Writing for Fun
The Lure Of The Wild - Peter Rogers
June 2014
Billy had always been lured by the wild, or more accurately, he had a love of the unknown and a boundless curiosity. It was nearly twenty years ago when I first saw him in the cattery in Dawes Heath Road. I had recently lost my previous cat, a black and white longhair, and he had been such a great pet that I was really after another one just the same. We had always been cat owners in our family, but my quest to find another black and white longhair was proving fruitless. However, when the advert for a 'striking looking tabby, who would make a good pet' (or something along those lines) was brought to my attention, I decided to give the 'striking looking tabby' the once over. After all I was under no obligation to purchase him.
My first impression of him was that whereas some of the other cats cowered at the back of their cages, this one was eager to see the person who had evidently come there specifically to see him. My mind was made up, but I was admonished to keep him indoors for a fortnight before letting him explore outside.
After a day and a half it was obvious that he was undergoing great distress at being cooped up inside, so I knew I would have to let him out. This I did, but first I put as many obstacles as I could find against the fences in the back garden. Needless to say, he just used these 'barriers' to aid his escape. Over the fence he went and I had to spend an anxious two hours awaiting his return.
His love of the wild and curiosity extended to his following me whenever he saw me leaving the house on foot. He would follow at a distance and if he thought there was a good chance of me grabbing hold of him and carrying him back home, he would dart into someone's front garden, where he seemed to know instinctively that I couldn't follow him. His pursuit of me would then continue. Once he followed me nearly down to Thorpe Bay seafront. Sometimes I would have to abandon the walk and let him follow me back home, where I would open the front door and shut him in. Even this didn't always work as he would run to the back door and out the cat-flap and continue his trailing of me!
His curiosity wasn't limited to me as, if anybody came to the house, even yto mend a fence or (hopefully) buy my old car, he would carefully observe their movements and demand a fuss too. Other cats I was acquainted with usually headed for the hills when strangers, especially workmen, came. This same feline friendliness had unexpected results on a couple of occasions when children, who had previously been afraid of cats, surprised us all by saying how lovely Billy was.
For about fifteen years the two of us carried on our bachelor existence, then around that time, without consulting Billy, I decided to get married. Needless to say Billy welcomed Irene with open paws.
However, we wondered after so many years in my house, how he would feel living in Irene's. So, after wheeling him round in the basket on the front of her bike (it was only a mile's journey and seemed the most congenial method) we then had to repeat the performance of fifteen years ago and try to kept him in, only to be compelled to let him out in a much shorter time than is advised. Naturally, we put barriers against the fences, which once again he used to aid his escape. Once again he returned a couple of hours later, when he felt like it.
And so it was that Billy quickly acclimatised to life in his new home. The only challenge he faced was having to show the neighbourhood cats who was boss in his new garden.
His next challenge, however, was, in theory at least, more formidable. My wife, Irene, has a house in France and we wondered, after a few times of leaving Billy to be fed by neighbours and family, whether it were conceivable to take him with us. After all, he'd always been very adaptable and now the only requirements for the outward journey were for him to be micro-chipped and vaccinated against rabies. The question was: would he survive the five hundred mile journey by car at his advanced age? He was now seventeen!
We needn't have worried. Naturally we had to keep him in his carrier for most of the journey, but when we stopped for a break, he had a break too, being given a free run inside (and on a couple of the last journeys, briefly outside too, with us close by of course.)
Eventually we reached journey's end where, fortunately, it was dark, so Billy's wanderlust hadn't come into play yet. However, the next day the lure of the wild was too much for him and after barricading the adjoining fence, we let him out. He seemed fascinated by the lizards on the garden and especially by the way they seemed to vanish into the brick wall on the left of the garden. Naturally he managed to climb the barricades and use them and a French neighbour's shed to get him into the next garden and from there, who knows where? Again, history repeated itself and it was a few hours before he rejoined us.
The regulations for the return journey firstly required Billy to be inoculated against roundworm, so this meant taking him to a French vet forty eight hours before the trip home. When the vet opened the door to fetch the syringe and vaccine, Billy jumped off the table and tried to follow him, but didn't quite make it through the door in time, so he contented himself with exploring the open bottom drawer of the vet's filing cabinet, which he had foolishly left open.
The last formality our feline friend had to undergo was the scanning of his microchip at Customs before boarding the shuttle to England. The scanner is supposed to work even through the walls of the pet carrier, but for some reason it wouldn't this time, so Billy, guessing that something was amiss, obligingly walked out of the carrier so he could be scanned. Unfortunately, he carried on walking across the counter and jumped down, whereupon the female customs officer had to make a fuss of him to stop him walking over the computer keyboards!
He has since been back to France another ten times. Even in his extreme old age his curiosity always stayed with him. He still enjoyed accompanying us in the garden, especially if we were doing jobs there. Only last year when I propped a stepladder against the hedge to trim the top of it, I was startled to see him climb up behind me then manage to sit on about the seventh narrow step, so to get down I had to somehow step around him!
Another time I was sawing a large round log on a metal saw-horse and to my astonishment he jumped up and dug front and back claws into the log, which was projecting over the end. He was evidently trying to hoist himself over onto it, but couldn't quite manage, so had to drop down.
He was a mere nineteen when he achieved these exploits! Indeed the lure of the wild and a lust for life lasted his whole life.