6 Feb 2016


She came to me when she was maybe a month old – at that point I couldn’t tell her apart from her brother. She is the timid one; I still can’t work out whether it is a girl-cat thing or it is just her.

Gypsy is terribly pretty – holy mother of God, her eyes can put hooman babies to shame and her fur is so soft, you will keep finding excuses to touch her when she is walking around, just out of reach.
She is also terribly independent and hates being picked up – she will definitely leave scratch marks on skin if you try holding her cradled like a baby.

She likes to climb on her papa hooman’s shoulders and do a balancing act while he walks around the house. She doesn’t like doing that with mummy hooman, because doesn’t have any shoulder space, so to speak.

But it is when she meows – that lilting sound that you will almost never hear, except when she is in an exceptionally good mood (as opposed to her fatso brother’s plaintive appeals that start right in the morning and continue throughout the day, making conversation with his hoomans) – that is when her mummy hooman’s heart melts.

And Gypsy has learnt that once the heart is melted, the hooman will do anything she asks. Including slipping her some more scrambled eggs (soon after breakfast) when no one is looking.