Dear readers,
I’ve always loved cats. Those people who don’t like cats, I consider completely and utterly devoid of humour and personality. I struggle to comprehend someone who can’t appreciate a feline’s aloofness, nor love the way they fuck up from time-to-time, like misjudging a jump, but always gracefully landing on all fours. The way they swagger along fence tops with the arrogance of Eric Cantona, or stroll where they please over random pieces of furniture which to the humanoid thought is insane but to the cat brain is, “So the fuck what?”, a valuation the humanoid has to succumb to and accept because their inferiority and lower status in the hierarchy and food chain of life under the might of the fierce felis silvestris catus, also known as a “the common house cat”. One glare is enough to tell you that you’re just a worthless shit compared to their Lordship, and there’s nothing you can do about it except feed them and pet them – always only on their terms. They purr with such sensuality and smug charm, but you must always forget that this love is not a two way street: you may adore your moggy, but you are merely their humanoid slave.
They police their territories with complete randomness: sometimes with a demonic prowl, other times complete and utter hueva – negligence. They sleep on window ledges, just centimetres away from a death drop, and they do so while sticking up a middle paw finger to the grim reaper, with the purred meows of “take your best shot. I’ve eight more lives.” Their fur balls give you allergic reactions and a sharp swipe of the claws at your toes first thing in the morning stings like a bitch, yet it’ll put a painful spring in your step for all. They catch rodents and gift their carcasses on a pillow in Godfather style, while decimating the local bird wildlife populations, “just because we want to”, then toying with the poor creature until its last breath, again, “just because we want to”. The randomness of their cruelty is slightly psychopathic by humanoid standards, yet it has been the muse and inspiration of many thousands of hours of video reels on social media. Have you ever asked yourself how many hours you have misspent going down cat video rabbit holes on YouTube? Or is it just me? Maybe it’s just a question for myself and my procrastinating tendencies. But fuck, I do love feline narcissism.
I return to the point in the first paragraph, if you can’t appreciate a cat’s traits, you a really are a humourless eejit, aren’t you. And if you dislike them due to superstition, then I really think you don’t have the mental capacity to vote either. Cats are sinners and they don’t care, nor do they give a fuck about not going to heaven. They’re already living in one. I love dogs too. I love all animals. They talk more sense than most humanoids I know [note to reader: yes, I could well be talking about YOU], and they don’t even say a word. Well, apart from parrots.
But let’s get back to felines. I used to have two cats. Not at the same time. They were family cats. Saying that, no humanoid truly owns a cat. As the cliché goes, they own you. So let me start again, my family and I were owned by two cats over two different periods. The first was named Oscar, with beautiful light brown, beige and black stripes to help camouflage himself in the foliages of Southam Road, sporting the genetics of a Welsh feral cat and a farm feline. Oscar had a wild glint in his eye, not a cat to be messed with, but beautiful to look at and admire. He attacked dogs and stalked foxes that entered his backyard, and sometimes came off worse when claws were thrown, but other cats in el barrio were petrified of him, which I must admit still today gives me an unhealthy feeling of pride. He was only with us for four years, before he perished after being hit by a car.
The second cat was named Huey after the 80’s band Huey Lewis and the News in my mum’s eyes, but I tagged him after the lead singer and writer of the Fun Lovin’ Criminals, a band I was listening a lot to at the time. We adopted him just a few weeks old from a rescue centre, a black and white moggy with asymmetrical markings on his face which always made him look a bit confused or inquisitive. Mum insisted he just wasn’t very bright, but I believed he was just pondering shit a bit too much, just shilly shallying over whether to nap, nip at your toes or eat. I can see my mum’s point though; when running down the stairs, he seemed to refuse to use his legs for the bottom few steps and just roll down.
He was less of a hunter than Oscar (i.e. without doubt, his success rate was much lower and less ambitious, but it is an unfair comparison: Oscar had wild hunting genetics from a feral cat father and had better instincts than most cats, making Huey look distinctly average, which like comparing a Ferrari to Hyundai [note to self: you’re thinking about this way too much. Your readers don’t give a shit]) and was less bothered about protecting his territory. Other cats could randomly walk into the house and he would just look on witb a chilled expression.
