The Cat That Thought She Was A Cow.
23 Apr 2012 9 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animals, Cat, Cats, cute, funny, kittens, lovable, love, pets
This morning I was washing the dishes in the kitchen when Bubu came in. She kept saying ‘Me-ooh, me-ooh!’ and the following story is about what that did to my head.
I blame Bubu (because it couldn’t be my head now, could it…)
Bubu Kitten
A long long time ago there was an adventurous little kitten named Bubu who had been told so many stories about a magical planet called Earth that it made her want nothing more than to go and see it all.
She wanted to nibble the juicy green grass among colourful and fragrant flowers and play tag with the little feathery things that they said would be fluttering through the air.
Bubu dreaming of Earth
Bubu found the stories so wonderful and enchanting that her desire to go there grew stronger and stronger with every day.
Every night before she went to sleep she would pray, “Oh please, let me go to Earth and see this wondrous planet! I so want to play with all these amazing things and bounce about in the grass that is so green it makes your eyes go funny. I can almost smell the fragrance of the flowers already!”
...and little feathery things flying through the air...!
One night when the tiny little kitten was fast asleep a fierce wind came up. The gales howled and raged, and suddenly Bubu was up in the air, flying, being blown here and there, up and down, and to every side, so that all she could do was to squinch her eyes tight shut and hope for the best.
When she opened them again, she was stunned by what she saw.
Everything was so green!
“Wow…” she said. Everything was so green! And there were the flowers, beautiful and sweet as she had been told. Everything was really lovely… but hold on… over there was a big brown thing – and it was coming towards her!
Bubu was fearless
Bubu had always been a fearless kitten. At that moment though she wished that someone had told her how big the cats were on Earth, because it was clear to her without a doubt that she had been granted her wish and this was indeed the planet she had been longing to see.
Bubu's Grandma from Sirius A and her special friend.
In difficult situations, of which she had had quite a few, being the fearless kitten that she was, Bubu liked to think of her grandma, who had always told her that politeness and kindness were the best and wisest route to take when dealing with people.
“Meep!” she therefore said politely to the big brown thing and right away she was rewarded with a reply: ‘MOOO!”. It gave Bubu a big fright because it had been very loud.
I should have known they would speak a different language...!
“Oh,” she thought. “…of course…I should have known that they would speak a different language here.
She tried again:
“Mee…oh”, she said, somewhat hesitantly but with increasing courage at the sight of the gentle eyes on the big brown thing.
“M-m—oooh!” it replied.
And then “Come along. I’ll get you some milk. But afterwards we are going to have to work on your accent!”
Bubu working on her accent: "Me-ooh... me-ooh!"
Stranger In A Pub or “This one’s got a sister…!”
15 Mar 2012 3 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animals, Cat, Cats, Fun, funny, Glenelg Inn, Irish, lovable, love, pets, Scoltand, Scottish weather, Whisky
For a long while now I have been meaning to tell you the story of Crackers but it is a long one, and due to his accident last year (even though he’s doing fine now) it has its sad parts. I am not sure this is the time for ‘sad’, so here is another tale for now, just not about one of my own ‘tigers’.
It was a ’round birthday’ weekend in late September a couple of years ago. My sister had come to visit, and also my brother and his girl-friend. The day of the party had been wonderful – blue skies, sunny, and quite warm for the season, but the rest of the weekend was abysmal. Scotland was showing itself from its most stereotypical side, wet and grey, no views – pretty much whisky weather!
My brother and his girl-friend were due to leave on Tuesday, which meant that by Monday I felt that drastic action was required.
“Let’s get out of here!” I said.
The reply I received was less than enthusiastic. “Where do you want to go in this miserable weather?”
“Anywhere! We have to get out and do something…”
“But you can’t even see anything…!”
Well, I hadn’t had ten years as a tour guide for nothing and my cheerful reply came quite naturally: “In that case, you can see a totally different country when you’re here next – you’ll see the top half as well… I hope…!”
So we all packed into the car, my brother’s beautiful brand new rental Passat, and headed off to the Isle of Skye. The coffee shop on the way was closed, but the first couple of viewpoints were not too bad, which on that day translated to not overly uncomfortable to get out and admire the scenery.
Next time you'll see the top half of the country as well... I hope!
