Rivers Of Fur?

With the election fast approaching, I’ve decided to refrain from comment. Except for this - Bollocks to the lot of them, lying, cheating, self-serving fuckers that they are…


Last night, our recently emancipated puss was out on the prowl around dusk. We’ve gradually been getting used to him coming and going, marking out his new territory as and where he sees fit. This time however, he may have met his match.

We’re quietly watching Corrie (or she is, I’m reading the excellent “The Times: - Complete History of the World” for some reason) when we hear an almighty screeching, growling, hissing, spitting and yeowling cacophony coming from outside.

The Wife is first to the door, and immediately shouts for the cat. I’m right behind, just in time to see a fat ginger streak bolting into the house, hotly pursued by a black streak that upon the realisation that we’re there stops halfway down the garden path and vanishes around the side of the house.

After some considerable time hiding under the spare bed, our battle-cat emerges and as soon as we approach he’s straight into “Fuck You” mode, and is ready to annihilate anything that moves, while emitting the sort of noise that I’m having trouble explaining…sort of like a low, deep, constant growl coming right from the depths of the stomach.

After a while, he’s beginning to settle, and The Wife spots from the kitchen window the remains of an almighty battle.

Halfway down the path, there are numerous clumps of ginger and white fur, liberally scattered on the ground, and further down there is more. Vast swathes of the stuff. I can see no blood, there are no scratches or broken skin on our brave wee warrior (!), but there’s no sign of black fur on the path either…

My theory is that he’s encountered this other cat, upon whose territory he’s now encroaching, and in the first struggle has managed to fend it off away from the house. Unfortunately, the noise of the conflict alerts us, and The Wife runs to the door shouting his name, thus distracting him from the job in hand (kicking the fuck out of this landlord cat). He takes flight back to safety with just a few clumps of fur lost. But ultimately cheated of victory.

So this means that there is an unfinished job in hand.


I must admit, I’m utterly fascinated by all of this…

I will report any further scuffles, I mean developments later, after The Wife’s stopped peeping about her wee man getting into a fight!