All Revision and No Cats Makes Bob a Dull Boy

BBC News informs me today that the Marshall Library in Cambridge has adopted a three-legged cat in order to relieve exam stress (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-cambridgeshire-39526457). Because it finds it quite hard to stay upright on three legs, it apparently only ever moves around very, very quickly, which undoubtedly must make for a single ray of light in the otherwise hellish lives of economics students. I for one think that this cat policy should be extended to all libraries in Cambridge, although perhaps they ought to vary up the animals a bit (a Polar Bear for the Scott Polar Research Institute? A Yale for the library at Christ's? A Sloth for the English library? etc.).

Christ's does, in fact, have a college cat, who I'm told migrated from her old home at Jesus. Her name is Rocket, and she seems to have become less timid over time, for where once she would flee whenever she saw me she know invites me out to tea, formal and walks to Grantchester. My friend Beth keeps cat food in her handbag at all times so that she can lure unsuspecting Rocket back to her room, where she then proceeds to dress the feline up in sixteenth-century clothing and recite modernist poetry in her presence. I have made friends with Rocket without the need for such carrots-on-sticks, and she even hired me for her latest photography shoot, which you can see in the photos here.

Rocket Rocket Rocket

I am most definitely a cat person rather than a dog person. My cat at home is technically called Elf (having been found and put into a shelter on Christmas Eve) but we generally refer to him as 'Pusscat' or just 'Cat', which probably reflects something terrible about what social media is doing to our minds. Elf is a crafty and needy though very lovable cat, who knows how to manipulate humans to his own ends. He is certainly King cat of our neighbourhood, and amongst many successes in his hunting career he can chart hundreds of unfortunate mice, tens of pigeons, a single very surprised squirrel and, with concerning symbolic implications, a Robin. On the flip side, I have also managed to save many mice from his clutches, in a serious of battles which will undoubtedly be transformed into a children's television series somewhere near you next Autumn. There also lives a clever Magpie in our garden who waits around for any mice that my cat fails to eat for whatever reason, thus proving him/herself the brightest beastie of them all. At the other end of the scale would be me, because I spend a considerable part of my disposable cash on food for another living creature because I think he is cute, therefore proving myself hopefully incompetent at the battle between species for survival - #soIamnotDarwinning.

In addition to having taught him impeccable Spanish, I have also taught my cat a single trick (true story). In particular, if I fall on the ground and roll in the front garden (and it has to be there specifically), the cat will do the same. The circumstances in which I discovered this fact need not be divulged.

Cat on a cold somewhat gravelly roof

Cat confrontations are infrequent on my road, though they do happen. The last I saw was between my cat and until-very-recently-next-door's cat Bu; the latter had decided to hang about in our alleyway, and I misconstrued what seemed to be a friendly conversation between the two for what turned out to be a surprise Elf attack on Bu. Bu is not very aggressive and was somewhat dismayed at this turn of events. Today I saw an even dramatic confrontation between three cats from three different houses, but I had to stop watching because I was worried that the owners of the patio on which they were all fighting might think I was some kind of burglar/serial killer/property developer.

The cat-based focus of this post must be a sign of my descent into madness, which continues apace as revision hots up.

RJLF