On Skye itself we were not quite as lucky. Lunch was a picnic in the car in a very rainy car park at Broadford Bay. Despite the novelty value I have to admit that even my enthusiasm was slightly affected, which was possibly the reason why on the road back to Kyle I suddenly had a mad idea.
“Would anyone be interested in something really special?”
The question was met with what could only be called suspicious caution. I suppose they knew my kind of suggestions by then…
“What did you have in my mind…?”
“Well, there is this ferry that goes from Kylerhea to Glenelg. It’s been running for about 900 years – no, relax, it’s not the original one any more – and has recently, last year, I believe, been taken over by the community. It takes about ten cars and used to have a ferry dog, a collie that would inspect everything before they’d cast off…”
I don’t know how it happened but they actually agreed to my hare-brained idea and so we headed up into the rain-swept and windy roads of Glen Arron. I had told them that it was a very interesting drive but they may not have realised that that meant a tiny single track road, and tons of bends, up and down and sideways.
In my defense it has to be said that even on a rainy day it is a fairly spectacular drive, just because of how steep the roads are there. After some exceedingly interesting turns where it always looks like the road disappears into nothing we came down the hill and round the last bend towards the ferry point.
I got ready to drive on, directed by one of the ferry crew. There were all new faces at the ferry, and because I was very curious about how the takeover had worked out for them I had a lot of questions to ask. My brother obviously hadn’t realised that I had become quite the ‘chatting to strangers person’ and was suitably impressed. “Man,” he said with his usual side to side smirk, “she talks to just about everybody!”
The crossing from Kylerhea to Glenelg is quite short but always enjoyable, not just for the seals and interesting birds that kept us fascinated but also the views onto the surrounding mountains. By the time we were driving off the vessel at the other end we all felt quite pleased with the experience.
I was happily meandering along the tiny roads towards Glenelg when my eyes caught sight of a sign that said Glenelg Inn. It looked brand new and I could have sworn it had never been quite so nice and shiny before…
Hm… I thought… and then “Does anyone fancy a visit to the pub? There is one right here I have never yet been able to get to…”
It was half past three in the afternoon and my brother thought that was a perfectly fine time to go to the pub. Since neither his girl-friend nor my sister objected, we went right in.
Once inside, the first thing I noticed was a tabby cat curled up in a chair sleeping peacefully. The second was that there was hardly any one else. One guy at the bar, one behind the bar, that was it. It was a Monday afternoon though and so far our day had not exactly been fireworks. What the h***, we thought, and proceeded to order drinks.
Four w's: Wet and windy = whisky weather! My sister enjoying Irish hospitality.
The Glenelg Inn used to have a reputation for live music, something I was always keen on, and which had to be checked out. I therefore began asking the barman questions about it. The other guy, an Irishman, joined in the conversation and soon enough we had some slightly surreal but hilarious banter going. It turned out that the Irishman was actually the pub landlord.
Ah, in that case, of course, I had to ask: “Is that your cat that’s curled up so nicely over there?”
“He came with the pub… Do you want to take a picture? Here, come with me, take a picture!” and before I knew it he had walked across, motioning me and my camera to follow.
At first the pub cat didn’t show that much of an interest, to be honest, but he was a lovely boy anyway. I accepted the invitation to take a picture, so as not to be rude, have to apologise for the poor quality of this picture though. It just felt wrong to traumatise the poor sleepy thing with flash photography.
Tiger by the fire... Could it be he means business?
Meantime the others had noticed that the action had moved away from the bar a bit and had wandered over to see what was going on.
I pulled my mobile out and said, “I have cats too, look…” showing the landlord my screen saver, which was a picture of Mu-ki. “What a beauty, eh?”
Before I could say another word he had snatched the mobile out of my hand and was holding it in front of the cat’s face.
“Hey, look here…” he said. “She’s nice, isn’t she?”
I was surprised. I had not expected a cat dating service and not wanting to lead anyone on, I said “Oh, I’m sorry … she’s no longer with us… She got run over this summer, poor wee thing…”
He gave me the phone back quickly, obviously was anxious not to get his boy’s hopes up.
At that point I felt that i should do something to keep the disappointment at bay. I therfore quickly added “She’s got a lovely sister though, looks quite similar, called Chouchou…”
He snatched the phone back again, held it in front of the cat’s face once more, and with a voice full of persuasion and seductive promise announced “This one’s got a sister…!”
