Happy Birthday Babies

Misty and Nelson are 7 today. I can't believe how old they are and the struggle we had to keep them alive when they were little. 2 of 6 kittens born to a feral cat at the top of our garden, one died within 24 hours and 4 of the rest all had cat flu and other nasties. Three months and £400 later we had managed to keep all 5 alive and were advised by the vet not to rehome these two for a while as they were so sickly. 7 years later they are still here. Jack and Lula are in London and Toby is down the village.

Tonight we celebrate with tins of tuna all round.

Happy Birthday Babies.

Hungry cat

Nelson

Why is it that when I feed Misty in the morning he is always hungry again 10 minutes later when Nelson arrives for his food? I fed Nelson in a different room this morning and gave Misty his second meal of the day at the same time. A few minutes later Misty's dish is empty and he is now polishing off Nelson's as well, Nelson having retreated under the table and looking longingly at his rapidly disappearing breakfast.

Seeing as this happens almost every day and at both meal times can anyone tell me why Misty is half Nelson's size?

Loved up and muddy.

At 3am this morning I was reflecting on why the wind-down routine I normally go through every night in order to ensure a few hours decent sleep didn't seem to be working. I think maybe being the sole target of a wet, muddy cat probably had something to do with it. I'd been out last night visiting a relative, WH being currently on his annual skiing trip so I have time to do these things. When I got back around 10.20 it was hammering down in no small way. The grey babies of course were bored stiff and hungry. We're currently undergoing a period when they don't like any cat food at all, not even the regular tried and tested varieties which they will normally scoff without too much bother. Nelson in particular is unusually picky even for him and until and unless the cat food people develop new flavours such as 'Robin' or 'Greenfinch' I have been feeding half rations only so that they are more inclined to eat anything. Having fed them, they turned their noses up at the food and cleared off outside for a run round as the rain had stopped a little and the wind got up. Wind is always an enticing prospect, leaves to chase, the feel of the breeze in the fur and the prospect of other local cats being outside to terrorise too. They might even find some food if they looked hard enough.

Misty returned later to take root on my bed next to my left shoulder. I was reading at the time and finally starting to get drowsy enough to attempt some sleep. Right now I am mid-course a high dose of steroids as a 'test' to see what effect they have on the Psoriatic Arthritis. So far so good, loads of symptoms are going but with the usual unnerving side effects that I always get of sleeping very little, being extremely hot and being permanently hungry. I took off my glasses and shut the book when it hit me, a wet paw at 30 miles an hour across my cheek. Not a savage dig, his claws were sheathed, but like a lightening sort little tap, delicate but with the added frisson of being wet and muddy. It was like a slap on the cheek with a tiny, wet football.
I looked down and he was in full drool, 'I love you Mummy' eyes and making barely audible little mewling sounds to reinforce the message. Misty was in full-on, loved up mode. Unfortunately I knew what was to follow. I stroked his head and turned away to put the book down, the tapping started again. I then stroked him several times more but was telling him I HAD to go to sleep now, it was late enough but of course he wasn't interested. All he wanted was for me to play with him and he started biting the duvet then hoping I would tickle him through it and we could have a real old scrap. He loves all this, the rougher the better but not at 3am. No way. he started jumping over me from side to side and grabbing my hands.
I tried little strokes to calm him down and he got worse. I ignored him and the tapping started up again. Finally he tried his last beguiling move. He walked up along my body and came to sit under my chin on my left hand side. He used to do this as a sick kitten, 6 years ago. He fitted the space then, now he's far too big and ends up slumped across my face rendering me almost unable to breathe. He manoeuvred his head right under my chin and rubbed against my neck, over and over again. He was in 7th heaven and then started to chew his feet, his favourite thing in the whole world. You can always tell when Misty is contented, he rolls on his side, usually up against a person and chews his feet, spreading the toes wide so he can nibble the long, velvety fur between his pads.

I gave up at this point and resumed the book. Half an hour later there was a loud bang outside as something blew down the road in the wind. Curiosity finally got the better of him and he dashed off to go outside through the cat flap and investigate. By that time I was wet, had muddy streaks painted down my face necessitating another wash, and I then put a towel on the bed in case Misty returned and by this time was wide, flipping, awake. I finally drifted off about 4 I think though it could (she says charitably) have been a little earlier.

At 6am the man in the house opposite mine was loading his car with god knows what but it was loud, and shouting to wife at the same time and so I woke with a start. I must have had all of 2 hours sleep. I was then extremely hot and hearing me turn in bed, Nelson appeared. There was noise outside, I was moving, albeit only slightly, so it MUST be breakfast time. He started crying as only Nelson knows how. I got up in despair.

