What my three-timing cat taught me

Presley aka Gingy aka Harry. Photo by Melanie Verwoerd

Years ago, while living in Ireland, I got a call from the SPCA. “Would I please adopt a little kitten that urgently needed a home?” I had just taken in another kitten who – despite being a girl - was called Elvis, but the SPCA was desperate, so I gave in.  We named him Presley.

After a few days of hissing and puffing, Elvis and Presley became the best of mates. Like all our pets, they were treated as well (or even better than, my children would argue) any family member. When I returned to South Africa, I paid the equivalent of a business class seat for each oneto fly to Cape Town.

Elvis preferred the indoors and would spend her days on my desk and at night she snuggled up on my pillow. Presley on the other hand could not get enough of the new African outdoors and quickly established the neighbourhood as his domain.

 Two years ago, after a long battle with kidney disease, Elvis passed on. Presley was clearly very disturbed when she got sick. He would still run up to the loft where she used to sleep, only to find it empty, but he came home less and less.

One day while chatting to my neighbour, Jo, in the street, Presley strolled up for a quick cuddle. “Is this YOUR cat?” asked Jo. “You know that he has been living down the street with Greg and Val, for almost a year now? They even named him Gingy”.

I did not know.

“I hear my cat has been hanging out with you?” I texted them. They responded with photos of Presley aka Gingy, sitting with them at the dining table, sleeping on their daughter’s bed and watching TV with their family.

For the next two years, we shared Presley.  He mostly preferred their house, but still came home to say hallo – usually in the middle of the night - to demand food. He would also always run up to the loft to check if Elvis had perhaps returned.

Then Val and Greg got new kittens and they reported that Presley was hanging out less with them.

A week ago, neighbour Jo forwarded me a screenshot from a posting on a WhatsApp group for residents in a complex adjacent to our street:

“Some of you are familiar with Harry who lives in our area… He was abandoned as a kitten and mistreated, so sometimes behaves badly, but I want to assure you that he is not a bad cat. I have adopted him into my home. I will be taking him to the vet and have also organized an animal behavourist to advise on settling him…. I love him very much and he is now my cat.”

Below the post was a picture of … you guessed it… Presley.

Apart from the fact that I wanted to correct the impression that Presley was abandoned or mistreated, I was worried that she might move at some stage and take Presley with her. So, I called Thalia, who had posted the message: “Eh, I think Harry might be my cat Presley.”

After establishing that it was indeed Presley, I asked Thalia (who was lovely) how many weeks Presley had been visiting them.

Her answer flabbergasted me.

It turns out that Presley aka Harry, arrived at their door FIVE years ago in the same week their similar looking cat died. “He just walked in and made himself at home,” she said. At first they resisted, but convinced that he was abandoned, they eventually gave in and fed him. Over time, they put in a cat flap and he got some toys and a scratch pole. 

Some of the other kind souls in their complex also took pity on poor “abandoned” (if only they knew) Harry and fed him regularly – which explained his rapidly increasing waistline.

While Thalia and her partner spent a few months in Europe each year, they even arranged for someone to stay in their apartment to look after “Harry”. (Ironically, I can see their front door from where I live.)

But here is the best part: They set up an Instagram account for him under “Harry the Thug” - and wait for it - he has 350 followers!

Of course, Presley should have known that in the era of social media it was only a question of time before his two or three-timing behaviour would be exposed.

While Thalia and I were on the video call, Presley strolled in behind her. Hearing my voice, he stopped dead in his tracks. I could almost see him thinking: “Ah man, I’m busted!”

Why am I telling you this story? Well, because I believe we all need a break every now and then from the relentless negativity in our country. Thalia and her partner, Greg, Val and all the other women who took pity on Presley aka Gingy aka Harry are a reminder of how much goodness is still around.

As for Presley: since he has been outed, he has been home again more often – usually at midnight, 3 am and 5 am when he loudly insists on fresh food. (I’m guessing he is taking revenge on me for closing down his other restaurants!)

Slew operator that he is, I’m sure he is already on the lookout for someone else to provide him with additional snacks.

I’ve come to accept that I will always have to share Presley with others.

Rudyard Kipling famously wrote: “He is the cat that walks by himself, and all places are alike to him.”  That, it seems, is the essence of Presley.