A Feline for the Working-day

I am trying to spend some time with Raleigh to ease his isolation in the bathroom and socialise him after who knows how long living the life of a feral cat. He did not become feral, of course. Last night, he proved it beyond a doubt.

I sat beside him on the floor. For comfort, he has his thick teal-hued blanket, which he seems to like, but I urged him to come onto my lap. At first, he just leaned against me. Then, of his own volition, he climbed onto me. He curled up like an expert, and purred. We snuggled for about twenty minutes this way.

He clearly knew human affection at some point – or, perhaps, he clearly wanted human affection at some point. How he must have missed the company of people during his rough times outside.

He is feeling much better than he had been, I can tell. He still looks a mess. His eyes are running with thick goop, and perhaps always will. His nose is still crusty, as is his mouth. But they are improving. He isn’t grooming himself much. With his susceptibility to illness, he may never be a pretty cat. He won’t win a home with his looks. But the most important part of a cat is inside. Remember the words of Henry V, in the eponymous play by Shakespeare, when the young king defends his dirty and ragged army to the French herald:

“We are but warriors for the working-day;

Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch’d

With rainy marching in the painful field;

…And time hath worn us into slovenry.

But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim.”

Certainly, Raleigh’s heart is in the trim.