It’s taken just five weeks for a cat called Batman to wrap his paw around my heart
I think this dog person might just be a cat person too, who would have thought?
On a scale with cats at one end and dogs at the other, I have always considered myself a dog person. Growing up on a livestock farm, dogs were both treasured pets and loyal workers, and always a part of our family.
However, when I was young, we also had a cat, called Biddy. She was definitely a rescue, brought home by my mum from one of her district nursing visits after the lady she was caring for, although non-verbal, indicated very definitely that there was a kitten outside that was going to meet a horrible end when her son got home. Not thinking twice, although perhaps an unlikely decision for the bird and fauna lover she was, she bundled up Biddy, and doubtless saved her life that day.
She lived with us until she was older than 20, most definitely preferring solitary outdoor roaming on our isolated farm to the company of any human being, or at least it seemed that way to my very young mind. The only close interaction between us that I can remember was the night she left vertical scratches down my arm; she had drawn blood when I got a little too close to her dinner.
So when I was approached to house sit in the city this year, with my only live-in companion an indoor cat called Batman, I was hesitant. Feline ways seemed to me a baffling foreign language, and in the course of making contact to explore the possibly, it quickly became clear that the decision whether to engage me as a house sitter would predominantly be in his dainty, immaculately groomed, white tipped paws! If I wasn’t the one, he would remain hidden, and if it was to be, he would grace me with his presence. Fair enough, I guess. No pressure.
A couple of days went by, and I found myself on a brief tram journey for a meet and greet. My nerves were twitchy, and the closer I got to my destination, the more it dawned on me: My immediate future was about to be determined by…a cat.
The meeting went very well, and after I had the lay of the house, it was time for tea in the welcoming, sun-filled kitchen. Suddenly I felt gentle movement against my leg. Even in my state of relative illiteracy regarding feline behaviour, I knew this was Batman. Apparently, this signaled his illustrious and highly regarded approval. Decision made; I would be house sitting after all.
The success of this meeting, however, and my endorsement as suitable house sitter and cat companion, gave rise to a plethora of new anxieties that I hadn’t previously considered. Not only would I be responsible for the house and everything in it; making sure it was secure and nothing was stolen, broken, or vandalised, while being careful not to set off the alarm system unnecessarily, but now Batman’s life was in my hands. If it wasn’t veterinary attention he needed, I was responsible. And I knew nothing about cats! There is a special kind of unease reserved for those moments in life when you realise that it is, in fact, all down to you! I started to feel like a fraud. What was I letting myself in for?
Several weeks later, as I packed my bags ready for the four hour trip far away from species that I was far more accustomed to minding; dogs, horses, cattle, sheep, and even guard alpacas, Batman’s welfare was front of mind.
I could single-handedly muster cattle or sheep, rug horses in freezing winter sleet, find a stubborn fault in an electric fence or even get a cast ewe back on her feet. I’d even dealt with an exiled, escapee, battle-weary bull and managed to come back and finish the quince jam that was on the stove when I was interrupted without rendering it completely inedible, but could I care for a cat for weeks, alone?
Sure, the situations I have just described might seem far more complex and challenging, and the animals were far more numerous, but the ways of cats were a complete mystery, so the fact that I would only be minding one brought little comfort.
My concerns were not exactly allayed by tales of other, not-so-friendly cats in close neighbourhood proximity who would like to have their way with poor Batman and leave him battered. And this was not a hypothetical scenario, those guys had form.
As departure for the airport was finally made, Batman was nowhere to be seen. I sat alone in a house that all of a sudden felt so empty but had a hint of the morning’s flurry still palpable, a common feeling when leaving is swift. My new identity as city house sitter was assumed. I had only my thoughts for company, and even those were not particularly intriguing; ideas about dinner for one, speculation about choir practice the next week, questions about contents insurance in case of a break-in. I realised lots of things I probably should have asked about. Too late now, at least in person.
It is fair to say that Batman and my relationship was at first only a slow burn. He recognised that I had become his sole provider of nourishment and hydration, but also likely knew that I had no idea of cat speak. I figured that at this early stage, keeping him alive, uninjured and not too cantankerous would represent success, and I was just hoping to avoid the scratches I recalled so vividly courtesy of Biddy, the cat of my childhood.
My farming background quickly came in handy though, as I realised how truly undaunted I was by the garden worms Batman often dragged in as his midnight playmates who had definitely not consented to the interaction, or even by the time I found him consuming a mouse in one piece on the carpet. I don’t know if my lack of horror and disgust was healthy, but I reasoned that at least I didn’t have to clean it up. What a clever boy he was to dispose of it in its entirety!
