Tuesday, 16 March 2010

The Long Journey Home

I almost turned round and took Scribble back within 10 minutes of driving away from the farm. My sister had come with me and we had them both snuggled in a blanket in a box in the back of the car. But Scribble was crying. And crying. And crying. So my sister picked him up and he laid on his back while she tickled him and stroked him and he purred. But she felt sorry for Fudge on her own in the back, all quiet and scared, so she swapped them over. And Scribble cried and cried and cried. I did discuss with my sister the wisdom of having a cry baby cat, and wondered if we should take him back and swap him. But I couldn't change my mind now, I'd have always regretted it if I had.

Scribble continued to be a cry baby. He cried to be fed, he cried to be cuddled, he cried just for the sake of it. I loved him totally, and yet was constantly infuriated by him. He was possibly the most needy cat I had ever met! But at the same time he was the love of my life. I could pick him up and hold him in my arms like a baby and he would lie there purring his head off. He slept on my bed, curled up in my arms. He was more loyal than any man could have been.

Fudge was a totally different creature. She was shy and always bottom of the ranking when other cats were around. She never particularly needed me, but was happy enough to be cuddled if I wanted to. I love her very much, but she is an independent little creature. She is a calm, serene cat who has never scratched or bitten and rarely cries or fights. She is a terrific mouser - I've had rats, birds and a bat left for me so far as well as multitudes of live and dead mice.


I keep telling myself it’s the thought that counts.


  1. Aw - a cry baby cat!! Love reading your posts and seeing your catty pics!

    I have tagged you in my latest post - to find out what to do next go have a look! xx

  2. Cutie! I love that last picture - those eyes!