I didn't choose my name, neither did my folks. It was given to me by the Other People.
My feet are black so I suppose in their wisdom it seemed right to call me "Soxy". So there you go. My name and I'm stuck with it. Sort of attached to it now.
The Other People wanted to protect me from the world. Sounds like a good theory. But it meant that I could never go out. True, I never caught a disease (or worse, fleas), was never hit by a car nor chased by a dog. Neither did I taste grass, rainwater, sparrow, mouse or vole.
My life indoors was strict, too. I was the polite well-brought up cat who never jumped on furniture, begged for food or wished to try things that weren't good for me. Like cheese or crisps or milk. Life with the Other People was...safe.
There came a point when I could no longer watch the world through a window. I could see other cats outside walking along fences, running through the grass, climbing trees, hunting. That should have been my life. So I made a run for it.
It was great. Felt colder and damper than I imagined but it was freedom. Unfortunately it didn't last long. The Other People caught me by the scruff of the neck and pulled me from the fence. It had taken me ages to get there as well. But from that day I was determined to escape. Anyone trying to be nice to me would be bitten or scratched until I was allowed freedom.
So I became Soxy Cat, Freedom Fighter. Welcome to my blog.
