Absurdity

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Chairman and CEO, Molse

Bit sad as reminded almost four years to the day that my cat Molson passed on to his other world kingdom. We had a simple relationship I loved him and he loathed me. But, his dislike of me didn’t extend to me not catering to his every whim; putting a roof over his head; paying scary vets bills and so on. Molson was if nothing else a pragmatist. And to top it off although he made it very clear what he thought about me he loved and was the model cat to just about anyone else – particularly women for some reason.

I’m not altogether sure why I expected any kind of well anything really. I had got him from Battersea Dogs Home. After a long arduous process. I had to go there pick him out; wait around for two hours to be interviewed about my life and home. Then, have someone come to my house and make sure that it was suitable for him – that the sofa was sufficiently comfortable and the garden wouldn’t make him feel to claustrophobic and so on. And with a little irony that my road wasn’t too busy for him as in later years in the summer he liked to lay full length on the warm tarmac slap bang in the middle of the road and force the cars to drive round him.

Anyway, after my house was deemed suitable. I then had to go back and be interviewed again and then wait around for another couple of hours for the vet to check him over and give him his shots etc.

Let me tell you there were some cute cats and kittens there. But, I took him because he was seven years old already and not cute and I thought in my misguided naivety that if I didn’t take him then no one else would. His previous owners had been in Hampstead in some big house and they had got rid of him because they had just had a new baby and apparently Molson was unimpressed. Which after knowing him for a little while I can easily imagine. Any disruption in the standard of service was something Molson took a very dim view of. He was firmly in the ‘this is his world and he allows you to live in it’ camp. Your continued existence was a privilege that he could revoke at any time subject to the quality of service provided and the degree of disruption to the wishes and creature comforts required by the mighty Molse.

You may think (and rightly so) a somewhat strange attitude given that he had been kicked out of his home of seven years and found himself at the Battersea last chance saloon for large; not cute; stroppy ginger moggies. But, he just didn’t see it that way.

Upon his arrival at my little victorian terrace he had a good look around and then looked up at me as if to say ‘this is ok (if you like this sort of thing) but where is the rest of it?’. Not a humble cat.

And even more naively I assumed this would would entitle me to some sort of gratitude. Talk about the powers of self delusion.

The picture is of Molson (the big ginger thing) with his compadre – my other cat Murphy.

Molson

Anyway, when I first started a publishing software company and it was just a couple of us writing code in a dingy space in North Oxford – Molson used to occupy the office sofa and whenever there was heated exchange about how best to deal with co editions in print estimates or a nightmare royalty calculation that was disturbing his slumber he’d raise his eyebrows and give a look that said – ‘if I have to get off this sofa and come over there to sort this out …’. So we named him the first CEO of our fledgling company (silly I know but there you go).

This short video from youtube is of Molson being removed from his beloved sofa and being typically very unimpressed.

No matter what he felt about me I did love him and still miss him. Oh and, it wasn’t my idea to name him after dreadful Canadian beer – he came with that name.

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Filed under: Absurdity, Daily Life

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