For a while, in 1979 [whilst working in London], I used to use this pub fairly regularly.
It was a comfortable place, with all sorts in there. Prices and service were good enough to keep me coming back. Didn't like the 'Old Crown'nearby [remember, this as a generation ago!].
The 'Crown' had a pub cat then, too.
A huge tabby, beautiful, but with no excess weight - about twenty-odd pounds of pure muscle; huge shoulders, and a small waist; think Muhammad Ali in his absolute prime - with claws.
(Does this date me - might do, might do ....)
Perfectly [Purrfectly??!] at home with patrons, The Cat walked up and down the [only] bar as if it owned the place. I suppose it did, in a way - I certainly wouldn't have drunk there if that adolescent tiger had taken a dislike to me.
You know - "Dogs have Masters; Cats have servants"?
I think it's still the biggest 'house' cat I've ever seen. Not one to be tangled with.
Don't know if anyone else remembers The Cat - or the night, in 1979, that a little old bloke with a chihuahua came in, and The Cat just looked at it from the bar - scared of geting the spider on a string stuck between its teeth, I suppose.
Utterly disdainful, despite the awful yapping coming from the little dog.
Not much later, a smoothie macho-man type, with a large [faux-]gold medallion and a waistcoat, but no shirt, came in; he had an Alsatian on a lead. An extremely noisy Alsatian.
It terrorised the chihuahua, chasing it up the little dog's master's trouser leg, both dogs barking all the time with the chihuahua going Ryeap-yreip, and the Alsatian going Wruff-ruff-WROUFF.
The Cat heard this deeper tone, and presumably thought dinner, and all its Xmases, had come at once.
It wove its way down the bar, and, pausing only briefly, jumped on the poor chihuahua-terrorising Alsatian, using all four clawed feet and its teeth.
Terrible to see - but not as terrible as being on the receiving end [I guess].
The Alsatian stood stock stilland stone-silent for about half a heartbeat, then left, precipitately - more than precipitately! Fortunately the swing door swung out, otherwise there would have been a dog-shaped hole in it.
Well, dog-and-medallion-man-shaped hole, really, as the lead had been wound about three times round his wrist. I looked to see if he'd left his shoes [like in the cartoons] but - no!
He had certainly left in a hurry, and I doubt if he really touched down for sixty yards [55 metres for the younger amongst you].
The Cat looked at the chihuauhua, as if to say, "That's how to deal with Alsatians!".
I was absolutely sure then - I certainly wouldn't have drunk there if that adolescent tiger had taken a dislike to me.
I never saw macho-man in there again - or the chihuahua!
Did The Cat move to Bodmin - or Exmoor???!
The beers [and other drinks] were fine; so I was happy to use it regularly .....
So long ago, I'm not going to rate it [although then it would go an easy 7; even an 8, perhaps] - so, no rating.