MY STORY by PHARE OUEST

A cat's life

My name is Phare Ouest, alias Far West, alias West Lighthouse Cat.

Don't you think she should have chosen a simpler name for me?

I mean, I keep having to tell everyone that no, I do not live in a lighthouse, I have never lived in a lighthouse, I have no intention of living in a lighthouse. I don't like the sea, nor boats nor waves nor anything connected with lighthouses!

And nor am I a cowgirl cat! You wouldn't catch me roping cattle! Although we do occasionally have cow neighbours and to give them their due they are usually fascinated by me. They line up like for royalty when they spot me.

This is them lining up to have a look at me

The trouble with my name is not only does it reek of lighthouses, and the USA, "far" is also a Breton cake, usually made with prunes, and there is a particularly local variety made with raspberry jam (so you'd think my name could be a piece of cake, but I assure you it isn't).

Anyhow it has a whole history connected to it, and as the famous poet; T.S.ELIOT famously said in a famous poem

"The naming of cats is a difficult matter,

It isn't just one of your holiday games

You may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter

When I tel you a cat must have three different names"

(Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats");

I think I might have got on well with this chap! Thank Heavens he stopped that banking lark and went in for poetry instead.

Well, three names? I have at least seven!!

Let me begin at the very beginning,

Me, January 5th 2016

I had a traumatic start in life, in fact so traumatic that I can't even remember all the details clearly. I think they have a name for that "Post Traumatic Disorder".

All I can remember is that it was a cold, wet, January end of afternoon, at that time when the sun is sinking and night is falling.  I was about six months old and had already been out on my own for several nights. I knew I couldn't manage another one. All those eerie noises, those horrible big animals, that cold, that wet and absolutely nothing to eat. I was starving.

I heard her coming (now that I know her well, I realise she'd been on one of her countryside walks, in this case in Sugensou Woods, Cap Sizun). Immediately I realised that she was the one for me. There was only one way to attract her attention and that was to meow as loudly as possible; Luckily my lungs were still in good shape, and anyway they say that fear gives us wings, or in my case a loud voice.

But oh dear me, was she slow!!!

I could hear her searching for me "Where are you cat?" she was muttering. I meowed as loudly as I could, but she continued looking for me in the woods. In fact I was down on a narrow strip of land caught between the river and the car park. I couldn't move, there was a most horrendous road with monsters buzzing by, dazzling me with their beaming eyes. Even I knew that most of them would think nothing of running over me, wouldn't stop to apologize or even take me to the vets.

So I meowed and meowed until finally it occurred to her to leave the woods and come back to the car park. That was my chance; I gave a last, plaintive, long drawn out meow, I saw her start and cross the road to where I lay hidden in long grass. I could see she was imagining that I'd been run over and thinking that she wouldn't know what to do, so as soon as she was safely over the road I stood up on all four paws.

She looked relieved, then surprised as I calmly followed her back across the road. When she opened the car door, I immediately jumped in. "Do hurry up", I thought "Just take me home now."

So she did.

And she brought me a saucer of milk (I could tell she'd been brought up in one of those homes where they imagine cats need milk on saucers). Just to please her (she was very sweet really) I lapped it up, but as I was still starving she went round to her neighbours for some real cat food.

At first she tried to pretend that I was "lost" and my "real owner" would turn up. Naturally I knew that my "real owner" (as she would have said in those first days: she knows better today than to imagine she "owns" me!) was her and that I was at home now.

Well it transpired that she had invited a whole bunch of her friends to come for the two days following my homecoming to discuss the art of storytelling. I gathered then that this was how she was going to be able to pay for my food and vet fees and the like: well, I didn't mind how she earned her living as long as she brought the goodies home for me to enjoy at the end of each month!

That group of storytellers were called "Les conteurs à l'ouest". Apparently it's a pun in Fench: Storytellers of the West also means they are a little bit crazy. Well I could have told you that, at least judging by her.

So now you know where the "Ouest" comes from (just pronounce it West like in English).

As for the "Phare", ie lighthouse and its' pun on "far" the cake, well, that is just typical of her. She liked it. She considered me a little glimmer of light in the darkness, she said (she waxes lyrical from time to time), maybe it was my eyes shining in the dark January night. Naturally, humans being what they are, she did not ask my opinion, and just decided that my first and official name was  PHARE OUEST which even the French pronounce as FAR WEST.

We do live in a regiion with plenty of lighthouses around (Ar Men, La Vieille, La Pointe du Millier, and so on). You can google them if you wish. Here's a photo of La Vieille, just down the road from my home.