Huey was amazing at eating. He was obese and struggled to get through the cat flap or even jump onto sofas, which was both funny and sad to watch. This is where my mum underestimated Huey’s intelligence, or maybe more so, his greed. For some time, he would have his breakfast at home every morning, and then go to our neighbour and eat her cat’s food as well. We cottoned on to Huey’s food scam when our neighbour caught him in the act. She would leave out the food, who would eat later in the morning. Huey seemed to learn this and would stealthily pinch the lot and get in and out quickly, think Ocean’s Eleven but supersize style. Her cat was suffering from malnourishment, while ours was living the highlife. I remember my mum and dad telling me of Huey’s foul moods when he was put on a diet. His nice nature turned him, and excuse my intended poor pun, a sour puss.
Going back to his nice nature, I have lovely memories of him sitting on the sofa armrest next to my dad most evenings while watching the TV. The two of them were very protective of this time together and they would both hiss at you if you disturbed them. When I would come home at the wee hours in varying states of intoxication, I would lie down on the living room floor and he would cuddle up to me. I would tell him my problems and he would give me his best “shut the fuck up” look, but I would still feel better afterwards and all my issues would seem miniscule.
He lived from 1998 to 2014. I was in Honduras when he passed, but he formed a wonderful part of the family.
Throughout my life, I have formed many funny relationships with cats who have belonged to friends and families, stretching many thousands of miles, from England, to Scotland, to Spain, to Greece, to Honduras, to Bolivia. Each one of them I’ve loved chilling with. No, I’m not going to say they gravitate towards me, but people have told me that their cats seem to enjoy my company. And likewise, I’m drawn to their introverted and independent nature. I’ve never quite understood why we use the word “pussy” to describe or name someone with cowardice traits. In my experience, the feline is an apex predator in the streets and in the garden and deserves respect. They evolved to be dometicated due to the hunting prowess and clean up any rodent problems. They are, actually, a symbol of courage, yet serenity, which sums up the complex personality of the common little moggy.
I especially like black cats. The panther-like strutting, and the power they hold over people who are superstitious. I want a black cat one day. It will act like the evil eye and keep trespassers away.
Apparently, the Japanese love cats. They created the Tamogotchi electronic gadget cat game thing that was all the rage until mobile phones came along, as well as Hello Kitty, although I never really understood or got into either of them. However, I am currently enjoying the classic I Am a Cat, a satirical novel written in 1905 by Natsume Sōseki. It is more of a mockery of Japanese society at that time of writing, and so far I love the absurdity, as much as I love the absurd behaviour of the majestic felis catus. I promise you a book review.
Cat Doodles
Over the past year, since I started doing sketches and doodles (see my previous blog post, Why Do I Doodle?), cats have formed an infrequent yet constant muse in my drawings. Maybe it’s for my adoration for the felis catus or I have a subconscious fascination of Garfield, the cartoons I loved and was inspired by as a kid. But quite contrary to the title of this blog, and as you may have guessed from my 10 or 11 paragraph ode to the felis catus, this is anything but a phase; cats have formed a great part of my life. I used the title as I liked the catchy alliteration. I suppose phase partly relates in to my phase of cat doodles I’ve been working on.
Ever since I started doodling, I have always tried to test myself with different narratives and drawing styles using different nibs and pens. Cats are, for some reason, fun to draw, as do thousands of other people. It’s something about the shape of their head and face; they very rarely change their expressions between the different breeds, and their stares and often languid movements are easier to capture and sketch. I often get ideas from Pinterest then build my own narratives around them, or even just recreate images I’ve seen on coffee mugs or in art galleries. I started with just a black pen on napkins in cafes and restaurants, sketching out cats saying colloquial Honduran Spanish phrases like “¿que pedos?”, meaning “what’s up?” for English-speaking humanoids not in the know. As I have progressed to colours and my skills advance, I have tried more ambitious and time consuming projects, like the image above entitled “Cats on the Prowl”. In the windows, I have included friends. My friends might recognize who they are or which window they are in, but I promise you, they are there. I enjoy building a personality for the cat, often moody and disgruntled, with a pair of sunglasses or being rude in some way. Some are explicit and downright immature, but I guess that’s kid in me, rather cat antics. Please forgive, but also have a sense of humour (unlike the eejits who don’t like cats). Nonetheless, they are for you to enjoy. See them in the gallery below.
And remember, always respect the majestic felis catus.
