Branwell: the cat who came in from the cold

Some of you who I know from Face Book might remember me mentioning Branwell, and you have no doubt been having sleepless night wondering how he’s doing. For those of you who haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, Branwell is one of the many moggies that hang around our secluded little backwater. About ten of the locals (cats), all black, white and ugly belong to the neighbour. The rest are wild. We used to get a lot of visitors, cats that obviously had a perfectly good home somewhere, but just liked slumming it with the neighbour’s mean gang. The nice cats don’t come round anymore, too many third generation wild cats for their liking I suspect.

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Branwell though is a lost moggy, possibly the apple of some distraught pensioner’s eye; possibly some little girl has cried herself to sleep many a night over her lost pussy cat. Branwell purrs and sits on your lap, rolling in ecstasy. He’s a big neutered tom and very soft and easy going. He even hung around with Otto who is not the easiest of cats to get on with. Anyway, husband took one look at Branwell and said that if he wanted a home he could have one.

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I call him Branwell because I think he looks like a Branwell. The name hasn’t stuck though. Son insists on calling him Cromwell, and the girls call him by a variety of names: Branston, Brandon, Brownwell, Bromley (?) with Brommie or Brownie for short. Not much chance of him every responding to his name.
Finbar is not happy about us adopting another cat. Nor, must it be said, are the other cats. Finbar just can’t stop himself chasing cats (except Trixie) and generally, cats don’t appreciate his attention. So we are on constant cat patrol/dog alert, to cries of: “Where’s Branwell? Finbar needs the toilet. Can he come downstairs?”

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The funny Little Cat goes into paroxysms of fury when she sees him. She used to be very friendly towards other cats until the Mean One fell through the skylight and chased her all round the top floor. I had to corner the wretched creature in the toilet and chase it out into the garden with a broom.

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Trixie just hates everything indiscriminately. She growls and slaps if Branwell gets too close, lies across doorways to stop him getting past, lounges on windowsills to stop him getting back into the house, the usual sort of unfriendly gestures. Like lying on Finbar’s blanket if Branwell looks as though he might be tempted to test it.

To date there has been no bloodshed. Branwell can stay as long as he can stand it. At least it has to be better than sharing a chicken coop with Otto.

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Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

14 thoughts on “Branwell: the cat who came in from the cold”

    1. He is a handsome cat. Not very bright, but I suppose that could explain how he got lost in the first place. It makes a change to have a cat around who will actually come and sit on your lap.

  1. Aww, he sounds like a nice cat. One of our fellows was adopted from a rescue group. He was surrendered because his family had lost their home and had to move into an apartment that didn’t allow pets. He had supposedly been their child’s special pal, which was very sad. We’re glad to have given him a good home (he’s one of those cats who sleeps on the pillow next to your head each night). With the economy being what it is still, there are lots of pets that end up homeless.

  2. One of the excuses for turning dogs into the pound that makes blood boil is the divorce. The dog has to go because the couple separate. I don’t see the logic in that. People often move and leave the cat behind thinking he just goes with the house. Branwell has obviously been well cared for. He’s been neutered, he’s friendly and hasn’t had time to get dirty. I’m guessing he got left behind when a family moved.

    1. I’m a catlover – à la vie, à la mort… like all my close ones!
      * * *
      @”I’m guessing he got left behind when a family moved.” – possible et probable, Jane… it’s the case of our Spanish tomcat(Lucky-Loulou) who was saved from the streets of Valencia by our daughter when he was already 5-6 months… I don’t understand how people can abandon their pets, poor things who have never “asked”(chosen) to be taken home or looked after! 😦
      * * *
      my very best & amicales pensées toulousaines, Mélanie

      1. This is a favourite dumping ground for unwanted cats and kittens. Residential but with a big area of gardens and friche (don’t know a handy word in English) between two medium-sized roads that people seem to think cats would adore living in. As if it’s some sort of game park! Many of the kittens are third or fourth generation homeless now and completely wild.

    1. They’re rather a motley crew. Trixie has beautiful thick fur and personality that puts many celebs to shame. Little Cat is bonkers and she can do funny things with her ears. Branwell is a handsome, friendly, easy-going cat but he hasn’t got a lot upstairs. Puts me in mind of Bertie Wooster.

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