On one occasion I had parked alongside a row of old trees by a river bank. The car door was open for us to breathe the sweet clean air. Toby set off on a little prowl around. Generally, I still kept Toby on a lead when we went out on our jaunts, but I thought that he wouldn't venture far. Suddenly I heard sounds of a skirmish and spied a red squirrel's bushy tail in full flight, with Toby Jug in hot pursuit. The squirrel raced up a tall Scots pine and from a high branch set about scolding not only Toby but me as well. I retrieved my cat, just as he was contemplating a climb up the tree when I got the distinct impression that, far from having murderous intentions, he simply wanted to play as cats do when they chase each other backwards and
forwards. However, I doubt whether the squirrel shared this view as it remained safely in the treetops until we resumed our journey.
Toby Jug's naivety was quite ingenuous. I thought that eventually he would mature into a killer cat, although yet again I had my doubts; he had probably become imprinted with too many human sentiments from living so closely with me and not having contact with his mother long enough to learn cat ways and cat lore.
On one warm spring morning in late May, Toby Jug and I were walking along a hillside path near the rural hamlet of Kirknewton when I stopped to gaze at some horses grazing in the valley below. After a while we continued with our walk. Toby Jug suddenly started pulling hard on his lead. In fact, he pulled so hard that he hurt his throat and we had to stop whilst he endured a fit of coughing. Looking around I saw what had excited his attention. Further along the path there was a grassy green meadow and it was full of rabbits feeding. âWell,' I thought to myself, âlet him have some fun. He'll soon find out how fast rabbits can run.'
I slipped his head loose and off he went in a rapid stalking stealthy crawl with much tail swishing and wriggling of his behind. Of course, the rabbits had already spotted him and they fled to their respective burrows long before he got anywhere near them. However, it was then that I realized the mistake I'd made in letting him go because, far from
giving up the chase, Toby Jug kept on going and disappeared down one of the rabbit holes. I raced over to the spot where he'd vanished and, crouching down as low as I could get to the rabbit hole, I began urgently calling him. To no avail.
Nothing stirred inside the burrow as far as I could tell and I was beginning to feel increasingly alarmed. What if the rabbits ganged up on him? Rabbits could kick and bite, as I knew from experience as a child who had kept one. I wasn't aware of just how long I spent with my face pressed to that sandy tunnel desperately calling his name when I suddenly became aware of voices above and behind me. I must have presented a strange if not ridiculous sight: a grown man with his head down a rabbit burrow, shouting âToby Jug!' Easing myself back to my knees I turned around with what must have been a shame-faced grimace and started lamely to explain what had happened when I stopped in jaw-dropping amazement. What I saw was a man standing staring down at me with a wide smirk on his face but what really astonished me was the sight of a second person. She was bending down stroking and talking to none other than his highness Toby Jug. I staggered to my feet and realized that Toby had obviously come out of another burrow entrance and had been watching me behind my back. He would have been puzzled at the sight of me lying fully stretched out with my head jammed up against the rabbit hole shouting his name. Both the man and the
woman laughed heartily when I told them what had happened and continued on their way. Meanwhile I clipped Toby Jug's lead back on and decided that we'd had enough adventure for one day. We returned to the car and drove home with the Toby perched on my shoulder, purring loudly in my ear. Too late, I realized that I was wearing my brand new Harris tweed jacket.
Later that evening, after we had dined, I retired to the conservatory and was soon joined by Toby. I stroked and fondled him even though he had given me such a traumatic time during the afternoon. As far as he was concerned he had merely been having a jolly frolic. Nothing wrong with that was there? And it was then that I recalled my distress at several âfun' incidents which had almost killed him in the past months. Banishing such thoughts from my mind as inappropriate in this restful setting, I was helped by the glowing sight of the planet Venus rising resplendent above the treetops, a golden star against the inky-black night sky. I took this to be a good omen for the future. Toby Jug was by now fast asleep and emitting faint snores. As I listened to him I wondered what new excitement this exceptional little cat would bring into my life. Tomorrow would no doubt herald yet more surprises.
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I think that animals tend to be much more accepting of human beings than the other way around. I often found that
cats took the initiative in my relationships with them. But it was a two-way process of communication. Whilst I sought to domesticate my cats, they made me more aware of the natural world by sharing their instincts and demonstrating their skills to me. And how fascinating they were. I totally reject the idea of the âdumb animal' because I have never found it applied to any of the animals I have kept as pets. I've always found my pet cats to be graced by an in-born wisdom which perhaps many civilized human beings have lost. This was especially so with Toby Jug.
