries to encourage me into accompanying him on his daytime forays into the wilderness of outside. Even when he's safely inside he still prefers me to "ride shotgun" when he's eating!

I have had several cats over the years, but not until now have I had one that always comes when called, no matter where he is or what he's doing! I'm so surprised at this so have put it to the test and yep, this cat obviously feels that he is obliged to obey his mistress's voice. He doesn't seem to realise that as he is a cat he actually has a choice! So he might be in the middle of disembowelling a field mouse or engaging in gang warfare, or even just napping under the pieris. As soon as I call him, he comes. It is not without complaint though. If he is particularly engrossed in what he is doing a few gardens over I can hear him moaning all the way. Meoweoweoweowow! Then he stops just outside the door to check I haven't called him by mistake and had meant to engage the neighbour in conversation.

me - time to come in now
Austin - why? we were having a great time playing snail football over at Bertie's
me - sorry to spoil it, but it's bed time
A - Oh! just 5 minutes more?
me - nope!
A - ok

In he comes, tail flexed into its habitual question mark shape. The usual bedtime ritual is enacted. He makes big deal of eating one mouthful of the latest BOGOF from Morrisons. I go and finish watching the news. He comes in, does a quick spit 'n lick to get rid of any extraneous comestible. He slinks onto the seat in the window, nods off and then drops off. As soon as he hears the click of the tv going off he is immediately galvanised into action, leaping round the back to see where Trevor McDonald has vanished to and then round the front just in time to be clonked on the head by the dvd tray as it opens to regurgitate a dvd. He then yawns and stretches meaningfully, edging towards the kitchen, meowing as he goes:

A - it's time for bed
me - oh all right then

.... as I trail behind him like some indentured servant. And then if I tarry too long turning out lights etc, he gives an impatient flick of his tail and sort of "tisk" sound:

"come on, you're two minutes behind schedule!"
As I said, I'm the pack leader! 

Now about Tigger the tabby. To be sure I don't know what to do. Is he a stray or is he just a gad about? I've asked around, but no one seems to know him. I could sneak him down to the vets for a quick scan for a tag. He really needs to be "seen to" before he gets much older. He also needs defleaing and deworming before we can really let him in. He's friendly though and he and Austin squabble quite contentedly together. And he's not picky about eating leftovers ... or anything really. They look so sweet sitting on the wall with their tails curled around, like a couple of mismatched bookends.