Introducing TJay – or how I though I was a dog lady

Since I was born, all we had around at home, at my grandparents, at relatives, were pets.

Any kind of pet, growing up both my younger sister and I had all you could think of, from dogs to rabbits, tortoises, parrots, hamsters: you name it, we most likely had it.

But one thing my mother always refused to get was a cat, until one day, when we were still living in Sicily, she caved in and decided to give this a go too.

Now, one should possibly start by explaining the situation a bit: mother was born in the late sixties, first of three. We are in the early seventies when she used to carry her aunt’s cats in her very cute dolls’ pram. Or maybe one should say force the cats and kittens in the toy pram, which would ideally clarify the situation slightly better. She was dreaded so much by them, that they used to run away as soon as they could see the car approach, and go tell me they were not clever kitties.

Fast forward to the late nineties when younger sister and I are both under 10, have been begging for a kitty for ages and we get one. This cute little red-haired kitten, with blue eyes and super long whiskers. He was a kitten out of those fancy pictures, cute and ‘sweet’ little thing, and we agreed on a name pretty fast, Mitzi – don’t ask, I have no clue how we even got there.

Let’s just say my poor mother did not last for more than 24 hours with it, being the fact he could maybe sense there was something about her and her disliking of cats, but we had to hand it back to a relative the next day. Of course, both daughters heartbroken for not more than 5 minutes, it was easy to forget back then.

I possibly had more of a chance at cats since moving to London 10 years ago, and I finally got to meet this baby boy more or less 3 1/2 years ago. I was scared of cats, did not trust them and maybe I still do at times, when TJay plays the bully. But do I love him to bits!

He’s been such a central part since day one of moving in the flat I currently live at, that I would not be able to think about a cat the same way I do about him: he’s a cuddle bug at times, and just brings joy and laughs all around the house when I am maybe down or upset about something. Nighttime is when he turns into a charming cat, head to head cuddles in bed before bedtime are just the best.

He lives for Fred – Not A Skilful Sailor here – and so does she for him. She mothers him all the way around the house, and in return, he corners her at the best times to bite here and there on her legs for a fun 3 minutes of pure fear for Fred, but pure laughs for Cristina – found her blog, 1967, here – and myself. His actual mom/owner is also a mom to us most days, so hey Ve! Loads of love to you if you are going to read this!

Now that I stop blabbing about how cute and perfect and annoying and wonderful this dude is, find yourself in love by scrolling the gallery of pictures I have taken of him through the years.

You can also find him on Instagram as #Tjthekittycat mainly, but through the years the names – and hashtags – were waaaay too many, so good luck!

This bebe is now almost 11 years old, he is a Sacred Birman and loves paper, snacking on our plants when Dreamies are not available, eating all the duck, pretending to hunt on the pigeons out here in our yard. He is also very friendly to the guys from the Council who come on a weekly basis, dislikes the kids playing in the summer afternoons, likes to jump into our Indian neighbours house for some reason and seems very fond of all the blankets Fred buys every time. Has a cute dog friend named Titou, a super sweet Maltese, but does slap him from time to time for no reason whatsoever. He’s the picture of a grumpy old man, only he is the best grumpy old man anyone has had the chance to meet ever.