Heart to Heart. Pea Horsley
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ran out into the road and stood in front of them, frantically waving my arms to get them to stop. They saw me in time and I was able to catch Morgan and walk him to the pavement, my legs shaking with the fear that he could have been knocked down. If he’d wanted to put the frighteners on me, he’d achieved it.
When he did the very same thing for a third time, the penny finally dropped. Rather than employing a dog behaviouralist who would have possibly told me to be more of a pack leader, I did what felt right for me. Instead of telling Morgan off with, ‘What were you thinking? You know you shouldn’t run into the road. You could have got yourself killed!’, I did what I should have done the very first time: ‘Why are you running into the road, Morgan?’
‘To get your attention,’ he replied.
‘Well, now you have it. What’s the matter?’ I said.
‘You didn’t ask me. What’s the point of being able to communicate if you don’t listen to us?’ he said.
I fell silent, lost for words. Is this what he had nearly killed himself for? He was right, though. What’s the point of opening a door if you only shut it again? I needed to acknowledge that this new interaction we had was two-way and mutually beneficial.
‘What didn’t I ask you? What do you want to say?’ I replied.
‘You didn’t ask me what I wanted,’ he stated.
Then it dawned on me – I was packing him off to the dog walker’s home and I hadn’t even asked him whether he was OK with it. I hadn’t involved him in the decision at all. I apologized to him and told him I understood why he was mad. He reminded me we were equals. He gave me a picture of a square, which he divided into four equal parts. Each part was assigned to a member of the family – me, my partner, Texas and Morgan himself. This was how he viewed us – as equals.
Morgan has never got my attention like this again. He hasn’t needed to. I now explain when I’m going away and involve him in every decision that affects him.
THIS IS MY introduction to Texas, the green-eyed red-headed feline in my life, and a glimpse into his free spirit. Texas has made it clear to me that just because it’s possible to communicate with animals, it doesn’t give us the right to control them.
It began when I became aware that Texas was disappearing for long periods at a time. This went on for a number of weeks. I’d call him but he wouldn’t appear. This was strange in itself, as he’s the most wonderfully responsive cat who rushes to me when I call his name. As he does so he is normally calling, ‘I’m here, I’m here,’ or sometimes, ‘I’m coming, I’m coming,’ which I’ll hear way off in the distance, and a minute or so later he might appear at the top of my garden fence or on the shed roof.
I was becoming more concerned about his long absences, but talking to your own animals isn’t always easy. I thought I could use my new skill to keep tabs on him, but he had other plans.
On one of his absent days I reached out to ask him, ‘Where are you?’
He replied, ‘On important cat business.’
‘What do you mean, “important cat business”? Where are you?’ I said.
‘None of your business,’ he replied, completely self-assured.
After that I tried to connect with him on a visual level to look out of his eyes to establish where he was. He blocked the connection. He simply wouldn’t let me in.
The extended absences carried on for another week and I continued to try and find out what he was up to, but the answer was always the same: ‘I’m on important cat business.’ When he returned he wasn’t asking for food in his usual demanding way and I became suspicious he was dining elsewhere. The biggest giveaway was the tell-tale scent – he kept coming home smelling of another woman’s perfume!
‘I know you’re moonlighting with another woman,’ I said to him. ‘I can smell her perfume on you.’
Texas just carried on as though we were talking about the weather. He wasn’t fussed.
My suspicions were justified one day when I received a call from a soft-voiced woman. ‘Hello, I’ve just got your number from your cat’s tag. He’s ginger?’ she said.
‘Yes, that’s him,’ I confirmed.
‘I’ve been seeing him around here a lot lately and wondered whether you knew he was here.’
‘No, I didn’t know,’ I said. ‘I knew he was going somewhere and I’ve been trying to find out where it was. Is he with you now?’
‘He was a minute ago. I’ll just go back outside and have a look.’ She disappeared from the phone and a moment later was back. ‘He’s right outside,’ she said.
‘I’ll come straight over,’ I said, and she told me her street and house number.
I raced round to meet her, and wouldn’t you know it, there was Texas looking like the cat that had got the cream. I picked him up and then the lady invited me inside to tell me what she’d noticed. She revealed she’d been seeing Texas going in and out of her neighbour’s large ground-floor window. As a cat lover with a feline companion of her own, she knew the unwritten rule – you don’t feed other people’s cats – and she decided to bring this to the attention of her neighbour, who in return became suspiciously non-committal. I thanked her for kindly giving me the heads up and I carried Texas home.
When he went missing the next evening I went straight round to the street and called him. I walked up and down the houses and eventually found him in a garden close to the house with the large window. I carried him home again and fed him. ‘Please come home at night,’ I said. He smiled, purred and ate his tuna supper.
The next evening it happened again and I went calling for him as loudly as is possible at 11 o’clock at night without waking up the whole street. He wasn’t homeless, he wasn’t a stray, I wasn’t on holiday. In fact, he was the most loved cat on the planet – in my opinion – albeit an unashamedly passionate food hunter, preferring the easy to catch version that came in a dish.
My cries must have been heard, as the window remained shut for the following few days and Texas fell back into his normal routine and was now home at night.
This led me to understand that we’re only in the position of guardians to animals. We don’t own them and it’s certainly not a good idea to expect them to do things against their will. We can only communicate with them as far as they will let us. They will always have their own agenda and their own free will.
This wasn’t the first time Texas had gone on an adventure. In fact, moonlighting was in his blood. Ever since he’d run out of his cage at Battersea Dogs’ Home and pressed his stunning golden fur against my legs, I’d been charmed. But I wasn’t the only one. He’s continued to charm women ever since, and now he’s nine, so that’s quite a bit of charming.
The first to join his harem were two young career women who lived in the ground-floor flat two doors down. Texas soon worked out they had fallen for him and he came up with an idea that would make his life easier. He would sit on the window ledge at the front of their flat and call out to them. Within moments the front door would open and he’d jump down and walk inside, bold and fearless. He’d walk down their hallway until he reached