By now you will have guessed that Mow got his name from the appreciative way he took the fish from the female human’s hand. If so you would be quite wrong. It was nothing of the sort. When Mow took the fish he was not saying “thank you” cats do not say, “thank you,” for what they consider is their right. Cats like Mow have a very high opinion of their own importance. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps not, who knows?

The female human had, even before he had gulped the fish and swallowed it whole, decided that Mow should have a name. But what? It had to be something exotic, she certainly thought Mow was exotic, but not that exotic. He was not a Siamese or a Burmese cat, not even a Persian one. She thought maybe Jonah but rejected that as she tended to think of Jonah much as sailors do, a walking disaster. Mow was regal, a bit like a professional boxer or wrestler who gets himself crowned as king. It is difficult to think of a suitable name for a professional fighter who gets to be king. That would have been alright in the old days when kings were the top godfathers in the gangland protection racket that was Medieval Europe.

She thought for a bit about Viking chieftains. Eric the Red, or Lief the Lucky but shortened to Lief or Eric they did not quite have the ring for the Viking chieftain sort of barbarian that Mow really was. Ragnar, she thought, then remembered that he was also known as ‘hairy breeches’; again it did not sound quite right. Harald, Sven, Canute, no none of them suited. Maybe something Irish, Cuchulain, Brian Boru; no! not Irish! she decided.

She spent a whole day going over names in her head. Roman Emperors seemed promising. Julius, Vespasian, Titus, Claudius, Caligula, Nero. Claudius made her think twice but then she realized that she was connecting cats and claws with Claudius. That only seemed corny. Anyway, at least two of those others were stark raving bonkers and the rest were megalomaniacs, Vespasian had been a nice old man she thought and his military success gave him some affinity with the large cat who had taken up residence with them. She almost decided on Vespasian then thought that the male human would only laugh at her. The only other thing she knew about emperors was that they spent a lot of time at the Colosseum giving the thumbs down to failed gladiators. She knew by this time that Mow(as he came to be known, as you shall find out soon) would have been down there in the arena giving the gladiators what for.

The more she thought about Romans the more distasteful the subject became. The games were not your Saturday afternoon soccer match. She started going to the library to read books about cats. Cats in fiction tended to have daft names like Montmorency. Nobody, by any stretch of the imagination, could think of Mow as a Montmorency. She gave up on books and called him ‘cat’ for a few days.

It did not take long for Mow to get adventurous. Cats are naturally adventurous. They say “curiosity killed the cat,” but then ‘they’, whoever ‘they’ are, tend to say a lot of silly and stupid things. It is natural for a tom cat to patrol his territory each night. It was also natural, since tom cats are a bit like barbarian chieftains in that they like to steal territory from their neighbours. They are not like barbarian chieftains in that they do not have a gang of mounted, or seamanlike thugs to back them up. Tom cats are loners who stalk the night. If other tom cats are bigger and more aggressive then the territory of a tom cat may be very small, just their own back garden, and even that can be taken over by a bigger and more dominant male. Mow soon established himself, since he was the biggest, the most aggressive, and the most confident of tom cats, as the top cat for miles, literally.

For a few days he contented himself with establishing himself and ensuring that his milk and meals came at regular times so that he could fit in his other activities round mealtimes. At first he did not stay out all night but explored the house. The humans did not know but he explored thoroughly every inch, every nook and cranny. He even explored the loft, though how he got up there no one knows.

He was doing all this while they were asleep, of course. He soon learned where every mouse was, and where birds had made their nests. The mice were quick to pack their bags and leave, emigrating to other houses where the cats were either too well fed to hunt, or where there were no cats. Mice too had a keen sense of smell and the smell of cat pervaded the house now that a tom cat with keen hunting instincts was in residence. To mark their territory cats will spray some areas. He sprayed the outside of the house and the trees bordering the park. He sprayed in the attic. It just shows how feeble humans are that they did not catch even a whiff of it, though to all other creatures it must have been overpowering. The female did give the odd sniff but thought it was something cooking next door. The lady next door considered herself an expert on Eastern cuisine and often strange and exotic cooking smells wafted round the area. Some people said the smells were ‘weird’ these people were the kind ones, others had more down to earth adjectives.