Now I'm exhausted, my eyes want to shut and go to sleep but the oil delivery is on it's way, I have to go shopping and I have several phone calls to make. The greys naturally are fast asleep on their own beds in the kitchen in the sun. I'm going to get a big piece of fish from the supermarket and cook it about 9pm tonight to feed them at 10. Hopefully with a massive meal of their second favourite food inside them they might sleep a few hours downstairs before they start the night shift again.

And please don't anyone tell me to shut the downstairs door so they can't get upstairs and into the bedroom. Last time I did that I couldn't sleep for the noise of 2 cats head butting a door for 2 hours in tandem and when I got up to open it having given in, I found they had wrecked the carpet behind it too.

The smallest ones are the most aggravating

The greys are more settled now. Never having lived anywhere with central hating until now, they have finally realised that the radiators are not going to jump off the wall and chase them, the odd little noises they make usually indicate that they are getting warm and that sitting on a window cill above a warm radiator is treat worth being brave for.

Usually in the day time they are together more often than not and now the weather has turned colder they stay indoors. Last week they were on the sofa and around the living room. This week they are on my bed, the living room having been moved round yet again awaiting the impending delivery of the fireplace.

So here they are, together but apart, as always. Misty at the back has his customary little sly look, as though he is wondering what to do next, watching me taking the photos as Nelson begins to snuggle down for a snooze after a long leisurely wash. Misty is always on the go, nervous as a tick, waiting for the moment to do some damage, play with something or just plain be his annoying self. Nelson has a new peace about him and is calmer now, life after Goggins has altered the dynamic and he revels in not being bullied and in the much larger house to lose himself in.

(Misty Back, Nelson Front)

Not for long though. Misty waits for me to finish the pics then he pounces, biting Nelson's ears and trying to dislodge him from the warm bed. Nelson however is developing a whole new temperament too, he feels more secure now and so for once he gets the better of his smaller, more fiesty brother. A swift smack on the nose has Misty scurrying, beaten, down the stairs and the bang of the cat flap tells us he has gone off in a huff. Looking through the front window I can see he is already out in the road on the trail of the Skankies six houses down. Now those miserable cats he can always beat. This new bold brother of his has finally got his measure and it's all becoming a bit hard to take.

(Misty Front, Nelson Back)

Even as I write the end of this Misty has returned and tried again, the Skankies couldn't have been out to play. Nelson refuses to budge and so the bored little Misty goes into the back room and beats hell out of the growing pile of christmas presents instead.

Settling in - part 2

Read part 1 here.

After the first few days of nervous exploration the family settled to it's new home fairly well. Goggins stayed near the house at all times, so long as he was fed and could find WH he was happy.

The grey twins quickly took over the neighbourhood like a pair of seasoned pros. Opening the garage door each afternoon in order to take out the hosepipe to water the pots of plants along the front wall, I would be followed by the grey pair who would shoot out onto the crown of the road and look up and down to ensure no other cats were lurking in the undergrowth. They roamed up and down the road together, sniffing out all the cars and checking neighbours gardens for rivals. They seemed to be saying 'Right lads let's be having you if you want a good scrap'. Of course in reality, if another cat did appear they scarpered back indoors or came up close to me. They did have a few skirmishes with a group we named the Skankies, poor bedraggled, underfed little scraps and to whose owner I would normally have returned them immediately after they riffled the bins and black bags for anything remotely edible. In essence these are hungry cats and good scavengers. I steered clear of the owners however, having heard their reputation and of the abuse previous complainants had received from them.

Misty as the more adventurous twin had a few test hisses and headbutts but Nelson kept his distance.

One cat they didn't like however was Josephine, sister of Napoleon, a stray who had moved in round at the other house. At the height of our wrangles with his owner we were told that 'his sister 'never strays'. Closer questioning revealed that of course Josephine wasn't his REAL sister, just the other household cat. Well now she does stray into our utility room, she wrecks our bin bags and pinches the grey's food. Naturally they chase her off at every opportunity.

Eventually they started to wander more. Misty has just extended his territory, returning the open space round at the other house and checking all points in between. Nelson sometimes goes with him. When he does they often come back together. When they don't and Misty slips home unnoticed, Nelson forgets where to go and panics. Several times a week, we were losing Nelson and we had to search him out. He was always in the same place on the doorstep of the old house. he shrieked and cried when he saw us but by then worked up into a nervous frenzy as only he can get, he proves difficult to catch and then won't follow us. Several times I have had to carry him home. Once I put him in the car and drove the 200 metres whilst he screamed and cried in the back. He hid for 3 days after that so I wont be repeating the the performance. Sometimes Misty will accompany when I go to fetch Nelson and because of that I discovered one reason for Nelson not coming home. he is afraid of a large ginger tom in the road and alley between the two houses. Misty doesn't even entertain the idea of fear. the ginger tom was stalking Misty from underneath a van the day I saw him. Misty just charged up to him, drawing him out hissing and spitting. Misty headbutted him straight between the eyes, spat and swiped him with a tiny paw. the ginger cat looked astonished and turned to follow us as we passed with a look of ' What the hell was that?' before retreating deep under the van. Now we have to walk Nelson round the long way as he wont go into that road at all, when I carried him once he freaked and cried and struggled, wrestled free and ran off.

