Free The Amazing Life of Cats by Candida Baker Page A

had seen a Siamese cat with blue eyes, chocolate-coloured ears and a cream coat. But no one had seen him.
    I went home and put notes in all the letterboxes around the suburb, rang the RSPCA, radio stations, and the vets in case he had been brought in, injured . . . but there was no sign of him. By now my family had decided that Igor was gone, but I was so convinced that he was out there and alive that I would not give up until I’d found him.
    After another fruitless day and night of searching, I knew he might be without food and water and becoming weak. I asked him directly: ‘Please, Igor, help me: where are you? Help me find you.’
    That morning I met a woman out on the mountain track. No, she said, she hadn’t seen Igor, but did I know there was a small hole (probably just large enough for a curious cat to crawl into) at the side of the service road into the mountain? If he’d got in he wouldn’t be able to get out, because this was the opening to a large drain with a steep gradient. The drain could have water in it, but where it joined a nearby suburban street there was a platform and above this, at street level, a large inspection opening, covered with a very big and heavy concrete slab. My heart raced. Could he be on the platform? Might he have been washed further down the drain?
    I ran to the inspection site but the cover was far too heavy for me to lift. What to do? Most of the local men would be at work.
    I called out, ‘Igor?’ The only reply was my thumping heart. I suddenly thought of my neighbour’s teenage son—he might be home. He was!
    ‘Please, Nick, can you bring a crowbar to prise the cover off the big drain?’ I asked him. ‘I think my cat’s down there.’
    As we hurried to the spot, agonising fears nagged me. Igor could have died of cold. He could have slipped and gone down the drain . . . I stopped myself. No, no, no, he’s alive, I knew it, somewhere deep inside.
    With great effort, Nick slowly lifted the heavy drain cover. I leaned down. ‘Igor? Igor?’ I waited for what seemed like forever, then, suddenly, a weak meow came from the darkness.
    Nick held my feet while I leaned down into the opening. I could just see Igor’s bedraggled figure. He leapt onto my shoulders, wet and cold but very much alive!
    Once he was safely back up on the street I just held him and cried. A weak little purr was my reward. I put him inside my jumper and held him tight. After thanking Nick, I rushed home to be greeted by disbelief. Even Trouchka withheld her customary swipe and just stared at her brother. That evening, fed and dried and warm, Igor snuggled into my lap and fell asleep, purring.
    The evening could have been so different—another sad and worried night without him—but I never gave up, I was so convinced I would find him. I believe there is a very special bond between some animals and their owners that makes miracles possible.
    Igor was my miracle.
    Edith Thompson

Of all domestic animals, the cat is the
    most expressive. His face is capable of
    showing a wide range of expressions.
    His tail is a mirror of his mind. His
    gracefulness is surpassed only by his
    agility. And, along with all these, he has
    a sense of humour.
    Walter Chandoha

Ghia, Ginger and Tiny

    F or years after my cat Boots was taken off our beach-house roof by a powerful owl, I really couldn’t contemplate the thought of having another cat. It had been too sudden and dreadful an end for me to come to terms with easily, and so I put cat ownership out of my mind.
    Many years later, after we had made a move north, we rented a house that came complete with a black cat, Puschka. We weren’t quite sure how Puschka would take to Ella, our badly behaved dog, but since Ella was now at last showing signs of slowing down, we thought that Puschka would probably handle her reasonably well.
    She was a very independent cat, Puschka. Several people had rented the house on other occasions when her owners were away, and so she was