She who must be obeyed

Our hamster snuffed it a while back and after a lot of persuading I consented to our upgrading to a cat. So we've got a cat. She's a rescue cat and she was introduced to us as Mimi. I wasn't that impressed by the name really; the naming of cats, as we all know, is a difficult matter, and one that should be decided by their owners. But once bestowed a name cannot be taken back. Looking Mimi up I discovered that it's a diminutive of Miriam and that the meaning of Miriam while obscure, may mean sea of bitterness. Which is totally cool, and, given Mimi's unhappy previous life, not entirely inappropriate. Much to my wife's irritation Mimi absolutely loves me, constantly sitting on me, sticking her bum in my face, etc. the works. The missus doesn't get a look in. I have a similar effect on most cats actually. I like to think they recognise in me a kindred feline spirit. Or possibly I just smell a bit fishy.

White rabbits

On a dark night shortly before or after my seventeenth birthday I found myself at a party thrown by a girl I did not know. By the open window a curtain billowed, stained orange by the streetlight; all the while, to my intermittent distraction, dragons flapped in inky silhouette across its surface. Looking about the carpet writhed with dark patterns and the floor beneath it undulated gently. At some point I remember handling a rough ceramic vase, through the pores of which I could see and hear lava crackling. I was tripping fairly hard.

I don’t think I’d noticed the music until a friend went to change the disc, only, on experiencing some difficulty, to report from across the room that the drawer had been glued shut. We blandly accepted his assessment of the situation. So, for however long, we sat there and listened to Treasure by the Cocteau Twins. I slowly realised that I had to own the album and the next day I floated into Our Price I think it was, and plucked it from the racks.

Whenever I play the album four lines scored into its inner sleeve always give cause for a poignant moment. They were made by Tig, my brother’s cat, long since dead.

Cocteau Twins Lorelei

Macavity's not there

My mum and dad's cat died recently. He was 14 years old. Not a bad innings, the oldest cat they've ever had. They were understandably upset and have vowed never to get another. But now...a mouse has appeared. A cunning mouse - wise to humane traps, indifferent to even the largest lumps of cheese. It treats the kitchen as though it were his own and has even begun to encroach on the living room. My mum and dad, both into their seventies, are just no match for its agility. I suggested they borrow a neighbour's cat but they don't think that will really work.

The old cat was in pretty bad shape, his prescription for essentially the same drugs my mum is on cost more than my mum's. How can that be right? They've got you over a barrel when it comes to pets.