My diary was first posted on Facebook under my man servant’s name.
In those diary postings I explained my early days in my new home near The New Forest with my two servants. I also explained about the other felines that exercise rite of passage through my home. From one side comes a small neutered ginger chap who has been nicknamed by my servants as ‘Lagerboy’. He enjoys a bit of a scrap with any feline that crosses his path, which I must emphasise I do not join in and he spends a lot of his days outside chasing insects and shadows.
On the other side are two sisters which my servants have nicknamed ‘Chavs’. In the UK the word ‘Chav’ is used to describe someone who is a bit rough, probably OK to know and have on your side but just a bit…..how should I say? Not quite of the same highly sophisticated and erudite genetic line as myself.
The Chavs started to spend a lot of time in my house after I moved in. I hiss at them every so often just to remind them who is top cat around here. We have reached a level of tolerance and a tacit agreement that they will spend their time downstairs while upstairs is completely out of bounds to them. No borders but very clear territorial rights.
In their real home is a nice couple of servants, another cat, a lovely dog and a baby. According to my servants when the family first moved in all was well and harmonious for the Chavs. The baby arrived and all was still well for the Chavs as apparently they hardly ever came into my house. This was until the baby started to develop its mobility ability and began to crawl around the house in what had been feline territory.
This is when they started to visit my house. Obviously things had changed that badly and affected their feelings of safety and security in their own home that they took the decision to leave and find a place where if they were not entirely welcomed they were at least tolerated.
My two servants were talking the other day, they do forget that I can understand everything they say even if I cannot contribute to their conversations. I know they call me other names such as ‘Lumplet’ or ‘Monster’ because of my size and these are terms of endearment. Most of the time they do call me Omar.
Anyway, they were talking about the really sad story in the news earlier this month that 35 illegal immigrants including 13 children had been found in a forty foot shipping container at Tilbury after having crossed the North Sea from the continent. One of their group had died during the journey and there are no details about long they had been in that container.
The servants then went on about how impossible it is to understand what conditions were like in that sealed metal box. Or, how bad conditions were for them living as Sikhs in Afghanistan where they had come from to make them so desperate to make such an arduous and risky journey.
Before I came to live with servants here I was found homeless, cold, wet and hungry in a backstreet of a nearby town. In my previous home the family had a baby which when it started to crawl also started to think I was a plaything that could be chased around the house, never left in peace or just allowed to get on with my life. It got so bad that earlier this year I decided I had just had enough and during a filthy wet night I slipped away. Not knowing where to go but anywhere away from that home had to be better. Luckily and I really was lucky I was found by a charity, taken in, fed, kept warm and made to feel secure. It was a hostel of sorts, a refuge and when I was well enough to leave the charity found me a home with my servants.