By the time we left we were in stitches and I was still laughing my socks off as I drove the car out back onto the main road heading for home.
There’s always a party somewhere in Scotland even on a rainy Monday afternoon – if it’s only for cat matchmaking purposes …
"This one's got a sister!"
Could this cool cat be interested?
Gingey-Morgan (Garfield)
21 Feb 2012 10 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animals, Cats, cute, funny, healing, lovable, pets
I suppose you could be forgiven for saying that it was ‘just my luck’ to move into a rambling, single glazed, draughty Victorian house just before we were hit with some of the worst winters in recent history.
Whatever the reasons were and whatever take you might have on it, it certainly made me very aware of what other creatures might be going through.
That’s probably why when I saw that skinny little ginger fellow hover around my drive in the deep snow my heart went out to him, and I more or less instantly made the reckless mistake of feeding him. I didn’t know the old rule then (‘You feed them, you keep them . . . ’).
He was quite shy at the time and it took me a while to gain his trust. That didn’t bother me too much, though, as I already had a few cats, and despite the fact that he was cute, I didn’t really want another one.
As time went by, things fell into a rhythm. He would come for a bite and then head off again on his wanderings, which made me assume that he had a number of ‘feeding stations ‘ at least and apparently was streetwise and well capable of fending for himself.
After a few weeks and months though, I had a feeling I should make some enquries. Through the local cats protection league branch I managed to find Gingey’s ‘people’, and one day an elderly man brought a teenage girl to be reunited with the cat I then found out was called ‘Garfield’.
Relieved that all had come to a good end, I said my goodbyes and they drove off, Garfield cuddled by his little miss on the front seat, and that was that.
Well, that’s what I thought at least. But about a week or so later, guess who came trundling up my drive, innocent as can be? No other than Mr Gingey-Garfield!
The next few months saw pretty frequent repeats of the following events or very similar ones at least: Garfield landing here, phone call to elderly gentleman (grandpa), arrival of vehicle, looking for Garfield (where is he now?) and a drive back home.
For reasons I didn’t understand at the time, this got tiring for Garfield’s family. Though it was never said openly, I began to suspect it from the more and more lukewarm responses I received when I rang them. Over time I found out where they lived, which in turn changed the schedule of events to something like this:
Arrival at the house. Nice bit of dinner. Cat gets packed into my car for a lift home (from me).
I have to say that Garfield was so easy in the car that I stopped using the basket more or less straight away. He would either walk around trying to look out the window or he would stand with his front legs on the dashboard, following the road and all the exciting things that went on outside. Sometimes he would even curl up peacefully on my lap. His favourite was to look out of the window though.
By that time spring had turned to summer. More changes were in the air. There were days when I took Garfield home around lunch time only to find he was back, meowing outside my bedroom window by 2am! And then, more and more I thought I noticed a certain reluctance in him to get out of my car and leave. Most of the times I dropped him by his family’s house he didn’t look back at me, but on occasion he just stood there, as if trying to psyche himself up for going where he felt he didn’t belong any more. This was confirmed by a friend who had heard that he was regarded as ‘just another mouth to feed’.
I was pretty clear that I couldn’t keep him myself. At that time not all of my cats had been neutered and to introduce a new member, who was not even of the same family seemed unadvisable. So I started to look for another home for him.
I soon found a young family, who seemed absolutely delighted to have him. I was under a lot of pressure at the time – the summer season was in full swing with the house full of guests – and therefore I suppose I might be forgiven for not being quite as careful as I should have been.
The fact that I sent Garfield into a similar situation that he had been trying to escape from was brought back to me after about two weeks when he suddenly started appearing again. His personality had changed however. He was nowhere near as bolshy as he had been before and felt smaller somehow. I was shocked and full of remorse wondering about what could have traumatised him so in that short space of time.
So he stayed for another round . . . He got a bed in the workshop as the season turned into winter and he was quite happy to eat the leftovers from the others together with some dry food.
All was reasonably well for a while, though on occasion he and Brodie would give ‘concerts’ together. I liked the howling of the cats but it wasn’t always good when there were guests around, as cats don’t seem to have a lot of respect or understanding for a human’s need to sleep. Also, knowing that the concerts were actually confrontations and show offs did spoil my listening fun a little bit.