As the weeks began to pass, autumnal tones in city streets turned to winter grey and my coat was hung by the front door. Batman came closer, seeking to share my space ever more frequently. First a sniff of my trousers, then a brush past my leg, then a rub of his face against my chest.
It was time to call on my penchant for research. Batman being in ever-nearer proximity obviously meant something, and whatever it was he was trying to tell me through these advances, I needed to know. For the uninitiated among you, the Internet is full of feel-good articles explaining cat behaviour and what it means to us humans. It’s like a subculture of its very own. A Google search provides more answers to questions asking why a cat displays a certain behaviour than you probably think possible. Here is an example!
It’s fair to say that I didn’t need to read many of these twice. Once I’d read that a cat rubbing up against you signaled their affection, I started to feel more confident; I probably wasn’t doing everything wrong! But there were still immense gaps in my knowledge, and slightly unsettling encounters between Batman and I that I wasn’t sure how to respond to.
There was occasional scratching and more frequently, paw swiping, usually accompanied by a look of stern animosity that I had rarely seen equalled anywhere. It turned out that this was usually an invite to play, and watching Batman darting after a moving faux target, lying in wait, half hidden behind his scratching post or rolling adorably onto his back with his white points on show, was entertaining to say the least.
Although the house was more than adequately stocked with cat toys; balls, felt toy mice and birds, and an interesting assortment of dangly things primed for chasing and pouncing after, I soon discovered that almost any everyday object of sufficient length was just as alluring, with charging cables, dressing gown cords and earphone cords prime examples!
Our relationship continued to strengthen as the weeks went by, and it was during this time that I started to compile a mental list of things I was learning about cats, and began to move towards cats on the dog to cat scale mentioned at the beginning. My transformation into a cat lady was definitely in progress!
One of the most significant things noticeable to me as a lifelong dog owner, is that in comparison, cats have very little respect for personal space. If you do not wish to share your space, very frequently and to a degree that you will at least initially be uncomfortable with, do not own or cohabitate with a cat. Over time, very few places in the house will be off limits!
And if you are not accustomed to having animals in the bed, let me assure you that it would be utterly impossible for cats to care less about this. And you will share the bed! Even more surprising is the haste with which you will reposition yourself to accommodate them, because heaven forbid you wake them during the night. They will wake you though, several times a night, with aplomb!
If you spend a significant amount of time behind a computer, be prepared to be abruptly interrupted, frequently. Use these interruptions as an opportunity for mental breaks, have a stretch, make a cup of tea. Don’t get frustrated, because in all honesty, you won’t be able to do anything about it.
I quickly found that you certainly cannot command a cat like they are a dog. Having grown up watching a team of agile and astute Kelpies gather huge, disparate mobs of sheep out of vast paddocks on the daily with just calls of, “come behind”, or “push up”, Batman’s independence in determining where he was and when, and how long he would stay there certainly took some getting used to.
However, it was during my recent stint of COVID, after dodging it for the first two and a half years of the pandemic, that Batman’s tendency to nurture came to the fore. Even with the protection of four vaccine doses on board, I did not have a pleasant or easy three weeks, with two and a half of those spent mostly in bed with severe fatigue, brain fog and fever, counting myself lucky if I could get down the stairs, let alone complete one task each day.
Batman knew something wasn’t right. I was no longer pottering around the house as normal; something on the stove or in the oven, music on, and always a book or my laptop open. I couldn’t focus on a page or screen without feeling nauseous, and the most minor of activities caused tiredness that sent me straight back to bed, like an instant reprimand against any physical and mental optimism.
A few days went by, and Batman ventured into the bedroom. The sight of me with a hacking cough and surrounded by a mushrooming mountain of used tissues must have elicited sympathy, because soon we were sharing the bed, and even on those days when he wasn’t asleep on me, he would frequently come to check on me, kneading himself into my pillow, gently bunting my face or snuggling onto my feet to keep me warm as I shivered through the peaks and troughs of COVID fevers. He was my best buddy when I was in isolation, making the experience of a nasty illness of which I was frankly frightened bearable.
I am so grateful that I said yes to cat sitting, even if I was relatively clueless as to what I was getting into, and for the first five weeks that brought Batman and I together. For me, there is no longer such a thing as a dog or cat person, but I now know it is possible to love and appreciate both our canine and feline friends for how they enrich our lives. Every time I glance up from my keyboard to see Batman sitting nearby, or curled up asleep under the warmth of the heater, I am grateful. Every time he meows to me as I fumble putting my keys in the door, and greets me as I open it with a gentle bunt, I am glad to be here, with him.
