Toe in the Water

Every Blog Needs a Cat Post

Every Blog Needs a Cat Post

Fritz came to us from some old Zimbabwe friends, Patrick and Eleanor (not their real names - let's have some privacy, okay?). They lived in Milton Keynes at the time and so were the reason I came to know that fair city. Patrick was a little older than myself and belonged in what I think of as "the Alcohol Generation" whereas I am firmly in the "Psychedelic Generation".

Which is all entirely off the point, since I intended to speak of the Cat of a Thousand Names. When Patrick and Eleanor decided to emigrate to Tasmania, we were chosen as the lucky winners in the contest to receive their cats (actually, we were the only entrants and did not realize that we had entered until informed of our prize moments before the cats arrived).

The cats were named Fritz and Annie. As in most pet names, there were reasons; Annie because she was an orphan, Fritz because Patrick loved the film Fritz the Cat (not the old cartoon character but the much later pornographic version).

I was never happy with the name Fritz, partly because I had not seen the movie and so did not get the joke, and also because I felt that anything with the name Fritz ought to have at least a tenuous connection with things German. The whole family set to work on devising a more apt handle for the unhappily-named one (Annie escaped this, probably because she was completely indescribable).

At first, we tried out mutilations of the word "Fritz". "Furtive" was an early attempt that stuck, even though the cat was not furtive at all, being rather large and indolent, certainly never energetic enough to think of hiding his great bulk. "Ferdy" followed soon after and was accepted immediately. An aberration was "Frrt", an attempt to imitate the sound he made when asking a question (he was a talkative cat), rather than anything to do with his given name. "Frump" had a brief period of popularity. There were variations on a theme, "Firtle" supplying alternatives like "Firtleheim" and "Firtlebaum", and even "Fritz" produced the odd but attractive "Fritzenjammer".

But none of the growing list ever managed to win out over the others and be adopted as the ultimate name for our furry friend. As the list expanded with fresh inventions and variants, all became quite acceptable and were recognized as referring to the feline presence amongst us. This process continued for his entire life and I could not vouch for their being no new suggestions on the day that he died. It was a few years before that sad time that I gave recognition to what was happening by christening him with the title "The Cat of a Thousand Names". It was no exaggeration.

Perhaps the most amazing thing about Fritz (I use the original name from now on so that no confusion arises) was that he knew instantly when he had been given a new name. He would come to any of them and never took offence at this game that we played.

And this led me to the realization that he resembled a dog in many ways. Very few cats ever learn their own names, let alone come to them. Fritz did both, in spite of the severe handicap of constantly changing goalposts. He was definitely canine in his ability to understand human speech.

It came to me then that, with a little training, Fritz could be helped the rest of the way and become a real dog (yes, Pinocchio, now you are a real boy). We began with the easy things like food. And Fritz responded with a will, happily accepting any food that he saw you eating, just as a dog will do. Every dog I have owned has enjoyed a banana and Fritz was no exception. He tried potato chips and, in spite of some difficulty in getting them to an edible state, he professed a great liking for them. His favorite was yoghurt, however, and it became a crime to lick your own yoghurt top, Fritz being recognised as chief yoghurt top licker of the household.

We progressed from there to more complex behavior. The game of "fetch" never appealed to him on account of his laziness, but you could see in his eyes that he understood the principle perfectly. It was just too much trouble to demonstrate his grasp of the game by physical activity. "Chase the cat out of the yard" he was good at, however. His technique was unusual but just as effective as the frantic barking and rushing about that a dog will do. Fritz relied more on his impressive bulk to achieve the same end. He would lie in the yard, apparently asleep, and wait for the offending cat to approach. At the moment when the prey was close enough to appreciate just how large he was, within a foot or so in other words, Fritz would wag his tail once, thumping it down on the ground with suitable aplomb. Most cats never recovered from the fright and would not enter our yard again.

There was one lesson that Fritz never managed to get right, however, and so failed in his valiant attempt to be a dog. It was "barking" that defeated him. Fate had decreed that he should have a light, squeaky voice, totally unsuitable for producing the gruff and staccato sounds that a dog makes so effortlessly. He tried, poor fellow, but was defeated every time by the curse of his vocal chords. Never did he manage to achieve more than a pathetic mouse-like squeak.

I gave up in the end and allowed him to live out his life, far above the normal run of cats but just short of dog-hood. He was happy enough with what he'd achieved, his good nature letting him smile at how close he'd come. And there was always one thing about being a dog that he got right every time.

He would greet you at the door and let you know that you were the most important thing in the world to him. Not many cats ever get that right.


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