Another spring came round and with the days getting longer and warmer I had doors and windows open as much as I could. Somehow that created an opening in another way for Gingey/Garfield. It was as if he saw it as an invitation to come and explore the house.
Now that obviously yielded some interesting results. For one, he suddenly realised that there was a lot better food to be had than everyone else’s leftovers, and secondly, and a lot more important, there was a much better sleeping place to be had than the one in the workshop – and this prime location was, of course, my bed!
Office conquered.
Obviously again, he owed it to himself, as the prime cat, for that’s how he saw himself, to go straight for the conquest.
You can see that Gingey was a resilient fellow, who had recuperated well from his ordeal in the thuggish housing estate I had sent him to in my carelessness.
Who knows, perhaps he had even picked up a few new tricks that he was putting to good use on my soft, harmless and pretty spoilt bunch.
More and more he was seen wondering through the house, using his tiny little ‘elbows’ bit by bit, sometimes a bit more than others, until eventually he had established himself on my bed, successfully outing Matriarch Pebbles as well as Chouchou, the lovely fluffy white and anthrazite one.
I have to say that I often found myself thinking that I didn’t appreciate his methods and I also began to suspect that he was separating me from the others but I was too busy to give it closer attention.
It was a warm night in the summer, the end of a hard and very busy working day. It was getting late and I was really tired, wanting to go to bed as soon as possible. I set about making sure everyone was fine, locked up the chickens and checked to see which of the cats needed ‘herding’ in.
Opening the back door to my kitchen I was pleased to see Brodie and Pebbles come running up to me to come inside. What I didn’t realise was that Gingey had sneaked up behind me and was threatening them, chasing them away behind my back, making them turn and bounce right off again, back outside.
I turned around, saw him standing there, hackles up, completely domineering, and my heart broke at the realisation and the thoughts that came with it: ‘You’re OUT!’
An hour later I emailed the local Cats Protection branch to see if they had a space for him. They didn’t, but they were willing to put him up on their website with a couple of photographs.
What happened then was nothing short of a miracle.
It must have been almost to the minute when Gingey chased off my cats and got my marching orders that a short distance away a family lost their beloved cat.
Everyone who has ever shared their life with a pet knows they can’t be replaced like a jumper, and yet, sometimes taking in another one straight away is the perfect thing to do.
The next day or so the woman was online, found Gingey’s picture, knew at once that it was him she wanted and got in touch. We agreed that she could come to see him almost immediately.
I was at my favourite coffee shop when the call came in. I rushed home to find him, as Gingey loved to be outside and I felt I should have him in the house by the time she arrived.
I found him but noticed to my horror that he was filthy! He had always been a bit grubby but God knows what he had been doing precisely on that afternoon; there was no way I could present him like that!
It was a tough decision – and a first for me – but Gingey was going to get a bath…
Gingey survived the bath. It didn't sound like he would.
I lined the upstairs bathroom with old towels and sheets and walked up with him cradled in my arms. By the time he realised it was not just a mammoth cuddling session I was already putting the cat soap on him.
Then, however, the events changed from peaceful and happy to big drama. He would struggle out of my grip, claw his way up my shoulder and then jump onto the floor, only to be picked up again and have the procedure repeated until he was done, or rather, we both were!
The bathroom, including myself, was flooded, he was soaking wet and really annoyed, and I needed a shower myself. First though, I wrapped him in a big towel and plonked him on my bed. This time he had absolutely n o gratitude whatsoever for the privileged position and every attempt at reconciliation was met with a cold glare and an indignant ‘Can’t you see I’m busy licking myself dry? Some idiot thought I should have a bath!’
According to the agreed appointment I had just a little under two hours to get Gingey presentable before his potential new family arrived.
I should have known though that they wouldn’t be able to wait… I don’t think I would have managed, either.
A good hour before the time a car pulled up and there they were at the door. I went to fetch Gingey downstairs and we all sat and talked.
Cute and cuddly boy - now that he's been bathed!
Perhaps due to the fact that he was still a bit wet he looked quite sweet and almost vulnerable wrapped in his towel. After his bath ordeal he may have actually felt like that, and perhaps even a bit sorry for himself, too . . . Despite it being a lovely sunny day, he somehow hadn’t warmed up at all, and so he was picked up and cuddled dry, smothered in love from the minute they set eyes on each other.
Gingey is now King of the Castle! Every so often these days I get emails from his new family. He is now called Morgan because he purrs like a beautiful expensive car.
