TALES OF MY FATHER
My Father ……. Jack-of-all-Trades, Master-of-None ……. an enigma
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TALE SEVEN:
MY FATHER (AND MY MOTHER!) & THE CAT
PART FIVE: FIGGY
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This is not a picture of Figgy, but he looked very much like this cat …….. only older and meaner!
Perhaps the funniest tale about my parents and a cat revolves around an ancient, ear-chewed, miserable-mannered, mangy Tabby Cat named Figgy that belonged to the lady that lived on the floor beneath us. Figgy was an old tomcat of an age indeterminate, but must have been at least twelve years of age if not more at the time of my first encounter with him.
This beautiful Tabby cat looks nothing like Figgy! The fur of this cat is this colour due to the presence of Pheomelanin. This is an L-Cysteine-derivative that contains Polybenzothiazine portions that are largely responsible for the colour here and in those people with red hair.
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Tabby is neither a breed nor a color of cats. The Tabby pattern occurs in many breeds of cats and comes in different colors. The Tabby may include stripes, swirls, spots, and whorls. There are five patterns of Tabby cat coat patterns each with its own unique markings: the Classic, the Mackerel, the Spotted, the Ticked and the Patched.
Tabby Coat Patterns: 1. Classic; 2. Mackerel; 3. Spotted; 4. Ticked; and 5. Patched
Since Tabby refers to a fur-pattern, any cat from any breed can be called a Tabby cat should he or she display one of the unique colourations and patterns. The classic Tabby fur color looks like swirled marble, with circular patterns that alternate between the dark colors throughout the kitty body.
It is claimed that Tabby cats are among the friendliest of cats and tend to be the most extrovert and social of breeds. Unfortunately for us, and sadly for poor Figgy, he evidently was not aware of these qualities!
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It was difficult to believe that this poor creature was ever a friendly happy-go-lucky kitten that found delight in playing with a ball of wool or chasing the light from a torch played across the carpet. The cat had a mean look to go with his disposition and was very quick to bare his teeth, or rather those that were left, which could still draw blood when he was displeased. He looked as if he had had one-to-many fights. His right eye was partly closed and his left ear had been chewed and ripped in a couple of places. Figgy’s fur, what there was left of it, was a mixture of grey, black and white and, at best, could only be described as mangy! The combination was not attractive. Sadly, and to make matters worse, he lacked upper incisors since he had lost them in his youth (see Part 5).
Left: This poor little mangy, flea-ridden and starving Cat was found along a road;
Right: The same cat after love and care.
The cat now lives with a family and their other animals and is happy.
Figgy’s tail was long, but bent at the distal third. Despite this distortion, his tail could give my bare lower legs (for I knew this beast when I was young and still wore short trousers) a hefty whack!
The poor creature had great difficulty in walking and often would collapse from exhaustion after the smallest exercise. I often saw him use up his daily supply of energy by climbing up, with great difficult, onto an armchair. He had obviously dislocated his left hip at sometime in his youth, which had not been treated by a Veterinary, since in those days, one did not have the resources for such visits. His front legs were bandy, probably from advanced arthritis.
Left: Possible Arthritic Sites; Right: Dislocated Hip
To sum up poor Figgy, one could best describe him as a mess! He probably never was a handsome cat, but considering he was loved by his mistress and given a safe and warm home, I am surprised that he developed such a nasty …….. a very nasty ……. temperament!
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However, Figgy’s foreboding appearance and his rotten disposition paled when one looked at his toes! One could only marvel in horror at the sight of his claws! Those viscous weapons sent fear into me since they were permanently exposed and, as I later learned, could dig deep into flesh with ease and draw copious amounts of blood. In addition, he was adept at sliding these talons along a leg and leaving deep and painful scratches! I shudder still when I think of the brutality that he was able to inflict.
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Evidently Figgy had been a cat that came and went whenever he chose during his younger years, but with age, as I later learned, he came home one day blooded from an entanglement with others and possibly younger cats, and his owner decided that he could no longer roam the environs as freely as he once did. Of course Figgy never got used to this imprisonment. Although I cannot say that I ever warmed to this poor creature, I did understand how he must have felt to be cooped up day after day in the little flat where his mistress lived.
Almost weekly, whenever he was able to muster sufficient energy and seize the moment, poor Figgy would fly through the smallest crack with the speed of a young gazelle when the door was opened. Once he made his dash for freedom and found himself out onto the landing, he propelled himself down the stairs, often missing his step and ending up at the bottom of a flight in a heap of legs and paws.
Despite these accidents, Figgy always sprang up and continued on his journey down to the ground floor where he would hope for an unsuspecting tenant to open the front door. Many times, I was almost knocked off the steps leading up to the front door by a darting Figgy, as he made his way into the street where he enjoyed a few moments of freedom.
Escape
Generally, Poor Figgy never reached the outside, as most often he found himself being scooped up by his mistress who had ran down the stairs, as she chased after him following his escape from her flat. When he did make it to the ground floor, often he would find himself cornered and captured before the front door was opened. However, on the rare occasions when he was lucky, an open front door presented itself to him and he sped through it and ran to the outside. Sadly for him, once he arrived at the street, he was most often had no idea which way to run. This indecision generally gave enough time for either me or his mistress to capture him.
Escaping through the Front Door, but unable to decide which way to run
When I was the one to capture him, the wriggling Figgy would try to bite my hands. He had to be gripped in a particular manner so that neither his fangs nor the claws of his fore paws were able to bite, nip or scratch. Meanwhile, he had to be held close or else those claws of the hind legs would do one harm. Once he scratched me with his hind claws and I dropped him and he was off along the street poste haste. Fortunately, he was unable to run far since, by now, the poor creature was exhausted and it was easy to grab, scoop up and place him in his mistress’ arms. Naturally, I was happy to pass him to her. Upon retrieving her darling cat, his mistress billed and cooed as she stroked her Figgy and carried him back to his prison. However, Poor Figgy did not look too pleased to me! But I am sure that upon his return to incarceration, he was given an assortment of treats plus a saucer of cream to pacify him!
I am sure that Figgy, despite enjoying his treats and making the most of the fuss being made of him, I am also equally as certain that the poor creature began to immediately plan his next break.
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Click here to GO to PART SIX: FIGGY & MY MOTHER
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