I’ve told the story before, of how one winter I started to feed a starving kitten who went on to have kittens of her own which we adopted. www.cormatin.eu/blog/?tag=kittens&paged=2
The kittens grew into lovely cats, all different in appearance and behaviour. Smudge lives up to her name as she is usually oilstained. Blanche was a pretty cat who teamed up with Benedict on hunting expeditions.
Claude was a special cat. He must have had Siamese ancestry because he would have singsong conversations and could howl like a Banshee. He often brought his prey unharmed into the house so we were forever rescuing mice. Giant grasshoppers would take refuge in the curtains.
Claude had fur like silk and was long and lanky. He is the only cat I’ve seen lie on his back with his head face up between his back legs.
We thought we would have our family of cats forever but on the morning of 1st November, the Toussaint holiday, Blanche and Claude didn’t come home. We searched the village and even walked around in the dead of night to see if we could hear Claude. One morning Chris took all the manhole covers up to search the drains.
A couple of days later a neighbour said he had passed a white cat dead by the road. We suppose this was Blanche although there are other white cats around. But there has been no sign of Claude.
Meanwhile Benedict still looks for the others. We have nothing much to show they were ever here. Except the prints of Blanche’s nose where she used to look out of the window. And empty chairs.