Of cats and men

A quiet start to the weekend. The rest of the household was away so it was just me and Kitty* in the house. It was all in all rather relaxing.

Kitty has gradually got comfortable with me nowadays. In the beginning she would just hide under the sofa but gradually she’s become accustomed to me and now complains noisily if she doesn’t get five minutes of magic fingers backrubs once a day.

I say she, but actually Kitty’s a bloke cat, albeit missing the requisite nadgers. His owner/slave, for we are all slaves to cats, E thought he was a bitch (in the biological sense of the word) at first and was a little put out to discover he was a tom so had him fixed and raised him as a female cat.

This makes Kitty a tad gender confused, and pisses off her vet a lot when E refers to Kitty with the feminine pronoun. Still and all she’s a lovely cat, with beautiful tiger stripe markings and an intelligent temperament.

I’ve said it before but dogs are dumb and loyal while cats are smart but independent. I’m convinced there’s an evolutionary argument for this. Early on in the domestication cycle mankind started hunting cooperatively with dogs so loyalty became a key survival trait and keeping them fed was a priority.

But cats became (semi) domesticated simply because they were easy to tolerate and kill vermin. You didn’t train them, they hung around because houses were largely warm and dry and vermin flocked to them. It wasn’t until a few hundred years ago that people even considered cat food – that was what mice and rats were for.

In my youth I spend the odd winter week or two on a friend’s farm helping out. P’s farm, or rather smallholding, showed this difference very well. The dogs slept in the house and were devoted to, and dependant on, the family - with the exception of their golden retriever who would pop down to the pub every evening because the landlord took a shine to her and put out some beer in a bowl each night.

The cats by contrast lived in the barn and were semi-feral. We had to collect the hen’s eggs as soon as possible in the morning otherwise they’d crack and eat them. Try and pick one up and you’d be straight down to casualty to get your fingers stitched together.

Kitty retains her feral heritage but is trainable. She’s noted that any claw swipe brings about a 24 hour cessation of stroking privileges. Now all I need to do is train her to get on the sofa rather than skulking around my feet.

But there’s always the feeling that if someone invented the paw operated tin opener mankind would lose the cat completely and supermarkets would suffer catlifting rates that would make today’s losses to humans look like a golden age.

But they are seductive little devils, who get under our skin. XKCD has it right on this.

* Photo caption - "Make sure you get my best side."

Fears, unfounded or otherwise

Heard my first gunshots today; somebody’s going to emergency, somebody’s going to jail.

We were sitting in the office this afternoon and there was a noise outside. It sounded like a string of firecrackers going off, five or six smallish bangs from outside. At first that’s what I thought it was, but then the sirens started and a reporter from another publication mentioned there had been a shooting.

From the start I’d state I’m not afraid of guns; I used to shoot at a competition level and guns are just like any other manufactured good in a lot of ways. A finely balanced shotgun or highly engineered rifle can be a thing of beauty, as exquisitely built as a fine watch or crafted sports car.

What does freak me out a little over here is their prevalence. This is less of an issue in San Francisco, since it’s one of the most gun-unfriendly cities in the US, but it’s the thought that anyone could be carrying one. In London if a fight kicks off you can be sure the most you’re going to face is fists or a knife 99 per cent of the time and if someone doesn't know what they're doing you can end the situation with minimal risk. But in the US there’s always the chance that the belligerent bloke (and tell the truth and shame the devil, it usually is men) you’re facing will have a gun.

There are nearly as many guns as people in the US, a very sobering thought. I could go to a gun show tomorrow and buy one with the minimum of fuss. It’s a far cry from the home shores where guns are kept safely in wall-fixed cabinets in gun clubs, which have security systems that could put some banks to shame.

But despite today’s incident you can’t live in fear – in the words of Roy Batty “that’s what it means to be a slave.” Instead you take a reasoned calculation of the odds and get on with your life. It’s like living in London during a bombing campaign; be it be Republican or Muslim fanatics. The odds of getting killed are minimal so live your life as normal and if it happens it happens. Otherwise they’ve won.

The other fear of the day concerned my housing arrangements. I was handing over my deposit today, and it’s a bit of a leap of faith to hand over wodges of cash to people you only met recently, however nice they are. I’ve met some absolute shits in this life and the worst have always been the most plausible, but this crew looks good to me.

So I popped round after work and we had a chat. It was very reassuring, and before you knew it three hours had passed and we were on the way to becoming firm friends. Even the house cat was adorable, a longish-hair grey who soon fell prey to my backrubs.

I really think I’m going to like living there. They’re young to be sure, so there’ll be occasional times where I feel the geezer of the group, but I think it’s going to be fun.

Dog Days

This weekend was full of of dogs, with a bit of motor racing thrown in for good measure. On Saturday I went round to see my oldest friend and his wife for a farewell dinner. I've known V since he was a spotty first year in halls of residence at university, but a lot of beer has passed under the bridge since then.

He's a big swinging dick (BSD) in the City now but thankfully hasn't become one of those irritating ones you see in bars trumpeting their imaginary self-importance. Mind you, he has had a bit of an ethics bypass, but that's the world of finance for you. His wife R is Spanish and a sweetheart - not least because she makes strong gin and tonics by the pint glass, which is a fast way to my heart.

They breed dogs in their space time so spent most of the night trying to satisfy five small balls of fur with treats and ear rubs. I'm not a huge fan of small fluffy dogs but in their case I'll make an exception. Add into that an excellent meal and fine wines and it was an evening to remember. V is the one person I never take wine for when invited round for dinner - he's a wine buff with a stunningly good cellar and anything I'd buy would have invited good natured ridicule.

Sunday saw me round to R&B’s for Grand Prix day, Monaco this time round and Monaco in the rain, which always makes for an interesting race. Hamilton drove a very skilled, and very lucky, session to clinch the winner’s podium. But the tragedy of the race came near the end. Adrian Sutil from Force India drove a cracking race and was up to fourth when Raikkonen lost it and slammed into the back of him, taking him out. I understand he was in tears later and I’m not surprised – that crash cost his team millions and him the best finish of his career. But he drove a really mature race and I’m sure he’ll be back.

R&B have two dogs, Charlie and Toffee, and it’s always nice to see those two. Charlie’s the Alpha dog and won’t stop barking when you come into the house until he gets the chest rub he sees as his due. Toffee’s a lap dog and likes nothing better then squirming onto you and trying to lick your face. I'll miss them nearly as much as R&B and their two lovely kids - sorry G&S, young adults.

People often say you’re either a dog or cat person. This is rubbish; it’s perfectly possible to be both. Dogs are easy to understand, very affectionate and will put up with a lot, but they are kind of dumb. Cats are beautiful, smart, mostly standoffish and occasionally nasty bastards to small rodents, but you let them get away with it because of the upsides. Few things compare to a happy cat purring away beside you. The ideal house is one with both, so long as they get along.