A week into living here Goggins disappeared. He too was round at the other house and thus began three weeks of WH each morning at half past seven driving the van round, picking up Goggins in the van and driving him back before he went off to work. Goggins loved the van, he was high up and could see everything. He hated being caged in the car but sitting up on the front seat of the van he seemed to be waving like the Queen, 'Look at me with my own personal driver'. By the last few days he would wait for WH on the corner of the road as though for a bus. even with raging pneumonia he went there every night and stayed. Only the couple of days before he died did he stay home here.

Now Goggins has gone Misty has taken over as WH's personal minder and bodyguard. He sleeps with him and curls up on the sofa with him, following him everywhere in the house. Nelson too has become much more affectionate with WH and more erelaxed. Obviously Goggins, though an old man was till top cat and they deferred to him. Now they are both much more relaxed, other than the time we put a new door on the kitchen.

Originally our kitchen gave out into the utility and there was cat flap on the outside door. As it has become cooler and we still had no heating we put an internal door on the kitchen to keep out the draught from the unfinished utility. For the plan to work however we needed a second cat flap so we could keep the door shut. WH installed the same model as in the outside door but Nelson got confused. He thought his cat flap had moved and he was trapped. It took 4 days for him to get used to it and even then he shot through like rocket in case it grabbed his tail. Misty uses it but doesn't like it and has developed an elaborate ritual of tapping it loudly several times to announce the fact he is coming through. It did seem rather loud so as it as an internal door, WH removed the magnetic edging that seemed to be the cause of the noise. That only made things worse as the slightest breeze caused it to whine like a horror film ghost. Nelson wouldn't use it at all by then preferring to 'ask' us to open the patio doors for him. Eventually after a few days of that charade we replaced the magnet and just left them to it.

Lately Nelson has taken to sitting on the fence in the sun and on top of a pile of paving slabs. He is becoming more aggressive with next door's ginger wimp who disappears at the flash of an eye or a brief hiss. Nelson is becoming more in control. Misty is in control. He keeps an eye on the Skankies and Josephine and has made friends with an elderly major at the top of the road. He visits him in his front garden and sits in the sun on his doorstep. The major is delighted. We however know differently, his real purpose is to stalk the green woodpeckers who frequent the major's garden. So far they have the upper hand, but only time will tell.

Magic Moments

Picture from BBC Springwatch

Nelson and I shared a magic moment this morning at the crack of dawn. Well not quite the crack, but a fairly early half-past six. Misty as per usual had woken me up playing with a pencil on the carpet around the bed. This is the regular signal for me to get up and feed the tribe. If that doesn't work then a swift tap on the arm whilst looking into my face does the trick at about the third attempt.

I went downstairs, put the kettle on, fed the cats and made WH some coffee. He wouldn't be up then but it cools nicely by 7.45, he likes to drink it just off cold anyhow. As I opened the living room curtains I saw a female blackbird come and perch on the side of the for-sale board which still adorns our front garden. Nelson was on the window sill. Despite us both remaining there, and the blackbird looked straight in directly at us from only 4 feet away, she sat there preened, looked around and appeared to be singing although I couldn't hear through the double glazing. Nelson continued to watch her and stayed stock still. He seemed bemused that a bird was so close and wasn't trying to escape.

I put down the mug I had in one hand and stayed there for almost 10 minutes next to Nelson, both of us watching this lovely bird enjoying the early morning. Suddenly a car sped down the main road and the magic was over, she flew off to the safety of the oak trees opposite.

Crush: a temporary infatuation

Nelson is fickle in his infatuations. He hates most people with a vengeance, avoiding all contact with anyone he doesn't know well and running off at the sight of strangers. Children freak him out completely, he can't stand the unpredictable nature of their movements and if they tried to stroke him he would surely die. He does like some men though, WH's weirdo friend, JohnnyB a longtime close friend of us both and the depressed painter to name but three. WH he can take or leave and only makes a fuss of him if he is very hungry and knows he will get short shrift from me, usually because we have tried 4 different meals that day and he has refused them all, much to Misty's delight as he gets to eat the cast -offs. Only for me does he reserve his deep rumbling purr as I give him his bed-time cuddle, tickle his fluffy little tummy and scratch his ears, and of course all this is in the privacy of my bedroom, public affection he can't take at all.

