I’m not going to turn into one of those pathetic pussy-whipped blokes who says, “Ha, ha, it was ever so funny the other day with Fusker he climbed onto my desk and jumped onto the computer keybolrddgdfgk lsdkfj l sdf k sdfsldfkjjjjjjj and I said look Fusker there’s a mouse and he chased it, ha, ha, ha, and I lost everything!” He answers to Fusker, I love him, and he loves me.īut don’t worry. In fact he would refer to any cat as ‘a little fusker’ and it’s only now I realise that he was probably just sparing Mrs Cook’s blushes. He’s a black and white tom, eight weeks old, and I have named him Fusker in memory of the late Bob Cook, father of my childhood friend Robert Cook. James writing about kitten Fusker in Top Gear Magazine December 2004 I’ve always thought that James’ love for this free-spirited, adorable cat that was constantly getting into trouble with the neighbours, and was as likely to bite him for attention as it was to fuss over him, is probably the best explanation ever for his continued friendship with Jeremy… jm james may jeremy clarkson fusker He has never passed me a spanner or written any of this column, except for a bit that went fasdfij ffeug djdvbv9821.
The flow of adoration runs in one direction I spend hours talking to him, even though the only word he might possibly understand is “Fusker”, and in return not one sound of any consequence has ever emanated from his witless furry face. Before anyone writes in with some cod psychology and any nonsense about me projecting on to a dumb animal, I am well aware that Fusker does not love me.
My Top Gear colleagues think it terribly funny that I once proclaimed that I loved my cat, Fusker, above all else more, even, than my old Bentley.
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