I SNORE THEREFORE I AM... (with apologies to Rene Descartes)

If I want to find my old ginger boy anywhere in the house, I just go through all the rooms - and listen. Even when invisible, he can be easily tracked by his snoring. It's no trouble locating him in his favourite hidey- hole in the storage place behind the sliding panels underneath the spare bed - the acoustics work a treat against him. As my husband says, he would be no good in the Wild. The poor old cat wouldn't be much cop even apart from the snoring, as he is also a mouth breather, and has no head for heights.

We have also realised recently that he's deaf as a post. I was wondering why he always seemed to be sitting with his head looking down - even wondering if he was depressed (I know, but pet lovers will understand), until I realised that what he's doing is keeping a close eye on our feet. As he can't hear where we are, or what we're saying most of the time - though he does seem to be able to hear sounds on a high pitch - like a shriek - he has to track whether we are responding to his increasingly annoyed sounding demands for food, or door opening, or whatever - by watching to see if we move, or need encouraging. As I have found out to my cost, if I don't appear to be moving fast enough - or at all - then the order needs to be reinforced with a quick nip to the offending non-moving ankle. Usually followed by the aforesaid shriek and a foot, which he is still fast enough to avoid. But he has got my attention.

Another sign of the hearing loss is that he is much more vocal, for reasons as above, and I suppose as he can't hear what he's saying himself as well as he used to, he has to repeat it - LOUDLY. Something like the way that the British tourist abroad is supposed to endear himself to foreigners. On the other hand, you can drop a large book behind him and he isn't bothered a bit, and Bonfire Night and New Year pass in blissful ignorance. Meanwhile the large Fat Girl has shot behind the settee in fright.

I do worry when he goes out at night, because he would never hear anything creeping up on him in the dark. Well, let's face it - he wouldn't hear anything coming up behind him in stainless steel tap shoes, but it doesn't stop him. Mind you, he has a good old sniff and peer around before he lets the door close on him. He does still use the cat flap, but he has had a couple of alarming turns when She has been lurking in the dark outside to settle up an old score or two when he's halfway out - or in. Most undignified.

But sometimes - as I sit there of an evening with the Ginger Boy snoring away on his chair and my husband in his chair nodding off in front of the TV - the Big Fat Girlie will come in and jump up on the settee beside me, look at them, and then at me with a clear complicit look of 'Well - we're awake anyway', and snuggle right up. That's when you realise why you like cats.

© Thelma Mitchell 2005