About Vino
Vino came from a small biodynamic vineyard in northern Tasmania where I worked. He'd been there for a couple of years catching mice, belonging to the old man who founded the place. When his owner passed away, Vino made his position clear in the only way he knows how. Every time I walked into the barn to get something, he'd walk between my legs and trip me up, jump onto whatever I was trying to reach, and meow at full volume until I paid attention to him. I took him home about four years ago. He's been getting in the way ever since.
He's settled into domestic life like he was born to it, which is funny because he's a tuxedo cat and they've got this reputation for being characters. Vino fits the stereotype perfectly. He's dressed for a black-tie event — white chest, white paws, white belly, and a black chin that extends down into what looks exactly like a bow tie — and he acts like he's the guest of honour. Every morning he waits for our rooster to crow at first light, then immediately jumps onto my bedside table and starts meowing for breakfast. Not before the rooster. Never before the rooster. But the moment that bird makes a sound, Vino's ready.
He's leash trained, which surprises people. Took to it faster than our other cat Zola ever did. Outside, his approach to the neighbour's Staffy is a masterclass in psychological warfare. He'll lie down about a metre from the fence and stare into the middle distance, completely ignoring the dog. The Staffy goes absolutely berserk. Vino does not react. He doesn't need to jump the fence. The ignoring is the whole point.
There's also the gate thing. If Vino's outside when someone arrives, he'll walk in with them. Not planned, not trained — he's just out there and falls into step. Guests always comment on it. “Your cat just escorted me to the house.” Yeah. He was heading in anyway.
The blog started because I kept telling people these stories. Everyone said “You should write about him.” So I did. Vino's Tuxedo Tales isn't about cat care tips or generic tuxedo cat information. It's about this specific cat and the specific ridiculous things he does. If you want to know what living with a real tuxedo cat personality looks like, these are the stories. All of them true. Most of them involve Vino being entirely too pleased with himself.
He lives with Zola — a black, slender, much more sensible cat who pretends she finds him exhausting but will absolutely smooch him when she thinks nobody's watching. We've also got four chickens and a rooster. Vino is generally fine with the chickens, treats them a bit like cats, which they don't love. The rooster is another matter — he's aggressive and Vino gives him appropriate respect, usually by finding somewhere elevated to sit where the rooster can't easily reach him. Everyone has worked out their system.
The name came from the winery thing, obviously. But the full name is Viniferous “The Mischievous” Messiah, and it came from two different directions. I named him Viniferous “The Mischievous” — Viniferous because it's a real wine term and it suited him, The Mischievous because it immediately did too. Then later I found out the winery family had already been calling him Messiah. So that got added on. Two people who knew the same cat, arriving at the same conclusion independently.
People ask me if he's high maintenance. He's not, exactly. He just has standards. He's constantly seeking scratches — chin, chest, behind the ears — and he drools when he's happy, which is often and which gets everywhere. New visitors get the escort service if he happens to be outside when they arrive. The pats are usually available to anyone willing to offer them, but the lap is a privilege he grants on his own schedule.