Cat's Tenth Year Currently, his meat must come with gravy. Give him fish in jelly and it’ll turn to flies. He’s had a phase of biting bare legs at 3am as you sleep-walk to the loo. The purr wakes you, then the pounce. He draws blood, mad blooder, creature of the night! In spring, when all the wish is for life, he’s under the blue tits’ nesting box, drooling death. He’ll catch a summer rat and eat it in half - leave the back end with a tail, two legs and gore attached. Autumn finds him glutting on shrews and winter has him kill the Christmas robin and leave it like Santa’s gift in the kitchen-grotto. Yet still - ah, puddy tat - he creeps to your bed and onto your chest and sings you to sleep for the warmth and the heart to heart pump and swish of blood.