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Authors: Denis O'Connor
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head-scratching, he recalled having specially adapted a fabric harness for his daughterâs guinea pig which she had always insisted on taking with her when they went caravanning in the summer holidays. This sounded more hopeful. The only problem with this solution was that his daughter was now in her twenties and the guinea pig long gone. He was hopeful that she might have kept the harness for sentimental reasons because she had been inconsolable when her guinea pig had died and she was an inveterate hoarder. He promised to check with his wife and daughter
that night and made a note to remind himself. I thanked him and promised to call the next day.
In fact, several days passed before I had time to call at the shop again although I wasnât really expecting anything to come of it. Meanwhile, Toby had to be confined to barracks. When I called again I took Toby Jug with me and the shopkeeperâs eyes lit up when he saw us. He gleefully produced a small, brown, worn harness which he held aloft in triumph. It would be a perfect fit for the little cat he said, grinning from ear to ear, and so it proved. He was very pleased to have solved the problem and refused to accept any payment. I was delighted with the harness and Toby seemed very comfortable wearing it. Thanking him profusely I nonetheless bought a weekâs supply of cat food from the shopkeeper which I anticipated Toby Jug might eat someday when he grew out of his present addiction to canned baby food. I suppose I was spoiling him rotten but then I thought he deserved it and it pleased me to do so.
When I got home I again tried the harness on Toby Jug and it fitted perfectly, just as it had done in the shop, although Toby wasnât too sure about wearing it now that the novelty had worn off. Next, I measured out a length of twine which allowed Toby to range freely on his own. Attaching this to his harness and securing the other end to the leg of an iron garden chair, I set him free. He didnât move much at first and kept looking up at me to see what
was required of him but eventually his attention was taken by some flying insects and he became engrossed. Now I could happily leave him for a while and get on with my jobs. This arrangement proved to be satisfactory as long as I remembered from time to time to change the place where I had tethered him.
For the most part Toby Jug was content to lie in the shade of a bush and watch the world of the garden go by, especially birds and butterflies. Occasionally, he would rouse himself to pounce on a fly which he then ate, quite a change from baby food. He seemed to appreciate the sights, sounds and the mysterious scents around him. I think it all unnerved him at times and he needed space to adapt. He always acted relieved when I untethered him and brought him back inside the cottage where he would start playing about more confidently in his familiar surroundings. Toby Jug was at heart a lap cat and at this stage content to be a house cat â a âhomebirdâ as the saying goes.
I recall one day buying some liquorice from the village shop and noting that Mrs Brown gave it to me in a white paper bag reminiscent of those used in the old-fashioned sweet shops of my schooldays. I was working at my desk and it so happened that just as I finished the last bit of liquorice Toby, who was then about twelve weeks old, was trying to clamber up my sweater. On a sudden impulse, more for amusement than anything else, I popped him into the sweet
bag. Far from struggling to get out, he snuggled down and rested quite happily, with the paper bag wrapped around him and his diminutive, grizzled face peeping out of the top of the packet.
My enduring images of him at that early stage of his life are best described by words such as tiny, little, small, diminutive and so on. But for all that he had a strong body and a personality brimming with energy and curiosity as well as a huge capacity for affection. In addition, he had
that night and made a note to remind himself. I thanked him and promised to call the next day.
In fact, several days passed before I had time to call at the shop again although I wasnât really expecting anything to come of it. Meanwhile, Toby had to be confined to barracks. When I called again I took Toby Jug with me and the shopkeeperâs eyes lit up when he saw us. He gleefully produced a small, brown, worn harness which he held aloft in triumph. It would be a perfect fit for the little cat he said, grinning from ear to ear, and so it proved. He was very pleased to have solved the problem and refused to accept any payment. I was delighted with the harness and Toby seemed very comfortable wearing it. Thanking him profusely I nonetheless bought a weekâs supply of cat food from the shopkeeper which I anticipated Toby Jug might eat someday when he grew out of his present addiction to canned baby food. I suppose I was spoiling him rotten but then I thought he deserved it and it pleased me to do so.
When I got home I again tried the harness on Toby Jug and it fitted perfectly, just as it had done in the shop, although Toby wasnât too sure about wearing it now that the novelty had worn off. Next, I measured out a length of twine which allowed Toby to range freely on his own. Attaching this to his harness and securing the other end to the leg of an iron garden chair, I set him free. He didnât move much at first and kept looking up at me to see what
was required of him but eventually his attention was taken by some flying insects and he became engrossed. Now I could happily leave him for a while and get on with my jobs. This arrangement proved to be satisfactory as long as I remembered from time to time to change the place where I had tethered him.
For the most part Toby Jug was content to lie in the shade of a bush and watch the world of the garden go by, especially birds and butterflies. Occasionally, he would rouse himself to pounce on a fly which he then ate, quite a change from baby food. He seemed to appreciate the sights, sounds and the mysterious scents around him. I think it all unnerved him at times and he needed space to adapt. He always acted relieved when I untethered him and brought him back inside the cottage where he would start playing about more confidently in his familiar surroundings. Toby Jug was at heart a lap cat and at this stage content to be a house cat â a âhomebirdâ as the saying goes.
I recall one day buying some liquorice from the village shop and noting that Mrs Brown gave it to me in a white paper bag reminiscent of those used in the old-fashioned sweet shops of my schooldays. I was working at my desk and it so happened that just as I finished the last bit of liquorice Toby, who was then about twelve weeks old, was trying to clamber up my sweater. On a sudden impulse, more for amusement than anything else, I popped him into the sweet
bag. Far from struggling to get out, he snuggled down and rested quite happily, with the paper bag wrapped around him and his diminutive, grizzled face peeping out of the top of the packet.
My enduring images of him at that early stage of his life are best described by words such as tiny, little, small, diminutive and so on. But for all that he had a strong body and a personality brimming with energy and curiosity as well as a huge capacity for affection. In addition, he had
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