Fun fact: A female cat is called a queen or a molly.
My husband and I often joke that Molly is a dog trapped in a cat’s body, so it did not surprise me when she came running across the lawn to meet me when I got home from work. It had been a busy Saturday morning shift, and I was looking forward to sitting down with a cup of tea and the newspaper. I glanced half-heartedly in Molly’s direction, and then did a double take. Her welcome was not a surprise, but the neat white bandage that was bobbing merrily on the end of her upturned tail was.
I had left her that morning lazily sunbathing on the kitchen windowsill alongside her sister Maisie, who doesn’t have even a hint of “dog” in her personality. Maisie is the kind of cat who gives cats a bad reputation. She is independent, aloof and often downright rude, barely glancing my way as I walk by. It is rare for her to seek me out for an affectionate pat on the head or a scratch behind the ear. She is a fickle friend, sociable when I am cooking, indifferent when I am not. She would never suffer the indignity of bounding across the grass to meet me.
Molly, on the other hand, is gregarious and affectionate. She is an adventurer, and in her relatively short life, her adventurous spirit has gotten her into trouble several times. To the uninitiated, Molly and Maisie look exactly alike, both sleek and black with just the tiniest smudge of white on their chests. However, those in the know can quickly tell them apart since Molly has what I can only describe as a “flat head” as the result of a previous accident.
As I watched her bound across the grass, I wondered what mischief she had gotten herself into this time. I didn’t have to wonder for long. A few minutes later, my father-in-law rounded the corner looking rather sheepish. He lives next door, and Molly adores him. She follows him around incessantly, like a faithful puppy. I may provide Molly with food and shelter, but in her heart she is Harold’s cat.
I watched as Harold shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other, making small talk about the weather and my morning at work. My husband noticed I was home and abandoned his yard work to join us as we stood on the front path with our eyes fixed on Molly. We all looked at her as we talked about everything but the matter at hand. Neither man offered an explanation.
Eventually, Harold blurted out that he had cut off part of Molly’s tail. I thought he was joking, but then I looked at his serious expression and realised he was not. Molly was now rubbing affectionately against his ankles, and I wondered if he was somehow covering for her, but my husband assured me that it was true. He had heard Harold’s first confession an hour before.
Slowly, the story unfolded. It was a beautiful spring day, and Harold had decided to spend it working in his garden. As soon as he stepped through his door, Molly, his faithful shadow, was at his side. She walked beside him as he puttered about, and when he decided to prune the shrubs in his patio flowerbed, she followed, rubbing affectionately against his legs much as she was doing now. Unfortunately, Molly had embraced her inner dog at an inopportune moment and “wagged” her tail right into the path of Harold’s secateurs. The result had greeted me when I arrived home.
I looked at Harold as he finished the sorry tale. He held his breath and waited anxiously for my reaction. I looked at my husband, no doubt prepared to be the peacemaker. I looked at Molly, the white bandage dancing as she continued to heap love on an oblivious Harold.
And I laughed.
It all seemed so ridiculous. Molly wasn’t upset, so I wasn’t either! Relief replaced the discomfort on Harold’s face, and he gave an uneasy laugh of his own before telling me how Molly sat contentedly on his knee and purred, even as her tail was being bandaged. I wondered what had happened to the bit of tail that got cut off, but decided not to ask.
If Maisie, the prima donna, had lost part of her tail, she would have tried to exploit it for every possible perk. It would have taken her years to get over the offense. Molly, however, remained unwavering in her devotion to Harold. It just goes to show that for all the negative publicity cats get, they can be every bit as loyal as dogs.
~Deborah Kerr