Toby Jug was, in a lot of ways, different from the many other cats I have known. He was more like a child to me because, in a sense, I had reared him and he knew no parent but me. I'm sure that some people would dismiss my feelings about Toby Jug as mawkish rubbish but I am equally certain that other people would echo the same sentiments about their own pets in spite of accusations of mad âanthropomorphism' â the name given to attributing human behaviour to animals. Whilst all the animals I have known were special to me, Toby Jug assumed a significance in my life which was out of all proportion to the fact that he was a cat.
I don't think there is any doubt that, for many people, love, the strongest emotion of all, enters the equation when an animal becomes a pet. Sceptics would argue, though, that this love is only one-sided â without regular feeding, all of an animal's so-called affection would soon cease. I'm not so sure
that this is true. In my experience animals need to be loved as well as fed, just as people do. I have known cats, dogs and horses who wanted to be stroked and petted, quite apart from their need for food. This was most certainly the case with Toby Jug who showed feelings of loving attachment for me beyond anything that I had experienced before with any other pet animal and it warmed my heart to feel it.
During my childhood there were always cats about the house, sitting on walls in the backstreets and in the gardens of the neighbours' houses and the backyards near my home. I recall the amusement when a cat got into our classroom at the local elementary school and how I was the one who managed to catch it and set it free outside again. I remember, too, the time that my grandmother's cat had two black kittens and my outrage and horror when my father drowned them in a pail of water because nobody wanted them and we were too poor to keep them ourselves. Most striking of all are my memories of my first visit to the zoo where I had to be dragged away from the tigers' compound. My wonder at those huge, beautifully marked cats knew no bounds. In my spare time I loved to read stories and look at pictures of the jungle cats of Africa and India. The favourite story of my boyhood was Rudyard Kipling's
Jungle Book
in which the Tiger, Shere Kahn, was my hero.
I also remember a striped tabby we had during the Second World War, when my father was away at sea. I found
him as an abandoned kitten wandering the streets totally lost. My mother, with a family of three children to feed and only a pittance from the Admiralty to live on, reluctantly allowed me to keep it. I called the kitten Tiger. He was silver-grey with vivid dark stripes and he ate anything that was left-over from the family meals. He especially loved porridge. Tiger was always the first to run into the Anderson Air Raid Shelter with the family when the warning siren sounded to alert us to the German bombers which were mounting a blitz against the armament factories and the shipyards along the River Tyne. He survived the war but sadly was later run over by a lorry.
I have an almost instinctive attraction to cats. Whenever I see one I have to go and speak to it. For the most part cats come towards me and allow me to stroke them. I love to watch the graceful way that they move. To me, the most attractive dancers and actors have the skill of moving like a cat, that flowing smoothness which is a joy to watch. Teachers of yoga advise members of their classes to learn to stretch like a cat and to practise breathing exercises by moving the stomach muscles rather than the chest in just the same way cats do when they are totally relaxed. When I first saw Sean Connery as Special Agent 007 in the James Bond films I was captivated, as were audiences worldwide, by the speed and grace with which he moved; he walked with the stealth of a big cat.
It was because of these feelings that I was prepared on a cold winter's night to venture out in a snowstorm to rescue an injured cat. The reward for all my efforts was more than I could ever have expected. It was the bonus of turning a tragedy into a triumph: I found a dying kitten who grew into a wonderful pet called Toby Jug.
S
ummer was judged to have begun at Owl Cottage when the house martins arrived and diligently began to build their nests of dried mud and grasses against the stone walls high up under the overhanging roof of the cottage. It is fascinating to see the dark brown nests finally assume their full rugby ball shape with only the smallest of openings at the side for the birds to enter. Toby Jug sat on the lawn watching for hours, mesmerized by the comings and goings of these amazing birds. To me they were always a welcome sight in spite of the proliferation of their droppings which, as the season progressed, lay encrusted on the bedroom window-sill and marred the elegance of my much-prized and newly tiled patio.
During that first summer with Toby Jug there were many developments in the life we shared that surpassed anything I had encountered before with cats. For one thing he delighted in being with me, not for him the often haughty disdain that some cats show to their owners as an assertion of their independence. Whenever I called to him, he would come running to me from wherever he was, no matter what he was doing. This attachment extended even to travelling
in the car. My work at the rural-based college entailed a great deal of travelling around the country visiting schools and other institutions and whenever possible I took Toby with me. He would sit or lie on the rear window shelf and slither enjoyably about as we took corners fast, much to the hilarity of passengers in other cars, especially children who often mistook him at first sight for a toy. On other occasions he would sit perched on my shoulder and purr into my ear at the sheer excitement of us travelling together. He never needed an invitation nor did he show any fear of travelling in the car. He was never car sick.
Wherever I took him he was always so exuberant that I was afraid of his recklessness. He would jump out of the car after me with complete disregard for traffic, big dogs or people who didn't like cats. With this problem in mind I resolved that he would have to be restrained in the same way as I had done earlier during his first ventures into the garden. However, the small guinea-pig harness I had acquired for him was too small now that he had grown and dog harnesses were too large.
