In 1986 I met Toots; this was after losing my all black tom cat Frodo who was a strange cat and seemed to be attached to me from the beginning. Frodo was the only cat I have ever met who would rather walk across a puddle than go around it. He liked attacking the sea, providing it wasn't raging surf, and although he didn't like rain and getting wet he was always the last to come in during showers.
Toots was a stray who more or less introduced herself by snarling at me whislt devouring a fish head scavanged from a neighbor's bin. It took me a little over two months to tame her down enough to confidently handle her which was how she got her name. She came in one morning with a fish hook through her lower lip, demanded breakfast and allowed me to examine the wound. I needed three hands to deal with her so it was off to the vet. Up to that point she was called 'the Cat' but a dragon-like vetinary nurse demanded a name so I gave her the first one that came to my head. So Toots she was.
She had kittens and I helped her with the birth, acted as kitten sitter, and generally became part of the feline family. The treat was having her spread on my lap with her four kittens happily and busily suckling.
Toots, like Frodo was attached to me and would go out of her way to avoid other would be fondlers and petters to get to me. Wherever I went in the garden or around the house Toots was there, we more or less ate and slept together.
We moved house more times than any sane person other than a nomad ought to and each time she sat in our room with all the familiar trappings around us and accepted the place as hers. To prove it, until she got old - with one exception; a huge tom cat who knew he was king - she fought herself into the area.
What with Frodo as my boon companion and Toots as close as a witch'es familar I was getting the idea.
Black cats are special.
Sophie, who replaced Toots, is black and she shadows me wherever I go.
I like that.
I have come to the conclusion having observed the behavior of other black cats owned by my friends that there is something different about them. Being the wrong gender for the traditional broomstick and the cackling that goes with it I am still worried by the signs. Are black cats truly familiars, and should I take care to examine my armpits regularly for teats and steer clear of stakes and piles of dry faggots?
lledeb
Tabby, Our black and white cat used to be so clingy, he would come and sleep under the duvet with us, and loved to be picked ud. He put his fromt paws on our shoulders, purred loudly and rubbed his gums agiainst our faces.
Sadly he died earlier this year. Our other cat, Simba, a ginget Tom who had been with Tabby for 145 years is so lost without him, and we still find it hard to accept6 he is gone, even after six months.