Meet Sir Reginald Fluffington III
How he came to live here
In April 1994 I went to the RSPCA at Weston to look at a cat that a colleague had told me about, a calm grey one, about six years old, which is what I thought I wanted. I did not get that cat. In the pen beside her was a ginger kitten who had been found in a stormwater drain off Streeton Drive, and who had apparently decided that the correct response to a stranger was to fall asleep against the wire.
He was about six weeks old and he weighed almost nothing and the form said ginger male, no name. I filled in the name on the way home, at a red light, and I gave him the longest one I could think of because he was so small. He has grown into it. He now weighs 5.4 kilograms, whatever the vet's scales say, and he has never again been in a hurry about anything.
Vital statistics
| Full name | Sir Reginald Fluffington III |
|---|---|
| Also answers to | Reggie, Reg, Mr Fluff, Sir, and a particular whistle. Does not answer to “Reginald”, which he treats as a formal complaint. |
| Breed | Domestic shorthair, ginger tabby |
| Born | About March 1994 (exact date unknown) |
| Adopted | 6 April 1994, RSPCA ACT at Weston |
| Weight | 5.4 kg. The vet writes down 4.8 kg. We have agreed to differ. |
| Markings | Ginger throughout, cream chest, four white toes on the front left foot only |
| Eyes | Green, slightly mismatched in size, which the vet says is nothing |
| Vocabulary | Three distinct sounds: the greeting, the complaint, and one he keeps in reserve for the sound of the cheese drawer |
| Confirmed catches, lifetime | Nil. Two leaves. |
His character, honestly assessed
Reggie is not a clever cat. I want to be straightforward about this, because a lot of home pages will tell you their cat is clever and I think it lowers the standard for everybody. He has never learned which side of the door opens. He has walked into the same hall table for four years.
What he is instead is extremely reliable. He is on the third step at half past six every morning. He sits on the left arm of the couch and not the right one. When somebody in this house is unwell he relocates to their room and stays there, and he has never once got that wrong, which is more than I can say for most people I know.
Things he is afraid of
- The vacuum cleaner, reasonably
- Cucumbers, unreasonably
- The bin lorry, every Tuesday, as though it were the first Tuesday
- Being rained on, which he treats as a personal decision somebody has made
There is more of this sort of thing on the favourite things page, and the photo album has him demonstrating most of it.