One day I was browsing around in a pet warehouse store which had just opened in the city shopping mall. There I discovered a harness and lead suitable for a breed of small Mexican dog, the Chihuahua. These tiny dogs were a very popular choice of pets at the time. The harness seemed to fit the bill exactly and without further ado I bought it and
eventually coaxed Toby Jug into wearing it. It was made of stiff new leather, unlike his other one which had been made of soft fabric. This one came around his chest and extended over his back so that if it was tugged it would restrain without choking him. He definitely wasn't very happy about wearing it but, being the valiant little fellow that he was, he accepted it. When I began to use it regularly he soon learned not to pull away. After a short while he got the knack and would run alongside me like a small dog. Occasionally, I would have to pull on the lead to guide him along and prevent him sidetracking but he gradually developed an awareness of what was required to keep in step with me and the arrangement worked out fine. I doubt if many cats would have accommodated so well to this restriction but Toby Jug was a fast and willing learner.
Using the harness, we were able to visit many places where few cats could ever have ventured. If danger threatened in the form of a large dog I would swing him up into my arms and, if necessary, fend off the attacker with the stick I carried on our walks. I can only remember a couple of such incidents happening. The vast majority of the time we had highly enjoyable, event-free excursions. For example, I had to supervise a student teacher on teaching practice in a school on Holy Island and, because I could keep him under control, I thought it would be nice to take Toby Jug along with me. Whilst having a cup of tea with the
head teacher of the school I kept going to the window of her study to check that Toby Jug, whom I'd left in the car with the window slightly open, was all right. On our car trips, Toby would more often than not curl up and sleep away the time when I had to be involved in work matters, but occasionally he would become anxious as he used to be in the cottage during the first few weeks of life and then he would prowl around the car whining for me.
As I kept frequently getting up and looking out of the window, the head teacher became curious and, on learning the reason for my behaviour, she persuaded me to tell her the full story of the way I had rescued Toby Jug. She then told me she was a devoted cat owner herself and insisted on my bringing Toby Jug in to meet her. With some trepidation I agreed â what else could I do in the circumstances? And so I duly brought in Toby Jug and introduced him to the head. To my surprise he took to her immediately and purred loudly when she stroked him. I had, of course, been worried about his reactions to a stranger but he was fine and I was proud of him. Nevertheless, I thought the artful little beggar knows when he's well off as I watched him scoffing a saucer full of cream from the school canteen. The good lady had insisted on giving it to him as she said he must be thirsty after his car trip.
The head teacher was so taken with Toby that she prevailed upon me to allow her to carry him around the school
to show the children. With a careful glance or two in my direction to reassure himself that I was following, Toby Jug, exhibitionist that he was, basked in the attention he attracted in the classrooms he visited. Never again would I need to worry about my little cat's capacity to adapt to other people. He enjoyed the whole experience hugely and responded beautifully, like a real star, to the children's affectionate curiosity. Before leaving the school the head told me that she intended to use the story of Toby Jug's rescue at the school assembly next morning to help the children appreciate how special animals are and how we need to care for them. It was a rare and happy experience for all concerned, especially Toby Jug, and it served to remind me that there are many other people in this world who love cats and share my feelings about them.
After I had completed my work at the school, as a special treat I took Toby Jug along the beach and bought us both a fish from a travelling fish-and-chip van which was parked in the lee of the castle near the bay. Toby Jug, sensible cat, ate only the juicy white cod flesh and not the batter, which I had to remove for him. After we had finished eating, and because it was such a warm sunny day, I let him off the lead to relieve himself and nose around while I kept a sharp lookout for stray dogs. Toby sniffed and roamed about where I was sitting on the beach. He apparently found the seaside smells quite delicious and investigated thoroughly a number
of seaweed clumps that lay about the sand. He probably found it a welcome change to nosing around in his garden, but he didn't go far away. I don't think it would ever have entered his head to leave my side or to lose sight of me, not even for a delectable and most tempting scent. We both enjoyed our time out on the island. It was another perfect day.
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While Toby Jug and I ventured far afield on my professional travels, it was at home that we spent most of our time together. He would always be at my side in the garden and often accompany me on short walks by the river bank and in the woods. During that first year of his life the things that I saw as just ordinary experiences of country life were for him new adventures, which were sometimes overwhelming and rather scary.
