The Cats of Newhouse Farm

In light of Herman's sad demise I thought it's time you met the cats of Newhouse Farm. Prior to moving to Cornwall I'd never really been much of a cat person. The garden of my flat in London was the thoroughfare for all the neighbourhood cats to prowl through, on their way from one place to another. Many of them would actually stop their journey to hiss at me whenever I'd have the audacity to sit in my garden, glaring at me as if they owned the place, not me. But since I moved to Newhouse Farm I've become very fond of the farm cats, who each have their own distinct personality. So, allow me to introduce you to...

Megan
At 18 years of age, Megan is the grand old 3-legged lady of Newhouse Farm. She lost a back leg due to a car accident when she was much younger, but this certainly hasn't stopped her from being an imposing matriach. Despite her deminutive stature and handicap (or should that be pawdicap... sorry terrible, terrible joke) Megan is most definitely the boss of all the other cats and dogs. If anyone gets in her way she'll soon put them in their place with a vicious swipe of her claws.

Megan likes to find the sunniest spot near her basket and bask in it all day long. Her favourite spots are in awkward doorways and on the back doormat, where she'll contentedly snooze totally oblivious to us humans who have to step over her. But then again, when I reach her age I'm sure I'll contentedly snooze wherever I like as well!

Hobbes
Names after the tiger from the cartoon strip 'Calvin & Hobbes', Hobbes is one of two (formerly three) little black cats who live at the farm. He's a friendly little chap, who I often find sleeping on the chair in front of my computer whenever I want to write my blog. He also likes sleeping on the chair in the polytunnel, and in any vegetable bed that has been freshly weeded.

Hobbes has recently found great delight in playing in a bag of builder's sand, and therefore is very possibly the guilty culprit behind the mystery of who pooped in the sand bucket James was using to build with. James discovered the poop whilst he was making an earth oven the other day... not a particularly pleasant surprise. Hobbes!

Horatio
Horatio, brother of Hobbes, is named after Horatio Hornblower. Horatio (the cat) is missing a toe, for reasons that I do not know (rhyming unintentional). Horatio has recently revealed himself as an acrobatic cat, who could clearly have found work in the circus. A couple of weeks ago I was on my hands and knees weeding the Medicinal Garden. Without any encouragement Horatio leapt onto my back, turned round a few times to get comfortable, and then stretched out on my back whilst I continued weeding. After falling off he continued leaping onto my back whenever he could, pawing at the back of my head to indicate he wanted some attention.

Today, as I've been attempting to write my blog, Horatio has also leapt onto the back of my chair, miaowing for attention until he lost his footing and fell off. I do appreciate the attention... I just wish he could time it better when I'm not quite so busy!

Dolly
Don't be mistaken by the name, Dolly is in fact a boy! I think the story goes that everyone thought he was a girl when he was little, and named him after Dolly Parton, but by the time they realised he was a boy the name had stuck. Dolly doesn't really live at the farm anymore, he's moved next door to live with the neighbours Keith and Sheila... clearly their food tastes better. Occassionally he returns to the farm for a fleeting visit, but gets bullied by the other cats. That's probably the inevitable consequence of being called Dolly when you're a boy. Sadly I don't have any pictures of Dolly, so instead you must imagine a fluffy black and white cat most often seen snoozing in the middle of the neighbours immaculatly mown lawn.