Cats and men have a mutually suspicious relationship. It's said that men are very wary of single women in their 30s and beyond who live on their own with a cat. I think the same would be true of single men living with a cat. Or single men living with their mum.
I've always had a cat. Currently it's Molly. We've had Molly for a year. We don't know too much about her history. She turned up at Julie and Paula's, in Swindon, bedraggled and thin. They took her to a vet and it turned out she was pregnant. They wanted to keep her but she was terrorising their elderly cats, so after the kittens had gone, I drove Molly from Swindon to her new home in Chingford.
Initially she was quite wild and wary; now she's calmed down, likes being kissed and likes listening to football commentaries. When John stopped listening to the Spurs match on Sunday, she stood up, looked at him indignantly, chirruped crossly and strode upstairs.
Molly was a bully in her Swindon days, but in Chingford she's terrorised by all the other cats. I am forever chasing Pedro out of the lean-to when I hear the soft ping of the cat flap. Then there's an ugly black and white bruiser who lurks under my car, or in the back garden, waiting for Molly. She never stays in the back garden now: her territory seems to be across the road, which is worrying as the road is used by a rat run and is quite busy.
Molly and John are wary of each other. When he sometimes tries to pick her up or stroke her, she bites or scratches. But occasionally she jumps up on his lap, and his face lights up.
In my experience, cats seem to prefer women. Men lurch around too much and their voices are loud. And they always brush cats off beds.
