British posties have stopped delivering mail to a woman’s home because of the injuries inflicted by her cat.
We used to have a cat like that.
Her name was Lucy but she acted like a Lucifer.
He mother was a hunter, her father was wild and she took after both of them.
We applauded her tally of rabbits, rats and mice but were less enthusiastic about the birds she caught and not at all happy about the people she attacked at random. Even the hands which fed her weren’t immune.
Then we had a baby and even when the baby learned to crawl then walk and chased her, the cat kept her claws sheathed and her teeth to herself.
Perhaps she was smart enough to know that in a contest between the baby and her she’d have come a distant second.
Lucy and the working dogs treated each other with mutual respect but then a playing dog arrived in the household and he showed no deference towards her at all.
No matter how she spat and batted his nose with her claws, he kept trying to make friends.
Perhaps if they’d been young together they may have come to an accommodation, but Lucy was about 14 when Pepper joined the family and soon after, though not from any fault of his, she died.
We wanted to bury her in the garden and plant a tree over her. But she was cantankerous to the end and died during a drought when the garden was like rock and no tree would have been able to take root.