Homer (cat stories)

Homer has been driving us all a bit mental lately.

Loud yowling for 30 minutes at a time. Following me around. Yowling. Sitting at my feet yowling. He is protesting his lockdown.

He has had his wandering-the-countryside rights permanently withdrawn. He abused his day leave privilege by staying out on the town for an extended period. He is now officially an ‘inside cat’.

He would usually spend his days down in the hay shed. Lazing on a warm bale of hay. Watching the chooks moseying around. Taunting a rat or two. Then he would creep back home, weaving through the long grass along the fenceline (it is about 500 metres between house and hay shed).

When he hadn’t returned at his usual hour one evening the search party kicked into gear. Calling and calling. Then driving along the road looking for his injured or lifeless little body. Not good. Horrible actually.

I guess at some stage I figured that without a corpse he was out there somewhere. Stay positive.

Monty found him a couple of days later. For some reason he was in a large pipe in one of the sheds. Monty was barking into one end of the pipe and Betsy and Edwina were standing guard at the other end. No escape from them.

I looked in and saw a cat. Cat box retrieved and the dirty little stop-out was tipped out and into captivity. Returned to luxury but what he now considers to be a prison.

And now he yowls.

Googled ‘cats meowing’. Apparently they only meow at humans. Not at each other. I guess that it is simple conditioning: cat meows, human responds by talking or feeding or petting cat. Got us trained.

Google also tells me that to extinguish this meowing I must ignore it completely. For as long as it lasts. Even if it is driving me a bit mental. Can’t throw a shoe at him. Can’t pick him up and put him in a room at the other end of the house. Just ignore it.

Homer on a stool

Homer came to me as a very tiny kitten. My gardener gave him to me. One of a litter that his daughter’s cat had birthed. He was half wild cat, half domesticated. Explains his need to roam.

The first night of our relationship he jumped onto the bed and slept between me and my partner.

Slept on the bed every night since then. Sometimes on my chest. Sometimes spooning behind my legs. Sometimes beside my head next to my pillow. Sometimes he would put his little head on my hands, using them as his pillow.

Before bed he would meow and I say “Homer, bedtime” and his meow would change slightly and he would leap onto the bed.

For about nine years he slept on the bed every night.

Not any more.

His absence is, I think, part of his protest. Yowling and rejection of his captor.

Still at least I know that he is safe. The wildlife is safe. And I sleep at night not worrying about his nocturnal escapades.

Homer relaxing