‘I’m a strolling, lounging death trap’: my week as a flat-headed cat

The wildest of all wild animals is the cat. Being a cat myself, I see that as matter more of fact than of pride. And I think it can be said without fear of contradiction that the wildest of all wild cats is us lot. Not even the hairless bipeds know who we are and what we get up to.

Monday

I am the cat who swims by himself and all wet places are alike to me. This patch of swampy jungle beside the Kinabatangan River in Borneo is home to me, and in the night-time shadows I lurk and sneak and lie in wait. My life is a mystery to all but our own kind: so far as the HBs are concerned we’re a vanishing shape in the torchlight or an enigmatic blur in a camera-trap snap. They really don’t know us at all.

Tuesday

I’m slight and slender, about the same sort of size as the soft and foolish cats the HBs caress in their houses. So far as the fish in the jungle streams are concerned, I’m a strolling, lounging death trap. Observe my sensory system and admire: round ears for economy, face flat as an owl’s for staring at the water, huge eyes set close together for the best possible stereoscopic vision in low light. I can see the tiniest flicker of movement, interpret its meaning, and quicker than thought it’s between my jaws.

Wednesday

A night of plenty. Rejoice with me: they don’t come along to order. You’ll be aware that fish are slippery little suckers and that makes it hard to keep hold of them. But my teeth are not only remarkably long, they also face backwards. A fish can writhe and a fish can wriggle but once I’ve bitten there’s only one direction of travel. I took my prize – and a nice fat silver prize it was – a few paces away from the water, as is our custom, and ate at leisure. I’m a cat that’s much better at fishing than the cat they call the fishing cat.

Thursday

Water is good. I’m in it and out of it all day long. When pursued by anything big, I head straight for the water and soon I’m swimming hard: it’s my safe place. Observe my webbed toes: just one more marginal gain.

Friday

And while you’re observing the beauty of my toes, note my claws. You can’t miss ’em: they don’t retract like those of a normal pusscat. I live in a slippery place: wet branches, wet leaves, all stuff to induce a skid. But I don’t skid. I claw.

Saturday

I curled up tight among the tree roots to spend the hot wet day in obscurity. I live and walk and swim by myself, but I do occasionally yearn for a little company. A little female company. I mused on that last encounter: how sweet she was, how delicate her unsheathed claws, how wide her eyes, how flat her lovely head. Tonight I shall sniff out her trail and see if another tryst is out of the question.

Flat-headed cat CV

Lifespan Say 10 years

Eating habits Fish. Plus the odd crab and frog.

Hobbies Fishing, what else?

Sexual preferences A flat-headed darling

Photograph by Arun Roisri/Getty Images