Vince – the Ageing Savage

Early one spring, the very last of our dogs, the 19 year old rescue Collie cross died. He’d been a good friend and had benefitted from being treated as a very old dog for the last seven years of his life, despite showing few signs of infirmity apart from bizarre intermittent behaviour patterns that our Vet (frequently) assured us, were just another one of his ‘things’.
We missed him.

Soon after we parted with him the elderly black cat we’d first spotted two years previously, decidedly on his own terms, chose to become one of the family. After living outside and watching us from the raised border opposite the house, regardless of weather conditions, G had constructed a ‘bunker’ for him. It was made from a big plastic box placed upside down on the ground. A small door was cut into each end and a basket with bedding put on a raised metal mesh to lift the bed away from the damp. We had placed it down by the cars, well hidden by shrubs and safe from our friendly but inquisitive dog.

When Vince (as we’d named him) decided the dog had finally gone he soon started to become braver, venturing closer to the house and inevitably into the kitchen. His bunker was moved up to the house and he was so confident he’d be fed each morning that he had to be called for breakfast and would wander in, bleary eyed.

He was timid, fearful of contact, but observant of our comings and goings, and always there for food. Gradually we accepted we had inherited a cat, whether we liked it or not, and he soon progressed from dog food to special cat food, tuna, fish scraps, scrambled egg and cream. Unsurprisingly he soon lost his lean and hungry look and started to become a little bolder. He wouldn’t always run away when approached with food, but would stand his ground spitting, and even running at us with his claws out. This made mealtimes, or even just walking down the path really challenging as he would rush out of the undergrowth, grab your leg and bite hard.

Unfortunately he remained wild, unpredictable and filthy tempered. Terrified and terrifying.
Slowly, and very much on his terms he moved into the house and made it his home. He gradually allowed us to stroke him, and eventually would sit on my lap, or even occasionally scare me by deciding in the middle of the night, to wrap himself around my head for warmth when I was fast asleep. He was always unpredictably violent and would attack just for the hell of it, but we grew fond of him, and he of us, or at least the food and warmth we provided. But he was always, unquestionably, the boss.

A strange and beautiful creature. Wild and furious, timid, yet craving attention. Used to being feral, yet housetrained. Seemingly detached and independent, but there whenever we came home and pleased to see us in his own totally deranged and aggressive way.