Having established his presence and his scent on everything inside and round the immediate outside, Mow decided it was high time he stayed out all night and extended his territory. A tom cat may cover a large area in a night and arrive back at daybreak with several victories over rival tom cats under his belt, and having sprayed every tree and gate post within as much as a square mile, or more.

With the sun coming up Mow returned to his house and to his humans. He had had fights with two rival toms and had, within seconds established that he was the boss cat. Several lady cats had been flattered to have the attentions of such a handsome and powerful young male. All in all it had been a good night and he expected his humans to be there to greet him on his return. It ought to have been a, “see the conquering hero comes” return, but it wasn’t. The sun was shining brightly but the curtains were still drawn and his humans were still asleep. It was something after five and high time for any self-respecting cat to be washing himself carefully all over before settling down for a day of sleeping and eating.

The humans, unimaginative creatures that they were, seemed to think that cats ate at the same time as they did. To a healthy cat this is ridiculous. Cats eat whenever they can. If humans give them milk in the morning, chicken at noon and fish in the early evening that is O.K. by them. It does not mean that they ought not to go out to snaffle other cats’ dinners that have been left outside back doors for them. Nor does it mean they will not tuck into the contents of some badly situated black bin bag.

Mow soon got into the habit of turning up his aristocratic nose(note, all cats are aristocratic) at his own dinner and going off to see what he could beg, borrow, filch or steal before coming back and deigning to eat what the humans had put out for him. It took them nearly a year, dim-witted things that they were, to cotton on to this. By which time it was too late to change so they still went on putting out choice bits of chicken for him which he sniffed at before going off for a spot of larceny. In this way he got them to remember who was boss and who were the servants.

That particular morning he sat on the back doorstep. He waited but soon became impatient. When tom cats get impatient they let you know. They also let the neighbours know and anyone else like postmen or paper boys or tramps as well. You cannot possibly imagine the range of meaning a cat can put into a simple word like ‘mow’. You cannot imagine, of course you can’t, if you are reading this you are human and therefore slow, dull, and intellectually challenged; compared with cats, that is, how loudly a big cat can complain.

Mow complained, long and hard. It was a ‘mow’ that said, loudly and demanding. “Get out of bed, you lazy good for nothing humans. Get my milk. The sun is up and I need, I demand, my milk! NOW!”

There was silence for five minutes or just less then the cry was taken up again. First it was demanding then it changed to a pleading, wheedling sort of tone, saying. “I am a poor betrayed and neglected feline. My humans have abandoned me. Will someone please let me in before I die of cold and starvation.” There is nothing like a spot of blackmail followed up, of course with the demands so that the cat does not lose face.

The plaintive note gradually changed to a fiercer one, saying. “LET ME IN AT ONCE! GIVE ME MY MILK. I WANT IT NOW! I DEMAND MY RIGHTS! HOW DARE YOU NEGLECT ME LIKE THIS. HOW DARE YOU SHUT ME OUT WHEN I HAVE DONE SO MUCH FOR YOU.” In reality cats do nothing for their besotted hosts but they have this skill of the accomplished con artist that they can make themselves at home in your house, eat your food, sleep on your bed and then make you believe they are doing you a tremendous favour just by living with you and eating your food.

Next came the ultimatum. “LET ME IN OR I SHALL DISOWN YOU BOTH. LET ME IN OR I WILL FIND ANOTHER HOUSE AND HUMANS WHO APPRECIATE A CAT OF MY DISTINCTION. LISTEN TO ME, I MEAN IT!”

This was followed by a repeat of all this all over again. Being humans they did not understand the finer points but began to get the gist of it. It was a bit like that song children sing to get adults really upset. “I know a song that will drive you insane, drive you insane, drive you insane.” After this has been sung about fifty times over, normal adults are climbing screaming up the wall. Metaphorically speaking that is, cats they are not, so cannot really climb walls, but you know what I mean.