First Christmas in his new happy home
Wow, partying takes it out of you!
PS I am told that inside the house he is an angel but whenever he gets out he becomes his old thug-self, scaring the life out of the neighbour’s big dog.
Oops.
Sorry, doggie 
Here’s a few more pictures of a cat that has found his true life style . . .
We are very cultured here, you know.
Actually, Patience is not really my thing . . .
I do like chat sites though . . . now don’t you disturb me – this is important!
No, these are NOT my dolls!
Well, you gotta relax, right? I’ve had a busy day!
Not my fault – it’s because I used to be called Garfield . . .
Phew!
Bubu’s A Girl ?!
12 Feb 2012 5 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animal communication, animals, Cats, cute, divine perfection, Fun, funny, kittens, lovable, love, pets
Naming a kitten is a delightful task and a very enjoyable one at that. Of course, it’s a highly individual process and you’re never quite sure what you’re going to come up with in the end.
Sometimes they make it easy by showing their characteristics quite quickly, like the little black one, for example, who at the age of perhaps seven, eight weeks came across a bowl of mashed potato laced with a serious amount of butter. One lick and she decided it was hers and hers alone. When Brodie staggered in, (about five times her size) she defended her prize against him with not so much as half a nod in his direction and a growl that would have done a fully grown panther proud. After that, there was only one option for her – Bagheera – and truly deserved it was, too.
With Bubu, to be honest, I don’t really have a clear idea where the name came from. I had checked the ‘bits’, found they were male and somehow ‘Bubu’ came up. It was supposed to be provisional at first, only until I’d come up with something better.
At that particular time I had seven cats and I knew that sooner or later I would have to take Bubu to the vet to get neutered, even though I really didn’t want to. After much hesitation I made ‘the appointment’ and dropped him off. About an hour later, I got a phone call from the vets informing me that the cheeky little tom-kitten Bubu was a girl! (In my defence I would like to point out that I don’t go round checking my cats’ genitals all the time.)
I think it was when I drove back to the vets’ to bring back Bubu the girl that I got the first inkling of understanding why her name was perhaps more appropriate than I had initially thought …
But let me go back again to her first months for a moment.
Being an only kitten there were no siblings to grow up with, which is why it may have been only natural for lovely little black Pheop (‘Feep’), who was just three months older, to step in as nanny, playmate and best friend. The two quickly became inseparable..
Once the weather turned milder, Pheop wanted to go out every minute of the day, so she could enjoy all the exciting sounds and smells everywhere and then rush back and tell me about it in feeps full of abounding adventure. Slowly, slowly, I allowed Bubu, who was still quite small then, to join her. They had a whale of a time playing together, making me laugh out loud, especially because Pheop had the ‘spring lamb jump’ (straight up in the air) and the sideways ‘sproingy skip’ down ‘to a T’.
One sunny day in mid-March they were again out running, chasing things in the banks along the drive in front of the house. There were a couple of bushes and shrubs there, a few cotoneaster, but mostly broom. At some point Bubu was sitting at the edge, watching in fascination, looking up at something in the broom. Her tail, still growing and not fully fluffy yet had that odd triangular shape of a kitten’s, and it was wagging like a dog’s.
Cats have amazing patience when it comes to stalking things. I don’t! I was standing there with the camera, hoping to catch whatever exciting thing she was going to do next – but she didn’t. Time went past and then a car . . . and I thought, oh well, that’s it, false alarm. Then, just as I was pressing the button, Bubu jumped, missed the branch and somersaulted back down onto the grass. It was the only time ever I felt grateful that my camera was so slow to respond because thanks to that I had gotten most of it except her landing.
A pea-hen walking by with her head crest sticking up into the bottom of the picture provided an interesting side effect though.
Like every other being, kittens have milestones in their development, and the cat equivalent of a child grazing their knees for the first time is getting stuck in a tree.
It had been another fine day but the evening was feeling a bit chilly. I was back inside, doing the usual bits of sorting things out when I suddenly thought I hadn’t seen Bubu for a while. Also, Chouchou was sort of marching back and forth in a funny way.
‘Where’s little Bubu?’ I asked, but she didn’t give me any clues. Putting my fleece back on, I went outside and walked around the garden calling her. On the second round I heard a little high-pitched noise coming from the Leylandii. I went closer but still couldn’t see anything.