As TS Eliot correctly predicted we cats have numerous names.

Here are some of mine:

Bushy Tail (a trifle derogatory I always think and I wish she wouldn't pull my tail everytime she calls me this, although, even if I say it myself, I do think my tail is rather unusual.

Light of my Life (slushy sentiments: that's her all over)

Little Treasure or sometimes Big Treasure (acceptable)

Furry Coat (ditto bushy tail)

The fastest Cat on Four Paws: that is because I have a talent for finding tigers on the Cap Sizun, roaming around in my field, and as you know tigers are particularly dangerous for us cats, so I'm a flash of lightening getting back to the safetly of my home, where tigers are Out of Bounds and Not Allowed In).  This is actually my favourite name. I'm also great at rushing up and down the stairs in the morning: I beat her every time!

Pest: that is when she is cross with me, usually because I've jumped on the table when she is having her meal, I mean, how the heck am I supposed to know when she is eating or not? She eats so many meals, at least three a day, if I don't count coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon.

You mustn't think that I am complaining. She's quite kind and as humans go, not too bad. At least she now has fully understood that this is my home, and that I graciously accept her presence. Sometimes she is a little slow at opening the door in the mornings now that it is winter. In summer I can come and go as I like.

So let me tell you some of my likes.

I LOVE going out in my garden, which she keeps quite nicely for me. There is a veggie plot I can leap over and dig holes in. The garden is so full of interesting smells and things that move. There's a wonderful fence all around it and I can sit on top of that fence and watch the world go by. There are many natural hiding places, in the hedges or among the scrub. And sometimes - oh joy - I find a little playmate there.

I don't know why she doesn't appreciate mice as I do. In fact when I bring my new play mate back home she goes a little bit crazy and refuses to let us spend more time together. She usually puts me in the kitchen and when she finally lets me out again, I can't find my playmate. She says she has "saved" it. I don't know what she is talking about. Occasionally I manage to thwart her plans and have some great moments with my new playmates, but they stop wanting to play after a while and go all cold and rigid. Very strange.

Ah, the scent of rosemary in summertime

But my favourite game is not coming in when called!

She has this thing about me not staying out late at night. Regularly she ressorts to tricks to get me in. She calls my official name and shakes a bag of treats and rats! I forget and rush inside, whereupon she immediately bangs the door shut. Caught again! (ok, I do like my treats).

But sometimes I remember about all the exciting smells and sounds and sights as night falls, and I get too cunning for her. She calls me, I come rushing up, but just when she thinks I'll go inside, I speed up and go by like a flash of lightening, tail held high. Then I hide!! I hear her calling me, but am I going to answer? No way!! It's too much fun being out at night time! I do this rushing past the door lark three or four times, and then finally when I can hear that she is getting too anxious (she's the worrying sort), I come back in. She always gives me LOTS of treats then. And oh, yes, she has another name for me at those times Chipie: no that has nothing to do with chips, it's French for Cheeky Cat! I like that name too

Everyone says I have beautiful eyes.

Well she has taken me to the vets a couple of times. That is not one of my favourite activities. Although they do seem to like me there. I think it has to do with my name, they shrieked with laughter on hearing it for the first time. And they seem to think she is a right good sort to have rescued me. Actually, if you ask me, I was the one who rescued her. She never laughed so much before I came along.

Well, at the vets one time she left me there on my own. I don't remember much about it, I think it was a bit traumatic too. I came home with a huge bandage around my tummy and I heard her saying that now I was sterilized.. It didn't sound too good, but apparently it means that I have less chance of one of those monster cars running me over, because I'll not go down to the main road. Well, she could just have told me that, I like my garden and my home and that is enough territory for me.

And my favourite moment and spot is sitting on her lap. Ah, bliss. I just curl up and go to sleep, especially when she is typing at her keyboard, or gong on facebook (a funny place where people click together)

Sometimes I help her with her work

I love going up to the attic too. There are so many exciting cardboard boxes up there to attack. She has given me one of my own as she saw I liked tearing them to pieces.

I love sitting in her cosy chair in the kitchen cum living room.

Actually she knows very well that it is my chair. But occasionally she forgets. She still mixes things up like that but slowly I'm training her and she is learning to respect my home and find her place in it. Like I said, she can be slow in the uptake but we get on well enough, and to be very truthful, I don't know what I would do without her. In fact, shhh, I think she is in love with me, and I have her wound round my little paw.