I HAVE never been so insulted in my life. And I have been insulted plenty, I can tell you.
The old woman was reading some darned book about cats and came up with this little snippet: ‘The vast majority of cats are mongrels.’
She ruffled my ears. ‘Just like you, Toffee.’
W-H-A-A-A-T? ME, A MONGREL?
How dare she say such a thing. I might not be a pedigree cat or even a part-pedigree cat, But I am a…, a…, a…, am a Superior Being.
She went on reading. She doesn’t know when to stop, that woman.
‘Cats have been especially bred for a variety of reasons; to produce softer or longer coats, for example, or to enhance their markings or refine a colour. In the eyes of the breeders, the refinements have enhanced their beauty.’
That did it for me. Was she implying that I was not as handsome as some pedigree cat? How very, very dare she. I leapt to my feet scrabbled across her hand, digging my claws in as I went. She yowled and sucked on her hand.
‘Pity you weren’t bred to be a NICE CAT and not a monster,’ she yelled after my retreating, ginger behind.
We aren’t speaking to each other at the moment but I might deign to be a ‘NICE CAT’ when it’s time for tea.
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