How to introduce a new cat
Everyone compliments Koosi because she’s literally golden and beautiful, and coos over Mat because he’s sweet-tempered and as big as a dog, but having been pronounced ordinary-looking I do not get as much attention as I deserve. I am Saffy the middle cat and my full name is Saffron Sassafras Zafra Safin. I was born in the year 2000 to two insane cats who lived in the backyard of my human’s friends.
My original name was Squeaky because I was, supposedly. To this day I have a high-pitched meow — it is useful for disrupting my human’s sleep, especially when I combine it with jumping on the bed then running around in a demented fashion.
When I was one month old my human brought me to her house. Immediately
I was called Saffron after a character in a British comedy, but the identity of my human father was not decided until two months later when Marat Safin won the US Open. When I joined the household it consisted of my human, her sister, and the eldest cat, Koosi. Koosi was named after an imaginary friend in the cartoon Dexter’s Laboratory. She was not pleased to have another cat in the house.
We cats are territorial creatures: you can’t just introduce a new cat onto another cat’s turf, as my human soon discovered. Koosi protested my arrival by roaring like a lion and threatening to eat me or something. For several days I was kept inside a cat carrier to protect me from a Koosi attack. The way she was carrying on, you would think I’d refused to hand over her husband’s body.
The humans need not have worried. Cats do have vicious brawls, but these are usually among tom cats fighting for the right to have their gene pool propagated by the female in heat. We cats don’t go for that romantic stuff when we choose our mates, we keep it simple. Fight to the death, almost, on the premise that the winner has the genes most likely to succeed. Cats are not sentimental.
In truth my housemates Koosi, Mat and I have never had an actual brawl. Occasionally we’ll hiss and roar at each other, bare our fangs and assume fighting stances, but it’s all just posturing. We’ll go so far as to claw the air, but we don’t make physical contact. Are you kidding, that would be painful. Usually after two or three screeches our human says, “Stop that, break it up” and we oblige her.
So while Koosi was apparently auditioning for some animal whisperer-type reality show, I stayed inside the carrier or clung to my human. I may have been too young to digest solid cat food and milk properly, so I farted a lot. Hence my nickname, Poopypants. After about a week Koosi became resigned to having me around, and I was let out of the cage. I began ingratiating myself with Koosi, snuggling up to her and grooming her fur.
Now that I’ve grown to my full size she is still larger than me, but I will not be pushed around. Quite the opposite. If she is occupying a spot I like, I just walk up to her and sit very close. This annoys her, but it will take more than hissing to make me leave. In the end she stands up and moves away, so the spot is mine.
My fur is white, black and orange — the Japanese believe parti-colored cats to be lucky. I was born with a stumpy tail, which I am a little sensitive about. When humans point it out or try to annoy me by pinching it, I pretend to run away. And then when they least expect it, I bite them. That’ll teach them to make fun of my genetic trait.
Cats’ tails are essential for maintaining balance. Since my tail is short, I compensate by swing my backside when I walk, like a coquettish girl. Also I have longer feet, so I can spring onto the top of a shelf in a single bound if I care to.
Of the three of us, I am the one closest to my human. (As for the other human I have driven her out ha! ha! ha!) I have achieved this status by sticking to her, literally. When she is working at her computer, I sit next to the screen and watch her. When she is watching DVDs I sit on top of the TV and stare at her. When she is reading a book I sit and observe; when she is taking pictures I run in front of the camera. When she is about to fall asleep I knead the blanket with my paws. I know, it’s freaky!
Because we cats have large eyes and intelligent expressions, she thinks I am thinking deep thoughts. Perhaps I am pondering the state of the universe prior to the Big Bang or figuring out how Sherlock Holmes survived the leap from the roof of the building in Season 2 (Benedict Cumberbatch looks like a cat). I will not say what I am thinking exactly. We cats like being inscrutable.
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Every day this last week people have walked up to me to tell me about their cats. If you have a question about cats, or a story about your cats, or simply want to show off their photos, e-mail Saffy at saffron.safin@gmail.com.
