Babs

Let us begin, dear reader, with a very short illustrated Halloween tale.

Babs and her poop-scooper present...

The Improvised, Annoyingly Alliterative Tale of Skull Kitty and Skimpy the Skeleton

Skull Kitty was skulking in her scary stronghold.

She skulked, and she skulked, and she skulked… And then she realised she’d lost the ‘k’ and was just sulking. Why was she sulking, you ask?

Because her stupid servant Skimpy had dressed her stronghold in this decidedly unscary and frankly skanky colour!

“I’ve gotta skedaddle out of here,” Skull Kitty muttered to herself. “I’ve gotta find that stupid servant and scare him straight!”

And she skedaddled so quickly that her skeletal spine became unstick. But that was okay because she was still scary.

“Skimpy!” she screamed when she spotted the scraggly skeleton trying to skitter away. “What have you done with my stronghold?”

Skimpy skirted around her, scared to face her scorn.

“But, Your Scary Scratchiness, this is a very sickly colour…”

“It sucks!” muttered Skull Kitty. “It’s as bright as skittles! It makes me sick! You don’t understand the scope of what you’ve done. Bright autumn colours bring back memories of that scandal from a few years ago!”

“What scandal?”

“The one where my poop-scooper put me in a skirt!”

“It was more of a dress than a skirt, really…”

“Whatever! It was scandalous either way! I always knew she was sketchy but this level of skullduggery I had not expected. I looked like a scorched scallop with frills!”

“I believe it was meant to represent a pumpkin rather than a scallop…”

“Skimpy, are you asking for a skirmish?”

“No, no, not at all Your Scardiness!”

“Don’t you mean “Your Scariness”?”

“Well, you have to admit you are rather skittish in front of strangers. One might say you’re a scardicat...”

“How dare you, you scampering scrotum of a skeleton! I’m leaving!”

Skull Kitty tried to skulk away but Skumpy scampered after her.

“Wait, don’t go, you’re the scariest, scratchiest scallop in Scotland! Gimme a hug!”

“Get off, you’re giving me scoliosis!”

“If I get off will you scooch over and let me scowl at the poop-scooper with you?”

“Fiiine. I’m getting tired of this skull on my head. Let’s see if we can scare her into giving me a more scare-tacular outfit. Otherwise I’ll just have to pretend I’m dressed up as Jabba the Hutt again.”

And they scowled and scowled at the poop-scooper and Skull Kitty finally got a new outfit. She was now… Bat Kitty! A much more majestic costume, I'm sure you will agree.

And they lived happily ever after.

And that’s the end of the tale of Skull Kitty and Skimpy the Skeleton.

And now… A short biography of our star!

Skull Kitty’s real name is Abigail, also affectionately known as Abi or Babs. She really is one of the most skittish cats in Scotland. She DOES. NOT. TRUST. STRANGE. HUMANS.

She has been living with me and bossing me around since she was two and a half years old. She came to me because she was being a bit of a bully to the other cat in her previous household. That other cat, Mia, was an indoor-outdoor cat who used a cat flap but Abi was too scared to set a single paw outside of the house. Not only that - she was a bit possessive of the space and she would always try to prevent Mia from coming back in. Eventually, their owner who’d had Mia for much longer and was very attached to her, couldn’t put up with the cat-on-cat violence anymore.

I could tell it broke her heart to have to rehome Abi but…

“I just never bonded with her,” she told me as we sat on her couch, the beast in question glaring at us resentfully from behind some hung laundry on the other side of the hallway.

“I just never bonded with her.”

I thought that was very sad. And it wasn’t that the owner was a bad owner. She was, in fact, quite lovely and went to great lengths to take care of her cats.

Well, damn, little rascal, I thought, if you were a bit much even for the super-nice lady who will be your human if I don't take you?

But not taking her was never an option. I wasn’t there to pick a cat, I was there to pick UP MY cat. And I knew I’d have to be her forever home, come hail or high water. I’ve had too many bad experiences entrusting rescues to other people only to learn later that they’d passed the pet on and now had no idea what had happened to them. I never want to be that person.

“I just never bonded with her.”

I can sort of see why. Even to this day Abi is quite antisocial unless she really, really, really knows and trusts you. She is not a lap cat. She does not particularly like to be picked up (although nowadays she will only half-heartedly complain and then start purring in resignation when I do it). By the time I got her she was not a cute young kitten anymore and was in fact rather large - roughly the size and looks of a Scottish wildcat. She is not really aggressive but she might scratch you if she gets nervous and she does get nervous quite a bit so you need to be able to read her moods and have quick reflexes. All in all, not the most appealing package on paper.

“Right then, you stubby-legged ball of trouble,” I said to her as I let her out of her carrier inside my flat, “not bonding is not an option here. We’re stuck together so we better learn to like each other.”

She wasn’t about to make it easy. I actually remember - ridiculously and melodramatically - bursting into tears once during the first few weeks I had her. I was having an awful day, I had no friends around at the time and this damned cat acting like she didn’t want to be anywhere near me was the last straw! But, at the end of the day, I reminded myself that I didn’t really adopt her so she could be my emotional band aid. I adopted her because she needed me.

Eight years later Abi and I are still together and I adore the little brat. (Okay, she’s anything but little. She’s lost a lot of weight since that “Jabba” photo and is now a healthy size but she still looks like a big hairy muffin.) She’s a bit insane. She will wake you up at 4 a.m. and drag you to the kitchen for literally no reason other than to have you stand there and watch her eat the food that was already in her bowl. She will be purring and wanting attention one second only to decide you are the most annoying thing in the universe and leave in a huff the next. She practically teleports to the darkest corner under the bed as soon as someone enters the flat. She is Little Miss Grumpypants. But she can also be the most heartbreakingly adorable thing when she does come for a cuddle. She purrs as loud as a lawnmower and will happily let you rub her belly like she wasn't growling five minutes earlier. People wouldn't believe me, I had to get video evidence!

We really have the most hilarious relationship, if she could speak “human” we’d banter like the leads in a buddy comedy. But the bottom line is, I put up with her nonsense and she puts up with mine, as is very evident in the dress-up photos you saw earlier. I mean, who else would she allow to stick skulls and bones and bat wings on her, never mind put her in a Halloween dress?

Abi’s not human but she’s a little person and she has taught me something about interacting with other persons - of any species, including my own. I’ve learned to understand her emotions and moods and I know not to take things at face value with her. I know not to take it personally when she’s being a little bitch. I also know that underneath the grumbling and complaining and temper tantrums she is just a very anxious girl who wants some love and security. Aren't we all like that sometimes?

If I have to leave you with any sort of message, I guess it would be this:

It’s okay to look for exactly the kind of pet you want - cute or calm or pretty or young or playful. I won’t judge you. But I hope that when you are looking for your next companion you will at least consider giving a forever home to a difficult, inconvenient little bag of attitude who will drive you up the wall.

I love you, you asshole.