Jack

As promised, here is a post about my cat.

My cat’s name is Jack; as in Jack Flash, Jack be nimble, Jack Sparrow, Jack and the Beanstalk, Jack Spratt, etc. He was purchased for my niece but he chose me, and, as every cat lover knows, the cat decides who its human is.

Jack is grey and white, similar in colouring to Tom from Tom and Jerry, although he has the cutest stripedy-spots on his hind legs, patches of darker grey that form horizontal stripes. He has a crooked tail, which is apparently a genetic anomaly, not the result of a break.

Jack in NOT a cuddly cat. Except when it suits him, like when it’s cold, or when I’m wearing an outfit that should absolutely not get covered in cat hair. But, he is a very affectionate cat, and always greets me the second I get home, even if this means launching himself from his favourite perch in the ceiling. The ceiling spot is a point of contention between us, as he believes that the trapdoor in the ceiling must ALWAYS be open, and who cares about the cold breeze that it lets in in the middle of winter? Also, the shelf section of my cupboard is there solely for use as his personal staircase (although he is very good at getting me to airlift him as well). Closing the cupboard door to make the place look tidy is off the cards, as this evidently interferes with his chi. He immediately begins a vocal protest the moment I close the door, even if he’s busy with something else and has no desire to go into the roof at that time. Actually, he views the closing of any door as a sign of my intention to bar him from something exciting, or at least something edible, and he scratches and scratches and scratches until the obstacle is removed.

Jack is also the only cat I’ve ever met who plays fetch. Ever since he was a kitten, he’s been addicted to marbles, and loves chasing them across the floor, picking them up in his mouth and carrying them. (No, he’s never swallowed one and I have no fears that he ever will). Recently he discovered that if he brings his marble to me, I will throw it for him, thus increasing the joy of the game tenfold. He will chase them until he collapses, panting, on the floor, or until they disappear under the fridge or the bed or behind the bookshelf, a much more common occurrence.

And I am very fortunate (hear the drip of sarcasm?) to have a truly biological clock. Exactly five minutes before my alarm clock goes off every morning (unfortunately this includes Saturdays and Sundays), I am awoken by a nuzzle to the nose, a paw across the eyelids or a tooth in the toe, depending on Jack’s level of playfulness or frustration with his ever-inert mistress. This would be cuter and more useful if it didn’t occur before six in the morning.

He has a number of other quirks, which I’ll put in another post sometime.