Mistaken Identity

My first two cats were named  Blacky and Ginger. SPOILER ALERT, Blacky was all black and Ginger was ginger. I must have been five years old – and these cats were my life. Looking back, I may have smothered the poor animals a bit too much, which left me alone with Ginger after Blacky fled the scene that was the Crocker Household. Anyway life went on, I quickly forgot all about Blacky, and poured all of my love into Ginger.

We then moved houses. This worried me because I thought Ginger would run away. My mother dearest assured me that if she locked Ginger up and put some butter on his paws (apparently they lick their paws and they taste the floor and they know their new home and blah blah blah) that there was no chance Ginger would run away. We put Ginger in the granny flat in the garden and left him there while I was at school. When I came home however, the window was open and alas, Ginger was gone…My mother didn't hear the end of it; I claimed it was the most traumatic experience of my life (I may have overreacted a tad).

Shortly after ‘the incident’ my mom was fetching the mail when she saw a squashed ginger cat in the gutter with its eyes bulging out. While my mom tried her best to break the news to be slowly, my brother found great joy in tormenting me about it. I put on my big girl pants and planned a classy and beautiful funeral for the remains of Ginger and we buried him in the garden.

Being the loving and caring girl that I was, I quickly forgot the memories of Ginger and moved on with my exciting and glamorous life as a 7 year old. Ginger and Blacky were long forgotten to me. Until 6 months later, while I was sitting in the bath. I heard my mom screaming as she walked through the front door and being the amazing daughter that I am, I dismissed her cries and carried on relaxing, it was my ‘me’ time right? It was only when I had gotten dressed after my bath that I found my mom, in the lounge, with Ginger on her lap. Typical Crocker Family, they buried someone else’s cat! Somewhere out there, a family was searching for their beloved cat that was stuck in a shallow grave in my garden...

Ginger stayed around for a few days and then went back to his life as street cat. As for me, I persuaded my mom to get me a new cat the following year and lived happily ever after! Jokes, she had three legs and my friends and family teased me endlessly and called her Tripod but that’s a story for another time!