There is a cat in our household who has never once waited to be invited. This is the record of everything that has happened since.
The Household and Its Primary Occupant
Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah arrived in our home without ceremony, which is to say that he arrived in exactly the way that suited him. There was no adjustment period, no cautious exploration of corners, no tentative investigation of the food bowl situation. There was simply Vino, fully formed, with opinions already in place and a schedule already enforced.
He is a tuxedo cat: black body, white chest, white belly, white paws. His chin is also black, and it extends downward in a configuration that resembles, with some generosity of interpretation, a bow tie against the white of his chest. His eyes are green with a slight yellow cast. His fur is medium-long, noticeably longer than a shorthair's, and he maintains it with the dedication of someone who has nothing more urgent to attend to. This is not accurate. Vino has a great deal to attend to, and he attends to all of it simultaneously and at volume.
He came from a winery: a small, family-run biodynamic property in northern Tasmania, the kind of place where the vines are decades old and the cats have jobs. Vino's job was catching mice. He was good at it, and he supplemented this with a secondary role, which was making it impossible for anyone to get anything done without first acknowledging him. The winery had been founded roughly forty years earlier by a couple who built it from the ground up, and the cat in residence had belonged to the grandfather of that family. The grandfather passed away two weeks before I began working there. I never met him. By all accounts he was a colourful, lively character, and the cat he had left behind bore this out in every available way.
Vino was in the winery barn. Every time I went in to fetch something, Vino would walk directly between my legs, creating an efficient tripping hazard, then immediately jump onto whatever surface I was about to reach for. He did not wait to see whether attention was on offer. He simply established that it was required. He did not do this occasionally. He did it every time, without variation, without apparent interest in the inconvenience it caused.
He did not grow out of it. He simply found a larger venue.
The name required some negotiation. One party pushed for Vino, given the winery provenance. Another wanted something with gravitas to match the personality being observed: Viniferous, a real wine-related term, paired with "The Mischievous," which was a character assessment that was almost immediately vindicated. The winery family, it turned out, had separately settled on "Messiah." So the full name accumulated. Two groups of people, who arrived at the same cat from different directions, each contributing a piece. The result is Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah: half inheritance, half observation, entirely appropriate.
In our household, he is Vino. The full name is deployed at moments of particular gravity, or when he has done something that warrants the official record.
On the Matter of Standards
Our household operates on a schedule. Breakfast is at 7:00am. The rooster who lives outside has aligned himself with this arrangement and announces it at first light. Vino, who does not crow and has no intention of starting, waits until the rooster finishes, then jumps onto the nearest bedside table and begins his own announcement. He is not echoing the rooster. He is confirming the agenda.
The protest meow is a distinct instrument in Vino's repertoire and deserves its own documentation. When something hasn't gone his way, most commonly the refusal of a door to open on his timetable, Vino produces a single meow at sustained volume and sustained tone for five seconds or longer. It does not rise at the end. It does not vary. It is not a question. It is a statement of record, delivered to whoever happens to be within range, regardless of whether they are in a position to address the matter.
He is otherwise a constant narrator. He walks through rooms meowing. He sits in sun patches and meows. He follows us around the yard demanding acknowledgment while we attempt other tasks: the same behaviour as the winery barn, unchanged, simply relocated to a more spacious setting. If a guest arrives while Vino is outside, he will walk in with them. This is not trained behaviour. He has assessed the situation and found no reason why they should enter without him. The guests, for their part, tend not to object.
He drools. This happens particularly during cuddles and when being patted, and it should be understood as a compliment, though not everyone receives it that way on first encounter.
He makes biscuits on the bed each night, which is to say he kneads with focused intensity in a location that guarantees maximum disruption to anyone already occupying the bed. The significance of this ritual is known to him alone. We have stopped asking.
He loves being brushed. Particularly his chin, and the chest and mane area. During brushing he submits to the process with an equanimity that is entirely absent from his response to warm water, which he regards as a profound institutional failure, and has said so at length, on the occasions it has been necessary.
Zola and the Question of Hierarchy
Our household also contains Zola.
Zola is black, slender, and in possession of a small white patch on her tummy. She arrived a few months after Vino, which means she has spent approximately the same amount of time in our household and approximately the same amount of time forming conclusions about Vino's energy levels. Those conclusions are expressed periodically as hissing.
