Servant of Cats 3

Charles, and the seagull.

Hull, where the people who adopted Charles lived, has a population of feral Seagulls, these large birds have seldom seen the sea, most live near refuse tips, or near the docks. Once in a while, one makes its way inland to see what it can scrounge in the city.

They are big enough that they do not care about people and often steal from right out of your hands if you are not aware they are about.

One such Bird had decided to have a scrounge around Charles’s territory. It was a large specimen, standing about 1 ½ foot tall when it landed, and as arrogant as all its species are when on the ground, full of the knowledge that it was never attacked by Humans, or if it was all it had to do was hop/ flap a short distance and it would soon be ok. Small dogs were no trouble, it had seen off dogs the size of Border collies before, a sharp peck and cry would see of most dogs. Cats were no trouble, and could even be regarded as possible prey if needed.

Then the Bird met Charles.

Charles was in his street, he had decided that today would be one of the days when he sat in the middle of the road and ignored cars. This was a pastime he indulged in now and again to while away the hours before tormenting local dogs.

He would sit in the middle of the road, surveying his territory, and refuse to move for anything, even the local rubbish truck had learned that the only way to move this cat was to just drive right over him. HE merely lied down till the lorry had passed, then sat up as if nothing had happened. Cars had to stop for him, and if they did not then Charles either did the laying down trick or waited until the driver got out to shout at him before moving at his own pace to one side. Local traffic knew the routine, strangers learned.

The Seagull came to a landing a few feet away from Charles and started to walk back and forth in front of him. It had seen a likely piece of refuse in the road and decided to investigate. Charles just sat there, unconcerned. The Gull deciding that the piece of wrapping paper was worth further investigation opened its wings and flew towards Charles expecting the cat to run, or try to fight for a while before being driven off.

The resultant fight became a local legend.

The gull was almost upon Charles before he reacted. He leaped straight up and came down with all four paws fully clawed, the gull squawked and started to fight back. Both of these contenders were kings in their own minds and would not back down for anyone, or anything.

Feathers and fur flew, screeching and squawking abounded, doors along the street opened with people coming out to see what all the noise was about. Cars stopped to avoid the contenders. Bins were knocked over, cars were used as launch pads. It was the days before Smartphones and Youtube so nobody had a means of recording the fight for posterity, however, the fight became a local legend. The Gull had been scaring local children and pets for a while and people had been complaining to the council to no avail. Here was the local Terror cat doing a fine job of sorting out the problem.

After a battle lasting 10 mins, to ½ an hour, depending on who tells the story, the Gull was seen flying off, minus a lot of feathers and only just able to fly, bloodied and defeated. Charles went back to his perch on the windowsill of his house, looking very slightly battered, but none the worse for his endeavors. The Gull has never been seen in the street again and small children and pets were safe.

The legend of Charles grew.

In the house, Charles was a softy. He would lie across anyone’s lap, chase the laser light like any other house cat, and would purr very loudly when his ears were scratched. He was a little standoffish with strangers but once he recognized you he was cuddly friend mode for life. But only in the house, outside. Nobody was his friend, apart from the neighbour’s dog.

Charles lived to a ripe old age of 16years before one day his owners could not find him. He had gone out of his house in the morning and never came home. Locals checked their sheds, and people kept a lookout for him for months. He was a bit of a local celebrity and everyone loved the old rascal.

He was never found. Perhaps he took on one last fight he was too old to win, perhaps he curled up in one of his sunspots hidden away from all and just went to sleep. No one knows.

They still talk about Charles in the area. The seagull battle grows with every telling. The hairless Plumber still gets asked if his wig has been returned, and the local pub has a little less character.

Not a bad epitaph for a rescue cat.