I can appreciate the hard life that Attenborough's cat has.
In the 70's I had an apartment where the trip from the parking lot to the entrance took me along a 5 foot wooden fence. A Russian Blue lived in a house next door. Every day, without fail, when I parked and walked to the apartment entrance, the Blue would hop onto the top rail of the fence and walk alongside me. He would stare into my face and yak continuously with something other than a regular 'cat sound'. It sounded to me like bitching. When I turned left, away from the fence, to go to the apartment entrance he would stop.
This happened every day, regular as clockwork, and I always wondered: "What goes on in that cat's life that he feels so compelled to beef about it daily?"
