Vino arrived at our home already fully formed. He had opinions, habits, and an unshakeable sense of property extending to every lap, surface, and doorway he'd ever encountered. He wasn't a cat still figuring things out. He was a cat who'd finished figuring things out some time ago and was simply waiting for everyone else to catch up.
His name came from two people who'd never compared notes. His personality came from wherever personalities like his come from. Neither has ever required explanation.
Origins
The full name is Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah. The nickname is Vino. Both were earned.
He came from a small, family-run biodynamic vineyard and winery in northern Tasmania, a property that had been planted and built by an elderly couple some forty years before I'd heard of it. The founder passed away about two weeks before I took a position there. We never met. By all accounts the man was a lively, colourful character. Vino had been his, living and working the property for a couple of years, handling the mice with whatever degree of enthusiasm he considered appropriate.
When Vino encountered me in the winery barn, he did not wait to be approached. He walked between my legs to trip me up, jumped onto whatever I was trying to reach, and issued demands at close range until they were met. This happened every single time. It was not a phase. It is, to this day, simply how Vino relates to people who are trying to do things without him.
"Vino" came from the winery. "Viniferous" came because it's a genuine wine-related term and it sounded right alongside "The Mischievous," which came directly from the cat's conduct. "Messiah" arrived later, when it emerged that the winery family had already been calling him that independently. Two people. Same cat. Same conclusion. Neither had asked the other. The name is, in that sense, the first piece of evidence.
He came to live here approximately four years ago. We've adjusted accordingly.
The Physical Record
For those who haven't yet had the pleasure: Vino is a tuxedo cat in near-perfect formal dress. Black body. White chest bib. White belly. White paws. His chin is black and extends downward, creating a natural bow-tie shape against the white of his chest, which is either a remarkable coincidence or confirmation of everything this household already suspects about him.
His fur is medium-long: noticeably longer than a standard shorthair but not extreme. His eyes are green with a slight yellow hue. He looks, in most lighting conditions, as though he's deciding whether to accept an apology.
The drool is not optional. During cuddles, during brushing, during moments of genuine contentment, Vino drools. Extensively. He isn't embarrassed. He shouldn't be. I've adapted to this as one adapts to weather: not with enthusiasm, but with acceptance.
He loves being brushed, particularly around the chin and chest. The reaction to a thorough brush of the mane area is, to put it charitably, wholehearted. His dignity does not survive it intact. His dignity is available for recovery afterward and it does recover, quickly, because Vino has never spent more than thirty seconds in a state of vulnerability if he could help it.
The medium-long fur requires maintenance. He grooms extensively. Furballs are a routine consequence. The occasional vomit is a fact of life in a household with a cat this committed to his personal presentation. I've made my peace with this. I clean it up. That is my function.
Behavioural Doctrines
Vino operates according to a set of principles that haven't changed since the winery barn and show no signs of revision.
The first doctrine is proximity. He walks between people's legs. He plants himself on desks during work sessions. He identifies the most occupied spot on a lap or surface and claims it with the certainty of someone who has never considered refusal a real outcome. A guest visits, takes a seat, and within minutes Vino has assessed the situation, approved it, and arrived. He doesn't require an introduction. He requires a sitting person. Most guests are surprised. Repeat visitors know to prepare themselves.
The second is vocal communication. He meows constantly, throughout the house, at varied pitch and volume and register. The protest meow is a specific instrument in this repertoire: a single sustained note, same tone, same volume, five seconds or longer. It is not a question. It is a formal statement of grievance, issued when a request has gone unaddressed for longer than Vino considers reasonable. The most common trigger is the back door remaining closed. The second most common trigger is the back door opening at insufficient speed.
The third is his relationship with the outdoors. Vino and Zola go outside every afternoon before dinner, and sometimes in the mornings when the schedule permits. Outside, he chirps at birds, wanders the yard, occasionally clears the fence and disappears into the bush for a period I find longer than comfortable. He also follows me around the yard issuing demands for attention, exactly as he followed people around the winery barn. The location has changed. The behaviour is identical.
There is also the matter of the neighbour's Staffy.
The dog lives next door. He is large, loud, and thoroughly invested in whatever Vino is doing at any given moment. Vino's approach to this animal is precise: he locates a spot approximately one metre from the fence line, lies down, and stares into the middle distance. Not at the dog. Past the dog, as though the dog doesn't exist and the view in that direction is simply more interesting than usual.
The Staffy goes completely to pieces. Vino does not react. He has identified the exact distance at which he's maximally provocative while doing absolutely nothing, and he holds that position with total commitment. I've stopped finding this funny. It remains funny. Those are not contradictory positions; they are what happens when something is funny every single time.
On Zola
Zola arrived a few months after Vino. She is black, slender, and has a small white patch on her tummy. She is the direct opposite of Vino in most measurable respects: reserved where he is loud, considered where he is immediate, still where he is constant motion.
Vino loves her. He makes no secret of this. He wants to play with her at all times and has never, across four years of evidence, fully accepted that she doesn't share this enthusiasm. They smooch. They share windowsills. They sleep near each other. They do not cuddle. They used to conduct a standoff in the cat tower, each sitting in it and waiting for the other to leave first. I've observed this less frequently of late.
My working theory is that some portion of their drama is performative. The hissing escalates when people are watching. When no one appears to be paying attention, they sit considerably closer together than their public positions would suggest. Neither cat has acknowledged this. I've chosen not to raise it.
One hiss from Zola can undo an hour of Vino's careful composure. He always looks genuinely surprised. He is always genuinely surprised. Four years of the same result and he has not adjusted his expectations. This is either a failure of learning or a commitment to optimism that I find, frankly, moving.
Frequently Asked Questions About Vino
What breed is Vino?
Vino is a tuxedo cat, which refers to a coat pattern rather than a specific breed. He's bicolour: black body with white chest, belly, and paws. Any domestic cat with this colouring can be described as a tuxedo cat. It is a description of his markings, not his lineage. His self-classification is considerably less concerned with this distinction.
What is Vino's full name?
His full name is Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah. In daily use, he's Vino. The full name is deployed when the moment earns it, which in Vino's case is frequently. It came from two sources: I coined "Viniferous" and "The Mischievous," and the winery family had independently arrived at "Messiah." Neither party had consulted the other.
Where did Vino come from?
He came from a small family-run biodynamic winery in northern Tasmania, where he'd been working the property for approximately two years before I adopted him. He came home roughly four years ago. The barn he worked in is where his personality was field-tested and confirmed.
Who is Zola?
Zola is our other cat. She arrived a few months after Vino. She is black with a small white tummy patch, slender, and considerably more selective about where she directs her attention. Her relationship with Vino is ongoing, complex, and punctuated by hissing that both cats appear to consider necessary.
Why is Vino called "The Mischievous"?
Because it fits. There is no single incident responsible. The name reflects a consistent pattern of inserting himself into situations without invitation and remaining there until his requirements are met. "The Mischievous" is not a term of endearment. It is an accurate field note from everyone who has ever tried to do something in Vino's vicinity.
The record on Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah is, at this point, extensive. His habits are consistent. His markings are impeccable. His opinions on our scheduling decisions are constant and audible.
He's been here four years. He has no plans to adjust. We stopped expecting adjustment some time ago and have since arranged ourselves around the cat, which is, one suspects, what he had in mind from the beginning.
Related reading: Vino's Story: How a Tasmanian Winery Cat Found His Home.
Related reading: Zola: The Black Cat Who Runs Vino's Household on Her Own Terms.
Related reading: Zola: The Black Cat Who Runs Vino's Household on Her Own Terms.