British Longhair

A British Longhair can be born to two shorthaired parents, and for more than half a century that is exactly how it came into the world: uninvited, in the best catteries, to the embarrassment of everyone present. Titled parents, a spotless pedigree, and in the pen, among the plush kittens, one that was distinctly fluffier. The breeder sighed, wrote the word "variant" in the paperwork and passed the kitten on to someone trusted, with no right to be shown. Every respectable English family has a relative who is not discussed over tea. In the family of British cats, it was this one.

As in every such story, it began with an affair. After the Second World War so few British cats were left that breeders looked for mates in other breeds: among Russian Blues, Chartreux and Burmese. To win back the massive build and the round head, they finally turned to Persians. It worked. The British cat looked like a British cat again, and the whole business was best forgotten. Except that the gene for long hair is recessive: it can pass from generation to generation unnoticed, and shows itself only when a kitten receives it from both parents. So the Persian great-grandfather kept turning up now and then in a perfectly innocent litter, like the family nose in the portraits. Only in 2009 was the longhaired British cat recognised as a breed by the American registry TICA, and in 2017 the European federation followed. At home, the name "British Longhair" was approved on 15 February 2017, and the right to championship titles was granted in November 2021. Owning up to a relative is always hardest in one's own house.

The cat itself knows nothing of this. Cats do not read pedigrees or attend meetings; through all those years of deliberation it lay in a patch of sunlight and held the highest opinion of itself. It is the same cat as its shorthaired brother: stocky, round, calm to the limit of what is possible, only in a coat that is semi-long, dense and standing away from the body, with a ruff under the chin and a tail like a feather duster. It speaks rarely and quietly. It takes part in games with a fishing-rod toy willingly, but from a lying position. It watches the rain from the windowsill the way the English watch cricket: for a long time, with concentration and without visible emotion. It does not do being carried, because it holds that a cat should stand on four paws of its own rather than hang from two of someone else's. It will put up with a dog in the house, and a rabbit too; it will accept a second cat if they grew up together.

And here genetics comes back in, because its affection works exactly like the long hair: it takes two. Called, it does not come. Placed on a lap, it gets down after a minute, with dignity and without resentment. But sit down in the evening, put your phone away, stop wanting anything from it, and it will come by itself and lie down beside you, side on, so that you are touching. Then it will start to purr. It brings its own half; the other half is your calm. People who live with a British cat learn a strange thing over time: there are feelings that cannot be summoned. You can only make room for them.

The bowl takes two as well: the cat supplies the appetite, you supply the good sense. The British Longhair moves little and puts on weight easily, and from its Persian great-grandfather it inherited not only the coat but also a tendency to kidney cysts; as in its shorthaired brother, heart disease occurs too. And one more thing: this family has had quite enough secrets. One person measures out the portion, and the rest of the household adds nothing on the quiet.

So in the evening you sit on one sofa, each on your own side. You do not call it, because by now you know that does no good. You simply rest your hand on the cushion, palm up, and go on reading. After a while a heavy, soft head lands in it.

The long coat took two parents. This takes the two of you.