“For heaven’s sake,” grumbled the male human, “it’s the crack of dawn.” “It’s the cat,’ said his wife. “Why don’t you let him in.” “He’s your cat,” he argued in a sleepy and annoyed voice. “He’s your cat as well.” “Not at this time in the morning he isn’t.” “He’ll wake the neighbours.” “He’s our cat so let him in, he’ll wake the whole town.” “He already has I should imagine.” “Then let him in for heaven’s sake.” “If you had any consideration you’ld let him in.” Having said that, she put the pillow over her head and tried to go back to sleep. It was impossible and they were now both wide awake so they got up. The male human was muttering about vets and having him, “seen to”. The female human was indignant and said it would be both cruel and expensive. By this time they were fumbling with the key to the back door. Mow stalked in. If you think he had been idle, simply sitting there complaining and kicking up the most awful row you would be terribly wrong. The most intelligent cats always think. They plan and they weigh up possible courses of action with a view to the best advantage for themselves.

Mow had at first decided to be angry, and as soon as they had opened up to stalk off and sulk up the oak tree, going to sleep on his favourite branch. He quickly realized that this would deprive him of his morning milk and could even alienate the male human who was known to ‘fly off the handle’ as humans put it. He knew he had to work on the male as well as keeping the female in her cat-besotted state.

As soon as the door was open he ran in as if he had been rescued after being kidnapped by cat-nappers. He leaped over the threshold with a cry of joy. It was “Mow” with a sort of “rrrp” at the end. “A delightful little chirrup,” as the female human put it later on to one of her cat loving cronies. He rubbed his head against her ankles purring loudly and then turned his attention to the male and rubbed his ankles too with lots of purring.

The man appeared to be unimpressed but secretly he was gratified. “Oh he’s so sweet,” said the female and she picked him up to stroke him. “He’s so pleased to see us,” she cooed. Still grumpy though a bit pleased that Mow had noticed him, he said, “he’s pleased at the prospect of getting his morning milk which you seem to have made a habit of.” “Huh!” sniffed his wife, “who gave him milk before getting off to work two days last week.” “That was only because you were having a lie in,” answered the male human huffily. All this time the fridge was being opened, a carton taken out and milk was poured into the dish which they all had come to agree was Mow’s own special private property.

Mow lapped up his milk with a confident air. He was sure that they would not leave him out any more. In this he somewhat miscalculated and reproached himself for a serious lack of judgment, later on. It was gratifying to hear the female human say, “I think he really loves us you know.” “Cupboard love,” answered her husband cynically, he knows we feed him, not just stuff out of tins either, but best bits of chicken and fish, he’ll eat us out of house and home soon.” “He loves us, doesn’t oo catikins?” said the wife in a daft voice with the sort of tone that said that was final.

In spite of the female telling her husband not to be a grouch, Mow decided he had a lot of work to do to make the male human completely accept him. He realised too that he had his work cut out.

This came home to him more forcefully when the saw the male nailing bits of wood to an old box and then putting it outside the back door and putting a plastic cover over the top of it, leaving a gap in the front. “Catikins! Scoffed the male human, “I’ll give him Catikins.”

That afternoon, after the male had come in from work, the female human asked again. “What do you think we should call him. Without a moment’s hesitation the man answered, “’Mow’! he said it often enough this morning.” “What!” Said the female human, “that isn’t a name.” “Oh! Yes it is!” answered the male. Just watch, listen and learn. I have cat psychology all worked out. In that, of course, he was seriously mistaken.

Mow looked up suspiciously as the male human squatted on the floor near him. The male tried to look him directly in the eye but had to blink for no human can outstare a cat. “What’s your name then?” he asked looking again at Mow.

Mow’s reply was rather rude, if you could understand feline you would know that. He said, “on yer bike, don’t play silly games with me!” It came out to the dull hearing and the duller understanding of the humans as “Mow”. And that is how he got his name. But neither had he quite finished his campaign to worm his way into the male human’s affections as you shall see.

©Roger Penney