Ready for whole new worlds
Play
Felines Thep and Phantom learn important lessons about life
THIS MORNING, the day begins with Thep begins screaming his little heart out.
This soi cat, who drops by for meals, decided last night to sleep inside the house. I know he loves being in the house. He loves having all the food and water he wishes. He loves taking over a corner of my bed for a catnap. He loves being with his friend Thong and being as safe as possible.
When I first met Thep a few years ago, it took weeks for him to let me pet him. Now, he loves snuggling up to me.
A few years with me, however, haven’t taught him everything. He’s still terrified of other people. Also, after a few hours inside the house, he grows nervous. He needs his freedom. He’s not yet ready to accept completely a whole new world.
And so it is this morning. As I wake up to Thep’s screaming, I get out of bed and head for the third floor to clean Phantom’s bedroom. Thep follows me up.
Thep knows that the seven-kilo Phantom is in the room and that Phantom specialises in fighting other cats. He knows that it’s dangerous for him to enter the bedroom, but the door on the other side of the room opens out to the soi, and he’s desperate to get outside.
Despite the danger from Phantom, he rushes into the room and heads for the door to freedom. Before I can unlock that door and let Thep out, Phantom strikes. At 17 years old, this cat should be too old to fight, but with a leap, he’s on top of Thep.
Thep’s much smaller and quicker than Phantom and easily rolls away, then slips out the door. He gracefully jumps the 1.5-metre-high wall in front of the windows, leaps down two metres to the roofing of my second floor and then disappears into a neighbour’s patio.
I smile to myself. At least he’s safe from Phantom’s attacks now. With the arthritis in his hips, the elderly cat can’t jump to the top of the wall.
Never underestimate a cat who’s doing what he enjoys. I turn around, and the big boy has jumped up to the top of the wall.
Before I can move, though, he freezes. Imagine an explorer who has struggled to the top of a high mountain and suddenly beholds a whole new world on the other side. Completely entranced, Phantom gazes at the view of the soi, the first time he’s seen it.
His world has suddenly opened up. Then he looks down at the roofing. I can see the computer in his brain scanning the situation. He’s thinking, “How can I jump down all that way?”
The roofing is very fragile. It’s been built to keep sunlight out, not support a seven-kilo cat, let alone me, if I have to chase him.
Could I simply pick him up and take him inside? I don’t know. He’s just been with me a few months. It took weeks for him to let me pet him, much longer to lift him a few centimetres.
Phantom’s computer solves the problem. I can see what he’s thinking. “Yes, I can jump down – maybe – but how will I get back?”
Not many animals think that far ahead. Phantom, perhaps, has had the experience of previous escapes. As he’s grown older, he may also have learned to be careful in new circumstances.
Despite the lure of that whole new world, he decides to return to his room, but as he turns around, he slips. That wall is too narrow and he’s too arthritic to twist his body easily.
I grab him before he falls, and he gratefully relaxes in my arms as I take him inside.
Slowly, both Thep and Phantom are learning lessons, all about whole new worlds.