‘Bubu!’ I called. ‘Where are you, Bubu? I can hear you, but I can’t see you!’
Again the desperate little kitten sound eeh! eeh! I looked up and noticed that, despite my assumption that the Leylandii hadn’t been cut back in decades, someone had actually done some pruning up there, leaving a few stumps at about 8 or 9 ft high and on the resulting platform was where Bubu sat, almost invisible from below.
By that time Chouchou had found us. She sat herself by the bottom of the trees and looked at me. ‘She’s up there. What are you going to do about it? She’s right up there, all the way. What are you going to do? Eh?’
Chouchou on the wooden ladder
It was clearly a ladder job. The wooden step ladder I got first was far too short. I had really known that before but was hoping that somehow I would manage because the other option was threading an aluminium ladder through the branches and I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do that. Next I tried was the single 8 ft ladder, but by the time I had managed to place that one Bubu had changed her position to a platform slightly higher than the one she had occupied before. Whether she got scared and tried to save herself or was making another effort to get down on her own, I couldn’t say. I was just hoping it was not because she was having me on…
Chouchou was still at the bottom of the trees, pacing now, looking at me reproachfully for the disappointing speed and process of the rescue operation. ‘She’s up there. Still up there. What are you going to do about it? Are you going to do something useful now?’
She's up in the tree - what are you going to do about it?
The extendable ladder was aluminum, too, but quite a lot heavier than the other one. I staggered through the branches with it and after a number of unsuccessful efforts finally managed to ‘secure’ it against some branches. Then I climbed up to where Bubu was. As soon as she saw me, she shrank back from my arms. Yes, I know. . . someone’s trying to grab you – retreat! I went up another rung, the ladder wobbled and suddenly I had enough. I reached out, no nonsense, grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and did not let go until we were safely back down on the ground.
Can I go out again now?
Chouchou watched us arrive with a ‘Hm, there you are. What took you so long?’ Then she turned and meandered back into the house, on the trail of her little renegade off-spring.
I picked the accumulated ‘trees’ from my head and fleece and sighed. It was clearly time for a cup of tea – or maybe something stronger . . . ?
Tiny
02 Feb 2012 8 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animal communication, animals, Cats, cute, funny, kittens, lovable, love, pets
Irresistible and knowing it . . .
Tiny was one of the grey ones from the litter in early November, the smallest, as the name suggests. Like most of her siblings she was supposed to leave us after New Year’s to go to a new, loving home. The friend who had said she wanted her changed her mind though, and somehow I missed the boat finding someone else. Therefore, almost by default, Tiny stayed.
She was a very funny kitten, and totally adorable. Everyone loved her, but it still took me a while to notice her irresistible purr.
Other cats I have known would start purring once they got into the swing of being cuddled and petted. Not so Tiny. She would see the hand moving towards her and instantly her purr would be turned on in happy anticipation of what was to come. We had very long cuddles together with her leaning and cuddling into my hands like none of the others before her.
Undercover operation all set and ready to go!
A favourite habit of hers was to leap onto my shoulder and then walk back down the other arm where she’d jump off. Sometimes she would stay and snuggle up to my ear. I would then walk around with her sitting on me, which made me stoop a little to keep her from falling off. After a while I realised that that must have been one reason why old hags acquired hunchbacks and eventually got called witches . . .
The realisation that I was well on my way to that stage wasn’t far behind . . !
One of my favourites stories about how special she is happened one lovely summer night when I was sitting outside and the cats were out as well, playing their intriguing games of hide and attack around me. I took a quick check to see, who was there; all of them – no, Tiny was missing.
‘Hm,’ I thought. ‘I wish I knew where Tiny is,’
It didn’t take two minutes before she came trundling along the drive towards me, walked right up to my legs and nudged me with her nose, as if to say, ‘Now you know!’.
Following that, obviously pleased with herself, she walked right off again.
Catland Divorce
Another entertaining characteristic – especially for me – was that Tiny spent most of her time outside. She would often just come in for a quick bite and then head off again. In the summer it was frequently very late at night before I got her in.
She didn’t come in by herself though, not Tiny . . . I had to go out with the torch and get her, a practice that startled all the wood pigeons in the trees, which made them all fly off in disgust, and in turn, because they’re really noisy, gave me the fright of my life every time (see what I mean by ‘entertaining’? ).
