Two Incidents Involving Cats

 One cold, raw afternoon in November, I was walking home through the back streets when I saw a black cat cross from right to left in front of me. Inevitably at such a time I think of Jeff Beck's version of 'I Ain't Superstitious'. The cat went through the thin metal bars of a tall gate into an alley, & I hurried to see if I could get a closer look at it, to check it was completely black; because if it isn't completely black, it doesn't count. I got to the gate, and the cat was standing still in the alley looking at me. It was black all over except for a small downward-pointing triangle of white hair at the top of its chest, as if it was wearing a shirt which was open at the neck. I interpreted this to mean either no bad luck at all, or if it was bad luck, to be tinged with hope. That is the first incident.

The second incident happened another afternoon when I was at home. I heard that sudden, short mixture of yowls which means two cats are fighting. I looked out of my bedroom window into the back garden and saw the following scene play out: one cat, older and heavier, was sat upright on the right, vibing out a younger rival, not directly but by seeming to be oblivious of its existence. It was as if he was saying in cat to the other "This garden isn't big enough for both of us, and I'm not leaving, so draw your own conclusions." As far as the older cat was concerned, he had already won; it was just a case of the younger confirming this by withdrawing, of rectifying the incorrect fact of his presence. They didn't seem to have made physical contact, so I assumed the yowling had just been them threatening each other. The younger cat did indeed withdraw, but in a way so slow that it is difficult to describe. There is a hole in the hedge frequented by cats and some foxes; they have worn a little path in the grass. The younger cat was heading for this hole. But it didn't just walk very slowly; it advanced one paw, then looked round at the older cat - who ignored it - then waited 30 seconds or a minute; then advanced the next paw, looked round at the older cat, then waited, and so on. I watched, fascinated to see how it would end.  The older cat continued to ignore its rival as if it wasn't there. You can imagine with four paws, and a noticeable wait every time it moved one, the younger cat took a considerable time finally to cover the few yards to the hole in the hedge and disappear. I was puzzled how to account for this behaviour. I could understand it retreating slowly to stop the other cat chasing it, but this was far slower than needed for that.  Was the defeated cat trying to preserve some dignity in its own eyes ? I thought, "It doesn't matter how slowly you retreat, you're still retreating."