I can recall several such incidents which give a flavour of Toby's early life outside. For instance, on one hot summer's afternoon of sunshine, Toby was foraging in the long grass near where I was weeding a garden border. Suddenly, a sparrowhawk flew in low over the beech hedge and zoomed across the lawn on a flight-path that took it directly towards Toby Jug, who was hunting grasshoppers. In the instant that Toby Jug raised his head and saw the hawk coming straight for him he fled as fast as his legs could carry him to my side, jumped on my shoulder and conveyed his terror by biting the lobe of my ear. The result was that we
both ended up in a state of shock whilst the sparrowhawk blithely went on its way, hedgehopping as it hunted for small birds and not the least bit interested in Toby Jug or the shock that I had suffered. For the rest of the day, when outside, Toby Jug was on constant alert and inordinately watchful of the airspace above him. Whenever and wherever I moved that day, he shadowed me closely.
On another occasion we were together in the garden enjoying the fresh air on what could be poetically described as a âbeauteous evening'. It was one of those delightfully calm summer evenings that are such a welcome change from our normal breezy and bracing climate in this part of the world. I was savouring the tranquil stillness of the trees and the scents from the flower beds whilst sipping a glass of claret. I noticed that Toby had climbed into the higher branches of the crab-apple tree and was busily investigating the insect-buzzing and small bird-fluttering among the leaves of the topmost branches. I gazed with pleasure at the sky as it became suffused with the delicate shades of colour that the Scottish describe as gloaming. Gradually, the sunset gave way to twilight and twilight was the time when the pipistrelle bats emerged from the eaves of the cottage to begin their insect-hunting aerobatics. The apple tree in which Toby Jug was perched was full of insects and when the bats came out they immediately began a strafing attack that Toby mistakenly believed was directed solely at him.
Cats are normally good climbers when going up trees but, like children, often find coming down a slower process of reversing and clinging on to the branches whilst at the same time glancing from time to time apprehensively over their shoulders. At least, that was the way Toby usually, and rather cautiously, descended from a tree-climbing expedition. Now though, with a squadron of bats hurtling around him, he reverted to what best can be described as âflying squirrel tactics'. In alarmed desperation, Toby launched himself into a series of acrobatic swings from one branch to another that brought him perilously close to falling but also brought him swiftly to earth. Whereupon he headed straight for me and repeated his standing jump to my shoulder, his head whirling from side to side in fearful anticipation of an imminent attack from the skies. This time, thankfully, he didn't bite my ear but he did cause me to spill some of my wine. The bats continued their evening aerial display unperturbed as Toby refused to leave my shoulder until we were safely indoors.
This action of jumping on to my shoulder whenever something scared him soon became established as a habitual response to many other situations such as greeting me when I'd not seen him for a while, when he just felt particularly affectionate or when he wanted me to carry him. On reflection it was an athletic feat of gold-medal proportions for such a little cat and quite extraordinarily his own invention since no other cat of mine before had ever behaved in
such a way. It could be quite disconcerting though when he didn't get his take-off just right and landed short of his target. Then he would have to crawl his way up over my jacket or sweater, which did my clothes no good at all! This behaviour worried me a little because Toby was an exuberant socializer. He loved company and would move from person to person for strokes and compliments and I feared that one day he might jump on some unsuspecting guest's shoulder and terrify them. But my fears proved to be unfounded. He reserved his shoulder leaps solely for me.
As Toby grew stronger I began to take him with me whenever I took short walks in the evening, especially now that he had his new harness. Usually, we followed the path through the fields that bordered a wide subsidiary stream of the River Coquet. Because a large expanse of the river bank had been fenced off to preserve private fishing rights, it was normally free from dogs and had become a favourite walk of ours. If Toby did see a dog coming he would run and jump on my shoulder even before I could haul him up by his harness. As usual on our walks, I had my stick ready to fend off any persistent barkers. They were few and far between.
Late one summer evening everything on our walk looked strangely different, perhaps due to it having been an exceptionally hot day. Ghostly white veils were rising from the damp fields and they skirted the trees and the holly hedges in swirling wreaths. Toby Jug, as was customary on our
walks, was impatient to be ahead of me and since it was quite late and there was no one about, I unfastened his lead so that he could do some independent roaming. I often couldn't see him due to the ground mist which at times came up to my knees but I knew from experience that he would not stray far from my side so I wasn't unduly concerned. We had just passed the remains of an ancient ruin called Black Friars Mill when Toby Jug made a flying leap from the fog-covered ground to land, scrambling for balance, on a crumbling stone wall. He crouched there on full alert with his body straining forwards like a pointer dog as he stared into the mist. In the half-light he looked like a diminutive Black Friar ghost returned to haunt the place! From his appearance it was obvious that something had startled him. I followed the direction of his rigid gaze and there, emerging from the gloom like phantoms, were three dark forms which proved to be nothing more frightening than a vixen hurried along by her two romping cubs. I kept very still and the trio passed within three feet of us. A wondrous sight to behold but Toby Jug was not impressed. Casting a rueful glance in my direction he gave his back a quick wash just to show that he hadn't really been scared, and then we carried on with our spooky walk.