The Cat That Won My Heart

Christina Hollis and Magic...

I grew up not liking cats. How could anyone not like cats, you ask yourself? Easy. My fear stems from when I tried to dress a feral farm cat in baby clothes. That was one kitty who was determined not to be pushed around in a dolls’ pram, but I was too young to know any better. I still have the scars.

Magic, a Norwegian Forest Cat

Spool forward a few decades. I’d refused every request from my own children for a four-legged pets. Their record with goldfish and chickens was not good, so their pleas for a kitten fell on deaf ears. Then we had a warm summer followed by a mild autumn, leading to a population explosion in everything small and furry out in the woods and countryside. When the weather turned cold, they all made a bee-line for our stores and greenhouses to nibble away at the seeds and vegetables. We set live catch traps, then drove several miles away to release our haul in the hope the little critturs wouldn’t find their way back. This performance had to be repeated several times a day as mice, shrews and voles can’t stand the stress of being held captive for long. The system worked well until one morning after a bitterly cold night. A bank vole fell out of its trap frozen stiff, poor little thing. That did it. I decided to delegate the task of pest-control officer.

‘We’re getting a cat.’ I announced to the children.

For a few seconds there was absolute silence as they stared at me, open mouthed. Then they saw I was serious, and from that moment on there was no going back. We researched on the Internet and got books out of the library. Pretty soon any member of the family could have taken “Cats And Their Care” as our specialist subject in “Mastermind”. Our first stop was the local cat rescue. They took all our details, inspected us and after a short wait rang with details of a cat in need of rehoming who they said would be perfect for us. We went to visit Tiddles in his foster home, and were greeted by a lovely lady covered in sticking plasters. Tiddles held court in her kitchen. A large bottle of TCP on the draining board should have told us what to expect, but the sight of an enormous one-eyed tom swelling to twice his size with every hair standing on end told us a whole lot more. After saying a swift goodbye to Tiddles we decided on a kitten, so we could teach it good manners before it could learn any bad habits.

Magic aka Pest Control Officer

We wanted something tough but beautiful, and unspoiled by overbreeding. Maine Coons caught everyone’s eye, but the nearest breeder was a long way away and all his kittens were booked up for more than a year in advance. I didn’t want to disappoint the children, so we went for their second choice of breed, a Norwegian Forest Cat. Harry Potter was their hero at the time, so our tiny kitten was immediately named “Magic”. He didn’t stay tiny for long! His parents were both house cats who had never been outdoors, so all our farming neighbours told us Magic would never be any good as a mouser. Cats, they said, had to be taught to hunt from birth by their mothers. Magic soon proved them wrong. From the moment he was first let outside, he has made it his life’s work to keep our grassland free of moles, and spends hours ratting in the neighbour’s stable block. Not only is he a dedicated Pest Control Officer, he’s the perfect house cat too - never sick or sorry, and as keen to be affectionate as we are to make a fuss of him.

Magic is eight years old now, and he’s in his prime. The children never were very keen on cleaning up after him, but he’s such a pleasure to have around that’s never been the problem for me I thought it would be.

In fact I’ll let you into a secret - I’d be lost without him!

Christina Hollis