Potty goes north

'Twas a cold winter's night when I first set eyes on him.   I had travelled south to take my queen to the Hutton household.   She was to be mated to Nuts (Emanan Squirrel Nutkin).  After the customary 3 cups of coffee and twenty cigarettes (the welcome one receives at the Hutton's is legendary) we ventured into the 'garden' to see Nuts and the rest of the family.

Into Nut's pen we went, where Emma proudly showed me her magnificent usual boy.  Whilst Emma crooned over him and told me of all his virtues, she must have wondered if I really was the cat lover I appeared, for I simply gave Nuts a passing glance and a customary pat.   My thoughts were elsewhere, for through the wire in another pen was the most magnificent and appealing cat I had ever seen - Champion Emanan Alderman Ptolomey - affectionately known as Potty.    It was love at first sight!

Well, my queen eventually mated with Nuts and I travelled south to collect her and gaze longingly at Potty.  Over the months that followed I thought often of the beautiful sorrel boy in Gloucester.

We met again at the Midland Counties Show on 22nd May.   This was a day I was not to forget!   Our Russian Blue girl was made up to Champion, and as I walked around the show in a daze from her success, I mentioned jokingly to Emma that if she ever thought of parting with Potty I would have him.   Not for a moment did I expect to later that day hear the words "I've talked it over with mum and she agrees that you can have him"

So it was that 2 weeks later I travelled south once again to collect my prized Potty.  This time it was 6 coffees, 20-odd cigarettes and lunch, for I was now one of the "Emanan family".

As I headed north on my way home accompanied by my Potty, he began to try to converse with me.   At first it was quite a problem - whilst I knew a smattering of Somali-ese, Potty meowed with a thick Gloucester accent.    All I could catch was that each sentence was punctuated with some choice swear words.

As we travelled on towards the north, all I could really understand was that he was screaming something about a girl whose name began with "L" and that he was "definitely not going anywhere near HER!"   Now my wife’s name is Lisa and Potty had met her once – could it be her to whom he was referring?   I wondered who could have told Potty about Lisa, but then I thought, it couldn’t be her, for whilst the children and myself regularly suffer her wrath, she has never been anything other than the perfect ‘mother’ to our cats.

On we went further north and as we approached the M1 and a sign for ‘The North’ Potty became more and more agitated.    Suddenly he screamed something like "I’m not going anywhere near that Welsh woman’s house that L**** will be there".   Now at that stage I began to wonder if I had a truly psychic cat for I am from Wales originally and my mother lives in Mid-Glamorgan, but Potty had never met her and, in any event, Lisa was at our house in Chesterfield.

As we drove further north so Potty became more agitated and the meowing more difficult to comprehend.

By the time we finally reached Chesterfield I was worried!   Potty didn’t seem to like my wife and he obviously wasn’t too keen on my mother who would soon be coming for a holiday.

I related the conversations during the journey to my wife, who like me was somewhat perplexed – what had she ever done to Potty?    So each day, she ventured to his pen expecting some choice language, yet within a few days he was rolling and purring for her. However, every time I went near him he pulled away swearing that he wasn’t going in the car with me again and that he was no poofter.

What a strange cat I thought?     First, he didn’t want to go anywhere near Lisa and then he was all over her within a few days.   Then he didn’t want to go to the Welsh woman’s house and he liked my mother when she arrived to stay.

Then one day everything became clear.    The Somali Cat Club Journal arrived and there was Eileen’s story entitled "A Winter’s Tale".    I read it and rushed out into the garden and simply called "Leyla".   Immediately my sweet natured cat, who was sunning himself, turned into a nervous wreck and disappeared into his house.   I waited until he had composed himself and ventured out before testing my theory once again.   I called to my wife "Shall we take a ride north to see Eileen and her beautiful kittens," at which Potty howled and once again retired to his house, only to be found trembling inside.   I said to him that I was only joking, to which he replied "If you think Leyla is a joke, then you try to mate her!"

So it was that I discovered my Potty’s worst nightmare!    It wasn’t my wife, it wasn’t my mother, it wasn’t even a Judge withholding a Grand Certificate.   IT WAS LEYLA!

Phil Bowen

P.S.    My grateful thanks to Emma and Ann Hutton for their help, advice, friendship and most of all for our Potty.

P.P.S.   My Potty is no poofter and I challenge any negative tested queen to prove me wrong!