They say cats have nine lives. Mine has an infinite number and let me explain to you why.
He first came into my life as a kitten. I was ten years old and I came home from school one day to find my dad was up to something.
“Come meet your new friend!” he cheered.
I didn’t have many friends as a child so my dad thought a pet would make an ideal companion. My heart leapt with joy when I heard a meow. He ran at me, his eyes gleaming with instant friendship but rather than leaping into my arms he misjudged and jumped right through the open window. We were three stories up!
Luckily he was okay. He was a little dazed but okay.
“That’s one life lost already,” dad joked.
That day the grey kitten earned his name. Splat!
What featured after that was a long line of mishaps. Starting with Splat! having climbed into a tree. ‘Most cats do that’ I hear you say. Whilst I had the fire brigade on the phone I looked out of the window and Splat! toppled from one of the top branches.
“Never mind,” I told the fireman. “He’s down now.”
Splat! Shook his body and ran off onto his days adventures.
Keeping Spat! out of trouble and away from danger was no easy task. He was run over by Mrs Ninn, who came charging down the street in her little green car looking over the steering wheel through her thick prescription lenses. Splat! didn’t stand a chance. I was distraught. I should have known better by then though. I ran to him. Mrs Winn sped away not realising what had happened. Splat! was still breathing. By the time I reached him he was back on all four feet.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“Meeeouch!” he gasped but disappeared off. He even came back with a disgruntled mouse that night.
The more of those things happened to him the more I began to realise how amazing a cat he actually was. There was feline agility and then there was surviving an attack from the Keddle kids’s nasty Pitbull.
Splat! was no ordinary pet. That much I was sure of. When I asked dad where he had gotten him he replied, “some old lady.”
I paid a visit to that old lady. She had at least fifty cats.
“I never intended on becoming an old cat lady,” she explained to me. “Splat! and all of his brothers and sisters come from a special breed that dates back to Ancient Egypt. They were worshipped because the never died.”
She pointed to a fat one sleeping in the corner. It had the same grey fur as Splat!.
“That’s Heckles,” she said. “He’s the father of most of them. He’s been with me my entire life and I’m eighty eight! My mother had him at least thirty years before that.”
Heckles opened his large yellow eyes and looked up as thought to say, ‘so what?’
I looked around at the other cats. One brown one with a white dab on it’s nose was using a litter box. A far cry from the creature worshipped by ancient people.
I returned to Splat!. He was stretched out on across my bed bathing in a small slither of sunlight that broke through the window. What was I going to do with an immortal cat?
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