Grandpa & Tyger

 

Many of you will know that we have been moving. Specifically moving from a highrise apartment (on the 23rd floor) to a landed, terraced, property, where we have our feet firmly on the ground. That property, however, has come with its attendant domestic felines (cats).

One, rather moth-eaten and battle-worn, elder cat, we have named (for want of anything more appropriate), ‘Grandpa’, out of respect for his age, dignity and standing in the local cat community. The other we've named ‘Tyger’ in honour of William Blake and that moggy's distinctive markings.

The two mammals could not be more dissimilar.

Grandpa mostly sits on the right side wall, during the day. At night he perches on one of the rooftops like the painting by Impressionist Pierre Bonnard (Le chat blanc aka The White Cat, 1894). He is emperor, surveying his domain, living out his last days in relative peace and tranquillity. His fighting days are done.

Tyger (ah,Tyger) on the other hand, is a contender. Tyger believes that he is the heir-apparent but is nevertheless cautious, perhaps even patient, waiting for the old man’s demise. Each day, though banned from our property due to his ‘spraying’ (or urine marking), Tyger still attempts to claim ‘his’ domain. If I see him, I shoo him away. There has been way too much of his ‘spray’ outside, on ‘Japanese’ slippers, and even on the garden tiles. He and I have an understanding not to mess with each other, an armistice if you will.

That armistice ended rather abruptly.

I had been cooking. The kitchen windows were open, letting out cooking smells and bringing in some ‘fresh’ air. I was in the hall (lounge), talking when something tweaked my peripheral vision. There was a movement where no movement should be. As I raced to the kitchen Tyger was trying to disentangle himself from the various kitchen utensils we have hanging by the window. He and I looked at each other. He was having difficulty backing out, anxious about a confrontation. 

There was no confrontation. I found the whole situation amusing. Poor Tyger, perhaps the Frank Spencer/Norman Wisdom of the local cat family, was temporarily stuck, and trying to reverse by wiggling his derriere out of the gap he had tried to enter via.

Tyger eventually succeeded, of course, but without his expected loot. Due to that awkward incident, my heart has softened somewhat towards that desperate potential thief.