My life in cats

My mother with Peter

I can’t remember not having a cat, from my earliest memories onwards. Aside from brief periods when I was at university and away from home, they’ve been an omnipresent part of my life.

And it struck me today: the ‘cat chain’ is unbroken. From Peter, the very first cat I remember (probably my earliest memory of all: sitting up in an old-fashioned Silver Cross pram, with Peter sitting at my feet), right through to my most recently-acquired feline companions, there are links – each ‘new’ cat having spent time with earlier ones. We acquired Teko while Frisky and her son Gilbert were very much alive; we’d adopted Frisky during Peter’s lifetime; Sammy & Freddie joined the household alongside Teko, then (when I moved house), Magnus and Susie and Sasha joined Sammy and Freddie for a time; Sasha was adopted after a friend ran him over and thought he’d killed him (he hadn’t, fortunately; no one came forward to claim Sasha, so I had him for many, many years until he passed away aged at least 18, and possibly 20). Sasha lived alongside the next few successive adopted cats: Kiki; Fidel (a very vocal Havana cat rescued from the vets where he’d been taken to be put down, and with us for several years), Pablo, and Sarah and Scritty (Birman mother and daughter).


Fidel outlived the rest, and was joined by Pushkin, who was subsequently joined by Misty and Honey. We lost Pushkin last year, and Misty in January, but Honey’s still with us, and has been joined by The Twins.

The Twins

So there you have it – an unbroken line of cats, from pram to present.

By Fiona Cameron

Former journalist, PR consultant and fiction writer, cat- and dog-owner, currently living in beautiful Galloway, SW of Scotland. Passionately concerned about my country's environment, animal rights and freedom of expression for all authors & artists.

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