Mrs Jones boy Tom

She Called Me Thomas

As far back as I can remember, I was Mrs Jones boy. She lived in a big house in the West Sussex countryside. She called me Thomas or Tom after the singer. I couldn’t sing, but I could purr up and down the scale when petted and stroked. When I was about 10 years old things suddenly changed. People used to say, “When will you go Daisy?” Go? go where? I wondered why? Quite soon a man came in and started measuring up rooms and packing up furniture, poking about in my toys and upsetting my basket. “What will you do with Tom Daisy, will you be able to take him with you? This was usually answered with a “shh, he doesn’t know yet, but yes I am very hopeful that he will come with me. Come where?! I wondered.

Mrs Jones was going out more and more and coming back with lots of pamphlets and price lists, phone calls were made all the time but still I didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. Then to top it all people were coming into our home, I was being shut in the kitchen whilst they rummaged in all the rooms. Then one afternoon I was packed into my carrying basket with my best blanket, Mrs Jones was waiting for me at the front door for me and a taxi. “Oh, No I thought, I went to the vets few weeks ago, it cannot be time for claw clipping again so soon.

We pulled up outside the biggest house I have ever seen Mrs Jones had obviously been here before and we were invited in to meet the Matron, I kept quiet whilst they talked for what seemed like ages and then I was fetched out of my basket onto a very plush carpet, I looked up at Mrs Jones for reassurance, and she stroked me.

Now let me say that I am not an ordinary old tomcat, I come from noble line, and I know how to behave when we have visitors. I thought it time to start my purring routine, the matron seemed to like it and stroked me too. I didn’t lick or bite her hand, nor did I ‘tread’ the carpet as Mrs Jones did not like that, we all went upstairs to a large room, Mrs Jones sat on the bed and bumped it up and down a bit, I wanted to do it too, but I knew would not be appreciated. I saw the chest of drawers was placed next to the bed, and where a jug of water was available in a corner of the bedroom was a commode and a cat litter tray, more talk ensued mainly about health outings and charges.

Later downstairs there was much handshaking and I was repacked into the basket whilst we waited for the taxi to take us home.

All was well until Mrs Jones didn’t get out of bed one day, she asked the cleaner to pick me up and put me on the bed, she stroked me exceedingly gently and said goodbye. She died and my life was going to be turned upside down.

At first I went to stay at the Worthing Cat Rescue Hotel, my photo was taken and displayed on the internet hoping that someone would come forward and give me a loving home, it said that I was 13 years old a large tabby cat well cared for and needing a good quiet home.

Very soon I was visited by an elderly lady who had moved into a bungalow in Felpham, she came to see me and I knew she was the one for me, I put on my best manners, looked suitably sad and it worked, in a couple of weeks I was living in a bungalow (no stairs) with the lady a good cook a reasonably sized garden (no foxes) and beside my bed a jug and a glass of water.

I have been living here now for 4 years, so I must be around 18 years old and apart from a few aches and pains which I get from jumping onto my bed and onto the back of the settee so I can see out the window, life is good.

Thank you, Worthing cat Welfare, for finding me two lovely mums.

Tom x