One night I realised that some of the ‘rustling flurry’ sounded different from usual. It was a bit odd, and actually took me quite a few days to figure out that that particular sound was caused by a little grey cat crashing down from one of her favourite trees at top speed – once she thought I had called her enough!
Cats are natural healers. This one is practicing hypnotherapy.
Tiny is a generous spirit, and therefore she was delighted when Chouchou and her siblings were born. Her attitude was that she would make the very best of it by having another go at being a kitten, probably with more than one thought of all the delicious perks that came with that . . . because – surely – there was enough for everyone, right ?
Just a wee kitten like those other guys here . . . No one will will be able to tell the difference.
Oh no, not again!
25 Jan 2012 8 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animals, Cats, cute, Fun, funny, kittens, lovable, pets
A Handful of Fluffy Snooze
I have mentioned before that living with cats was a steep learning curve for me, but it would probably be closer to the truth to say that they completely and utterly turned my life upside down.
I really hadn’t cottoned on how quickly cats ‘move’. It’s almost like as soon as one pregnancy is done they can’t wait to go and repeat the whole thing: By early October, when Pommie was only a couple of months old, I was shocked to find Pebbles was busy ‘cooking up something’ – again!
Around that time, a young man came to stay at the hostel for a while. He was an architect and was looking to buy himself a little MG sports car. Early November he found one he liked and asked me would I go to Glasgow with him to pick it up. Of course I would, I loved going on adventures! ‘Great,’ he said, ‘thanks.’ and then added a little sheepishly, ‘Would you be willing to drive it back, too? I only got my drivers licence four weeks ago . . .’
Therefore, that Saturday we headed off on the early bus (very early bus) to Glasgow, picked up the car and with a little detour arrived back home again just before eight.
A-tennnn-SHUN!
When I went upstairs I found Pebbles lying on the landing. I bent down to say hello and to stroke her. She looked up at me with a funny expression and said, ‘Ph . . ph . . ph . . ph . . ! ‘
Uh-oh . . . ! Her tummy was heaving and there was only one explanation – poor Pebbles had been lying here waiting for us to come home!
Pebbles
Thankfully enough, we were back now, everything was ok, so she got up and ran to my bedroom, me rushing after her to give a hand finding a suitable birth place. As soon as I got a box for her she was off and out they came like clockwork, one every 30 minutes, five of them. Within two and a half hours it was all done and dusted, or rather licked.
It turned out to be a very cold winter that year. One thing that will stay with me forever is sitting wrapped in a blanket in my cosy chair, reading or chatting and having little furry fluff-balls in every fold of my rug so that at times I couldn’t even lean back for the ones that were snuggled around my neck ( that was perhaps the reason why one of them, Tiny, became a master cuddler – but more about her another time. She deserves an instalment all to herself ).
Cuddling up with me and my blanket
Compared to their little day time antics, the blanket cuddle was nothing, though. It would be a tough task trying to describe what they got up to all the time, so I have decided this time to let the pictures speak for themselves.
Bagheera and Frankie The Crooner
Bagheera - It wasn't Me!
Pommie says Hello
PS Even though I was utterly in love and delighted with these kitties, it was definitely getting a bit crowded in the house by then, big though it is here. That’s why after their birth I kept saying to Pebbles, ‘Please, please, could you give it a rest now? Could you not have any more kittens for the time being please?’
Pebbles was great. She listened to my request.
Pommie . . . didn’t.
Ah din't eat it - honesss !
Pommie
23 Jan 2012 2 Comments
in Living With Cats Tags: animals, Cats, cute, funny, kittens, lovable, love, pets
As you may be able to imagine, my fast track training in ‘How To Be A Proper Cat Mummy’, devised and executed by Pebbles and Brodie, was intense. It gave me a good insight into the majority of the pitfalls and insecurities of my new role, but undeterred I was fast becoming much more than just an ‘afficionado’ of the cat world.
One day, only a few weeks after introducing my new furry companions into the household I got a feeling that there was something strange about Pebbles. It was like she was getting fatter. No, I thought, that doesn’t make sense. I don’t think I am feeding her too much, or am I? And then it was odd, some days it seemed like she was old Pebbles, and on others there appeared a definite ‘bulge’, But, you’ve guessed it, she just kept adding to it until eventually there was no mistaking it: Pebbles was not fat, nor fluffy – she was pregnant, and had been already when I got her.
