The Story of Butch

When I was in my late 20s, I lived in a little bungalow which bordered onto farmland. Although there was a road in front of the bungalow, I was situated right at the end thus effectively making it a very secluded close. My wife and I acquired a very sweet little kitten who was promptly named Pickle and he proceeded to become the love of my life. I'd always been a dog man before and tended to rather look down on cats: I mean, what fun could you have with a cat? I couldn't have been more wrong, of course, and that little bundle converted me to a feline fan overnight.

Pickle had a good life, often bringing me friends from the garden including one day, as I proudly threw open the front door to show off the new dark green hall carpet, his bestest friend Mr Seagull. Sadly, Mr Seagull was not well and his feathers (and a few bits of him) were scattered all around the carpet. I can only assume that Pickle found him in the garden and somehow managed to get him through the catflap as a suitable present for us.


Pickle Claude Arthur Bonfozzwackett Volestrangler


Anyway, I digress. There used to be a rather sweet but doddery old lady who lived opposite to whom I would wish a cheery "Good Morning" One day we started chatting and she told me about how she used to feed all the animals around her garden. Amongst these was a cat who, apparently, was incredibly timid and would wait until she had gone back indoors before tentatively creeping in to partake of a meal. We pondered on what circumstances could have made the cat thus and I'll never forget the conversation, because she then said how the animals had really got to like her and that one hedgehog had been there a couple of days without leaving. Sure enough, a hedgehog was motionless beside the coal bunker which doubled as the animal diner - I didn't have the heart to tell her it had eaten its last meal and later sneaked back to remove the body.

One day, the lady, whose name I never got to know, asked me if I would take over feeding duties as she was away for a week. I agreed and daily set out the sumptuous feast for the indigenous animal and bird population. Being the arrogant 20 something that I was, I was convinced that I could befriend the cat but failed miserably. I could sometimes see him from a distance, watching me, but as soon as I made one step towards him, he was off like a shot.

Anyway, time passed, my wife decided she had fallen for another man and had moved out to be available to him - apparently he was married, and I was left alone with Pickle (Incidentally, my best friend was full of commiserations about the break-up until I found out it was actually him but that's another story).

Pickle then became ill and, at the tender age of 2 had to be put out of his misery. I came back from the vets and within about 3 hours there was a knock on the door. A lady stood there and explained that my neighbour had gone into a nursing home, never to return and had asked if I could take over cat feeding duties otherwise she would have to get the RSPCA to catch and, presumably,destroy the cat. I really had no choice but to agree and decided that, come what may, I would give the cat a home.

He was jet black, quite stocky and had a large nick out of one ear. A real bruiser of a mog so I decided to nickname him Butch. This was before the days of Gay connotations and because he reminded me of the cartoon dog in Tom & Jerry.

It was Summer and every night and every morning, I would put food out for him. I stood at a distance and chatted and eventually it got to the point whereby he would sit on his side of the road and I would sit at the top of the five steps up to the bungalow door and just talk quietly to try and get him used to my presence. Finally, I put his food bowl at the bottom of the steps and he moved closer. He still wouldn't eat until I had gone in but he was obviously more relaxed. This had taken about 4 weeks and I dread to think how many hours I sat on that top step but then, one day, he actually ate whilst I was sitting there. A few weeks after that he had actually started to venture up the steps and I was putting his food by the front door.

By now, the desire to give him some love and care was all that was in my mind. Each day, I hurried home from the office and he would always appear from some hedge or other as if to say "Welcome home". We would chat and then came a really big moment when he tentatively sniffed my outstretched hand. He was still skittish but I was obviously making progress and my next stage was to try and entice him indoors.

I had no need to worry. It was almost as if he suddenly thought "Yep, he'll do" because one evening he just strolled past me and went inside. I left the door open and tried to be nonchalant whilst he had a good look round and he seemed to approve as he spent the rest of the evening with me. Eventually, bedtime came and I was then faced with a problem. I couldn't kick him out and I didn't want to keep him in and undo all the good so far. In the end, I showed him the cat-flap, explained the arcane entry procedure (hit flap hard with head) and trusted to luck.

As I assumed my usual embryonic position in bed and started drifting off, I felt a movement; Butch had jumped on the bed and snuggled into me, purring fit to burst. I couldn't believe that he was actually there and no feeling of achievement has ever been better than at that moment. A moment that I'll treasure forever.

Butch spent the rest of his life with me and wife Mk. II. He still went to another room whenever visitors were around but he always remained true to me and I to him.

Rest in peace, my Butch - You were one hell of a boy.