When my cat tried to kill me

And how I survived

My cat, Gonzo, is silent. He doesn’t meow, purr, wail, or even do that friendly little feline chirrup when entering a room.

But while The Silent One may not be able to communicate his needs and feelings to us vocally, he still gets them across. Big time.

Black and fluffy, with an outrageous plume of a tail, with his golden-eyed stare and pure power of will, he seems able to convey what he wants. Food, water, cuddles, treats… He locks you with that Rasputin gaze and somehow, you just know.

Recently, though, what he wanted was revenge – and only blood would do. My blood.

The first attack happened as I walked into the bedroom in my pyjamas. They are a bit flappy round the ankles and thinking he had mistaken them for a toy, I forgave him, as I dabbed my wounds with antiseptic. As I did the three subsequent times.