Where Vino inserts himself into every situation, Zola observes. Where Vino maintains a running commentary on the events of the day, Zola says almost nothing except when she has something specific to say, and what she has to say is usually directed at Vino. He finds this dynamic interesting. He does not adjust his behaviour accordingly. He wants to play with her constantly. She finds this exhausting and documents the exhaustion through hissing, departures, and the kind of pointed absence that requires its own explanation.
They smooch each other. They share windowsills. They sleep in close proximity, though never in what could fairly be described as a cuddle. The general view is that their more dramatic interactions are at least partly performative: the hissing escalates noticeably when we are home and watching, which is either coincidence or a considered creative choice, and no one has been able to confirm which.
The hierarchy between them is not formally documented. Vino's position is clear, which is that our household is his and Zola is in it, and this is the same position he takes regarding me, my fiancée, the chickens, the visiting guests, and the neighbour's Staffy, who has a different theory about how their interactions should go.
Vino's approach to the Staffy is instructive. He will lie down approximately one metre from the fence. He will look into the middle distance. He will not move, will not acknowledge the dog, will not alter his expression. The Staffy responds to this with everything it has. Vino does not look up. He hasn't jumped the fence to provoke the situation. He doesn't need to. The not-looking is the entire strategy, and it is completely effective, and it has never once not worked.
What These Dispatches Record
Vino has not consented to be a subject, and the record would not have been significantly different if he had. What follows, in this dispatch and in those that come after, is an observational account of life in a household where one tuxedo cat has positioned himself as the central organising principle and everything else has arranged itself accordingly. The record includes the daily schedule, the protests, the anecdotes, and at least one account of a forced warm-water half-bath that Vino regards as a serious institutional failure and has never formally forgiven.
Vino has not consented to be a subject, and the record would not have been significantly different if he had. What follows, in this dispatch and in those that come after, is an observational account of life in a household where one tuxedo cat has positioned himself as the central organising principle and everything else has arranged itself accordingly. The record includes the daily schedule, the protests, the anecdotes, and at least one account of a forced warm-water half-bath that Vino regards as a serious institutional failure and has never formally forgiven.
The standard, in all cases, is specificity. Vino is not a generic cat with a black-and-white coat. He is a cat with documented history: a winery, a grandfather who died before introductions were possible, a name assembled from two households, a protest meow with consistent duration and tone, and a relationship with the Staffy next door that constitutes one of the more elegant exercises in passive aggression currently available for study.
Zola will appear in these dispatches. She will be represented with accuracy and appropriate respect for her preference for quiet.
I will appear in these dispatches. I will not be named. The premise of this household is that I work for Vino, and the dispatches will treat it as such.
Frequently Asked Questions
What is Vino's Tuxedo Tales?
Vino's Tuxedo Tales is an observational record of life with Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah: a tuxedo cat from a Tasmanian biodynamic winery who came home with me approximately four years ago and has not adjusted his expectations since. The dispatches cover his conduct, our household, his standards, and the various situations I've had to address on his behalf.
Who is Vino?
Vino is Viniferous "The Mischievous" Messiah, a tuxedo cat with medium-long black-and-white fur, green-gold eyes, and a personality that became apparent before he had been in the winery barn for five minutes. He came from a family-run biodynamic winery in northern Tasmania. His previous role was catching mice and ensuring that no task could be completed without his direct involvement. His current role is identical.
Who is Zola?
Zola is the other cat in our household: black, slender, with a small white tummy patch. She is reserved, observational, and finds Vino's approach to shared space notably energetic. She hisses at him when necessary. She also sleeps near him. Both of these things are true simultaneously.
Is this a real cat?
Yes. Vino is a real tuxedo cat. His anecdotes are documented. His protest meow is exactly as described. The drooling is not an exaggeration.
A Final Note from the Record
At the time of this dispatch, Vino is on a windowsill. He is looking out at nothing in particular, or at something only he can identify, which is the same from the outside. He has not been informed that this record is being kept. He would not have permitted it if asked. He has not been asked.
Our household continues. The rooster will crow tomorrow morning. Vino will follow approximately thirty seconds later.
The record is open.