Cats: The Adventures of Maximus Spittimus – Part One

About Norman Rampart
I am an Englishman, originally from a small village in Lancashire where everyone looks the same - even, slightly worryingly, the sheep. I have been residing reluctantly in the general area of London for 38 years. I came here for three weeks, ran out of money and couldn't afford the coach fare home. I believe that an Englishman's home is his castle. Even if it is only a small end of terrace pile of bricks.
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My wife and I are in an organization called Cats Protection. It’s a national registered charity in Great Britain specifically to care for unwanted cats and kittens and find homes for them. Unlike some other charities, healthy animals are never euthanized. If a home can’t be found they are cared for by the charity in foster homes or sanctuaries for the rest of their naturals.

A call was received about 5 years ago from a frantic young lady who was being attacked by a feral cat every time she, or her children went into their garden. The cat had given birth to four kittens in the children’s play house and she wasn’t letting anyone near.

I was sent to her home to assess the situation. She led me into the garden and sitting on top of some children’s toys were three black and white kittens and a ginger, all about five weeks old.

Normally kittens aren’t weaned and shouldn’t leave their mothers until around eight weeks, but feral cats are often weaned early as part of their survival.

I decided to ‘chance my arm’ – quite literally if the mother turned up – and made a grab for the nearest kitten who happened to be the ginger. I scruffed him by the neck and all hell broke loose.

‘FZZZZZT!!!! FZZZZZZT!’ screeched the ginger kitten, ‘FZZZZZZZT!!!! FZZZZZZZZT!’ screeched the other three as they ran off.

‘MWAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!!!!’ screeched the mother cat as she appeared from behind the play house and proceeded to run up the woman’s leg drawing blood and a loud screech.

The mother cat slid down the woman’s leg and attached itself to her ankle. She ran off down the garden back towards the house with a demented feral cat holding on for grim life bouncing up and down off the garden path like a deranged Tigger as it gripped her ankle all the way to the back door.

As she slammed the door the cat fell off, turned around and hurtled back behind the play house, seemingly fortunately oblivious to me holding one of her kittens by the scruff – or perhaps she felt she had to keep the other three safe and ginger was collateral damage.

I wandered to the kitchen window and peered in. The woman was dabbing blood off her legs and ankle. I tapped on the window and she looked up.

“Well that went well” I said with a winning smile. Ginger went ‘FZZZZZZT!!!!’

Once home ginger was put in a pen in the living room and given a blanket, kitten food, water and a seed tray full of cat litter. He was warm, safe, fed and watered so he went ‘FZZZZT!!!’

“He’s got no fear” said the wifey, “he puts me in mind of Russell Crowe.”

“Russell Crowe isn’t ginger!” I protested

“Yes but he had no fear in ‘Gladiator’”

I looked down at the ginger fur ball, “So you’ve no fear then Maximus?”

“FZZZZZZZZZZZT!!!!!!”

“Spit a lot don’t you mate?”

To be continued

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