Pebbles with Pommie
A few weeks after that realisation, in early August, I had visitors. My nephew Mark and three of his friends came for a Scotland tour on their bikes. They weren’t too bothered that the weather was not ideal at the time, but on the day they were planning to leave again it poured and poured, too much to set off in it.
It was an odd morning. After having breakfast, packing and checking their bikes Mark and the guys were kind of restless, wanting to head off into new sights and exciting adventures. Even I was feeling quite unsettled. That’s probably why I didn’t really notice anything unusual until one of them, Oli, pointed out that Pebbles was behaving strangely.
‘I think she’s looking for a nest.’
Birth time?! But I have no clue what to do!
‘It’s ok,’ Oli said. ‘I grew up on a farm and have seen it many times. Just get her a box and make sure she’s comfortable and warm, not too bright. She’ll take care of the rest. Trust me, she’ll know what to do.’
Pommie Cutie
I did as I was told, and in the course of the morning and afternoon, four gorgeous kittens were born. I watched in amazement as, barely born, they went on straightaway to perform a miracle – turning four taciturn young bikers into beaming surrogate dads.
Nibbles - yum!
There is a saying that we are only ever given as much as we can handle, and that may have been the case here as well, in the fact that only one of the kittens survived because Pebbles rejected the other three. The one that made it was a cute little black and white thing that we called Poma – which was all of our initials put together in one word. Eventually that became Pomita as a nickname, and then Pommie (any connection to Australia unintentional).
Pommie's Gym Training
I learned soon that knowing a kitten from the moment it is born is another wholly different ball game again. Not only was it a joy to see what a wonderful mummy Pebbles was, but also that Brodie, who hadn’t been very impressed in the beginning, eventually found a great play mate in Pommie. It was amazing to see how quickly she learned to make use of situations and conditions. A great favourite was playing chase with Brodie and when she needed a rest she’d run for cover under the little rattan book shelf. It had a circular ornament that she just managed to fit in but where Brodie couldn’t follow because he had grown too big. Then she’d sit inside her ‘safe spot’ looking out at him with a teasing gleam in her eyes, daring him to follow.
Safe Space! Na-na-na-na-nah-na!
Before her, I had never had the chance to observe and laugh about the usual kitten activities like chasing her own tail or doing trapeze stunts and such like. Pebbles kept me ‘entertained’, too, by moving her nest, for example, something that frightened me no end when I came home one day and found their old one deserted. It took me a good half hour’s searching to find her in the linen cupboard and Pommie hiding behind some old foam cushions.
From a sweet little cute kitten, Pommie grew up into a rather elegant ‘cabaret cat’. I called her that because she had a mask of black coming down past her eyes, a little black hat and white gloves going up above the ‘elbows’. All that was missing was a black bow tie and she would have been serious competition for Liza! (I am sure we could have done something about the singing . . . )
These straws are rubbish - I'm not getting anything!
Her little pa-rram, pa-rram, pa-rram, pa-rram, coming down the stairs greeted me when I came through the front door and was one of the most delightful events of my day.
There were times when she didn’t make it quite so gentle though. I remember an evening, when I discovered water leaking down from the upstairs bathroom. I was running around the house in a panic, trying to suss out what was going on and how to fix it. That involved going up to the loft a few times, and to make that easier I wedged open the door to the walk-in linen cupboard that gave access to the loft ladder.
Pommie and Brodie chase
The pressure was building because I wasn’t getting anywhere. After once again dashing down from another useless check in the loft, all of a sudden a great black and white monster leapt at me, claws and all. I shrieked at the top of my voice and she shot off, down the stairs into hiding. What on earth was going on?
In the end a friend managed to sort out the leak and once I had seen to the pretty decent scratch Pommie gave me with her claws I pieced together that she must have been sitting on top of the open door – I didn’t know at the time but have learned since that that’s something cats will do on occasion. She must have been agitated, picking up on my stress levels that were going through the roof and her message was something like ‘What’s got into you, you’re behaving like some crazy woman!’ and eventually, when that didn’t get me back to my senses: ‘ I better help sort this out through shock therapy because I don’t think anything else will get through!’
So she pounced on me as if to say ‘Stop this madness!’
She had a point, of course and I have the scar to prove it: Stress is bad for you!
