Inkie lies tummy up in the middle of the carpet, demanding tickles. Photos: Ellen Whyte
I’ve been had, again. In our perpetual battle for supremacy with the cats, we lost once more. But this time it wasn’t Target, our tactical genius orange, or Tic Tac, our little princess who is ace at the long con. It was Inkie!
Yesterday, Inkie was on a mission. He was standing on my desk, purring. His emerald eyes were narrowed with determination. He would not be moved.
It was peak office hours and I was about to conference with a client. I would have pushed Inkie away, except that we had some drama last week.
It was late, it was dark, and Tom tossed a small pillow on the bed, not realising that Inkie was snuggled in the duvet.
The pillow is a thin pad, a glorified handkerchief really, but our junior cat launched into the air and rocketed out of the room in complete panic.
We went to get him immediately, and we made it up with ear tugs, tail rubs and reassurances, but Inkie was a little nervous for several nights after that when getting into bed for sleep cuddles.
That timidity baffles us because of all our three cats, Inkie should be the tough one.
Tic Tac was rescued from the street. She was so thin her ribs showed, covered in fleas, and as such, she must have had rough times. As for Target, he lost his entire family when he was a kitten.
But if you chuck a pillow on the bed when our princess and old orange are lounging on it, Tic Tac will meow a complaint and Target doesn’t move a muscle beyond lifting a disapproving eyebrow.
Yet Inkie, who was born in a loving home, is the nervy one. It doesn’t make much sense.
Generally speaking, Inkie feels safe in our home. Scared cats hide. Our Inkie lies tummy up in the middle of the carpet, demanding tickles. He adores being patted so much that he has instituted morning and evening cuddles.
But anything out of the ordinary freaks our tuxie out. It’s not just airborne pillows. If I drop a cup while washing up, Inkie dives for cover and has to be reassured with a cuddle. If an ambulance races by outside, siren blaring, Inkie needs to have his paw held.
What makes it even more absurd is that Inkie is the cat equivalent of the Incredible Hulk. Our boy doesn’t like human fare, not even roast chicken, but he has an unending appetite for tuna and crunchies.
And that is why he was standing on my desk, purring with determination. Inkie was demanding extra lunch.
Inkie is a soft, mild-mannered scaredy-cat. But when it comes to food, he has a will of steel.
He jumps up on the desk and purrs. If I ignore him, he bulldozes his way over the keyboard, and dumps himself in my lap. He purrs and purrs, stamping and headbutting, telling me how amazing I am.
The purring headbutting display of love is a form of cat blackmail. If I don’t get up, Inkie sticks in his claws and stays put. His bulk makes it hard to type, and Inkie knows it.
If I put him on the floor, he jumps back on me instantly. Complete and utter determination is part of the strategy. Inkie will not stop until he gets what he wants. Until he sees that tuna going into the bowl, my life is on hold.
As Inkie is just shy of 7kg (yes, you read that right!), I put my foot down and said no. He is already a big boy and I don’t want him getting so fat that he has trouble with his knees or can’t play race and chase.
I love him too much to be indulgent. The problem is that I have sent mixed messages. Usually, I am an implacable wall against Inkie’s steel will. But at dawn, I have all the force of a damp tissue.
Inkie pushes me out of bed at first light with a few headbutts, shepherds me downstairs and supervises with purring satisfaction as I paw over the tuna and crunchies.
Because of these early triumphs, Inkie is convinced that he will have his way in the afternoons too. He believes that all he needs to do is keep firm.
Now, with Target and Tic Tac, I can say no and push them away. On the rare occasions when Tic Tac stands and scolds, hoping to get second treats, I raise my voice too. Her reaction is immediate.
Our princess stiffens, turns her back on me and stalks off, radiating outraged disapproval. She’s fuming, but there is no worry in her at all. The same is true for Target. They’re super confident.
But Inkie is deeply sensitive. When Tom tossed that pillow the other night, we were half laughing because it was so absurd but Inkie was clearly upset.
There is no way I will frighten my tuxie boy, so every time he tries the blackmail, we go through the dance of me giving him a kiss and gently tipping him off my lap onto the floor.
It’s the gentlest battle of wills and that’s OK. I can type over him, and when the clients dial in, they enjoy seeing his handsome furry face.
So I was set yesterday for a protracted silent duel of wills. However, when my client dialed in, Inkie stopped stamping and purring. He sat there, clearly deep in cat thought. Finally, he slid to the floor and exited.
Inkie plotting to snare a second lunch.
I was deep in the meeting, but a small part of me noted the firm step and determined ears. Two minutes later, I heard the other office door open. There was a triumphant meow, a patter of heavy paws, and the sound of one human being escorted down to the kitchen.
As the cats are experts at claiming they have not had breakfast, lunch or treats yet, Tom and I have a rule that we check with each other every time we have a food request.
However, as we both work from home, we have another rule that when the office door is pushed almost completely shut, we’re not to be disturbed.
Evil Inkie put the two together and figured out an opportunity: Knowing I was occupied, he trotted round to Tom, lied shamelessly about me "forgetting" to provide lunch, and scored extra tuna.
The icing on the cake is that he came back after, dumped himself in my lap and cleaned his whiskers, purring tuna breath all over me in unabashed triumph.
As Frank Perkins – British inventor, railway tycoon, and war hero – once observed, "A cat will do what it wants, when it wants, and there’s not a thing you can do about it."
Cats are just like humans when it comes to food. Some are sensible, eating just enough for their needs. But many eat a bit too much, either out of boredom or for pleasure. A few are food obsessed.
Inkie is the kind of cat who lives for food. He has no interest in our snacks, not even when we’re eating fish or chicken, but he is a demon for kitty crunchies and tinned tuna and chicken cat food.
So, when he moved in with us and discovered we buy our cat food in bulk, Inkie was charmed. He visited the pantry with me every day, sniffing excitedly over the treasure trove.
While we indulged him, we soon realised that Inkie will eat and then overeat. Obesity is an issue for cats as well as people, so we were careful not to over feed him.
Inkie seemed sensible, accepting patting and playing games with us instead of second servings.
What we did not know was that Inkie spent a morning dragging and stashing a bag of cat biscuits behind the pantry door. Then, after carefully ripping open the packaging with a sharp claw, he crouched in the dark, eating his own weight in crunchies.
While he was busy thieving, Inkie acted super angelic in public. In fact, if he had not strolled out from behind that door and licked his lips just as I was passing by, it might have carried on for months.
As we now lock up the biscuits, Inkie has turned to other methods. And as you can see, he is still winning.
Adopt Me
Abby was born mid-January 2024, and arrived at the SPCA when just a tiny kitten. This sweet girl is healthy, spayed and fully vaccinated.
Photo: SPCA Penang/ Lily Leng
Abby is a bundle of joy. This kitten is super cute and active. She adores toys, loves attention, and spends all day climbing around her cage and playing with her cat companions.
Interested adopters please contact SPCA Penang, Jalan Jeti Jelutong, 11600 Jelutong, Penang. Phone: 04-281 6559. Website https://spca-penang.net
