After being struck by a car, Hitler, a moggy who lived in a pub that was called the Maddest in Britain, has died.
Frederick Albert Hitler was the bar cat at Yarde Down’s Poltimore Arms, near Brayford in Devon. This is one of the most remote boozers anywhere in the country.
Condolences for Fred have flooded in, including from celebrities such as Rachel Johnson, the PM’s sister – and there’s even going to be a flyover in his honour.
Steve Cotton, the landlord of Exmoor pub, adopted Fred from a rescue center in 2013. reports Devon Live.
“I walked into the centre and asked for the nastiest, most vicious cat that no one wanted,”Steve.
“They immediately said ‘That’d be Fred’.
“When I got him, he was vicious – he was a horrible little bastard who would take on anyone that moved.
“He would rip me to shreds and pick a fight with people for no reason. Although I don’t know the past owners, I believe he was a happy man when he reached the pub.
“It only took about six months for him to settle in, but I tell you he’d still square up to the most killer dogs in the world.”
The 17th-century pub is without heating or electricity. Instead, the whole building is lit by candlelight and powered with six solar panels.
Three-and-a half miles from the nearest town, there is very little trade.
But the unique boozer has picked up an army of famous fans thanks to Fred and the pub’s quirkiness.
Boris Johnson, Damien Hirst (Prince Harry), and Damien Hirst were some of the visitors. Since Hitler’s demise, Steve has received hundreds of condolences, including from fashion designer Maia Norman and Rachel Johnson.
“I think even the cat-haters that came in here liked Fred because he wasn’t a regular cat,”Steve.
“He’d find the people that didn’t like cats and just sit on them. He didn’t give a s**t about who you are – but that’s what this pub is all about. You could be a prince, a duke, whatever, but the moment you walk into this pub you are an equal.”
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A wake for Fred will take place next week. Dangerous Dan, the local pilot, will perform a flyover in Fred’s honor.
“Fred was a cold hearted bastard but it really got to me when he died. It was six in the morning. I looked out of the window and there he was in the road,”Steve.
“He was covered in blood but I just picked him up, put him on my lap, gave him a stroke and smoked a fag. It’s a sad thing, but he had the best nine years a cat could hope for and all you can do is move forward.”
“We’ve never left the pub for nine years – it’s just been me and Fred. He was the first thing I saw in the morning and the last thing I saw before going to bed. I’m going to really miss him.”