Latterly he was in love with a bag. Now he's fallen out of love with that and transferred his affections to something else, a really naf, shell-suit-type body-warmer which WH's mother insists on buying him annually to keep him warm in the winter. This one had been worn for plastering and was abandoned on the floor in front of the heater. No particular reason, but you know what men are, never, ever, put anything away for at least 3 days unless under extreme sufferance, so I just leave stuff and if it still remains after 48 hours or so, it then gets washed and put in it's rightful place, prior to this time it's quite likely to be retrieved for a further wearing in which case I'm accused of hiding "all his stuff". This time though Nelson had collared it so to speak and made a nest in the centre, his face peeping out of the armhole whilst he luxuriated in it's nylon warmth and softly padded surface.

Of course for the house viewings and other estate agent related visits the body-warmer is removed and hidden in a cupboard as are all the cat related accoutrements of this house. Never let a prospective vendor know that you have an animal in residence let alone three, the property must be bright, shiny, clutter and most importantly, animal free. The last viewing was cancelled, just at the point the house had been restored to show-home squeaky-cleanness. I swore silently at the estate agent on the other end of the phone and out loud to my vision of the unknown prospective purchaser who had caused me 3 hours housework for no good reason at all. Life returned to normal except for one unhappy, permanently shrieking cat. It's taken me 4 days to realise that his latest love was still in the cupboard. Now he's pawing his love object with wild abandon and telling it he loves it. Until the next time he finds something else he loves more.

A regular visitor

Herbie used to live with me, he shared my bed, cuddled close all night and regularly washed bits of me. He stroked my hair, sucked my ears and told me he loved me. One day he ran away and went to live with someone else. That was 5 years ago and now he's back, over the road with my neighbour.

He came into my life about 10 years ago, one hot summer day when the back door was open we saw this little face and two black ears peeping over the threshold. When he was noticed he slunk back down and just two tiny ear-tips remained in view. After that evening the little kitten became a regular visitor. Where he had come from no-one knew. My then neighbour, a merchant seaman, was home on extended leave and somehow this kitten managed to climb through the open kitchen window, scale the stairs and sleep on his bed. He was very hungry and the neighbour would walk down to the village shop and get a tin of corned beef to feed him. After a month or so of this I was asked why I wasn't feeding my new cat. "I haven't got one," I retorted. I suggested cat-food would be more appropriate, the neighbour had never thought of that. Another neighbour, also a single chap, had been sleeping with his patio door open due to the heat, every morning when he awoke, the kitten was curled up around his head. He hated cats and tried to get rid of him but still he came. Eventually the general consensus was that I, as the owner of 3 cats already, should adopt him. He needed food, vast quantities, he was too tiny to be out and about on his own and above all he needed somewhere safe to sleep. My other cats protested but really he was just too small to make much of a fuss of so they gave in and just let him be.

Very quickly we named him Herbie, he was a right Herbert, always into something, determined, courageous, and a real fighter. The merchant sailor neighbour returned to sea, only after making me promise I would always look after Herbie. Something about that kitten had struck a chord in his heart and he wanted to know he would be cared for. It was a strange conversation with a totally unsentimental, macho-man. It was the last time I would speak to him, he died 5 days later of a massive brain haemorrhage in the South China Sea, too far from land to be able to get him treatment. He was 42. I lost one of my best friends and Herbie lost his protector.

And so it seemed that Herbie had been given to me for some reason. Shortly after that he started disappearing. The first time was for a couple of days and he came back with a collar which he hated. He spent 5 hours trying to remove it until he got it stuck over his teeth and I had to finish the job. I realised he must have been going somewhere else. To cut a very long story short we discovered he really belonged to the house immediately behind mine even although the owners had initially denied it. He didn't like their dogs and so started a long 2-3 year period where he lived between the two houses. The real owner tried keeping him in, he always escaped. They had him neutered and he came back to me, escaping from their car as they returned from the vet and sleeping off his anaesthetic under my coffee table for 2 days. I tried to give him back but the owners were always out, didn't answer the phone or just said we''ll be round later. They didn't usually bother. They shut him in a shed for 4 days, his cries were driving me to distraction, the owners were away and I was on the point of breaking in when they returned and let him out. I wonder now why I didn't do it straight away. One Christmas, apparently on the vet's advice, they kept him in for 6 weeks. I was frantic. I didn't know where he was, the owners again denied they had seen him. I put up posters all round the village and had several false sightings. Oh lots of people knew him but no-one had actually seen him recently. I was quite sick at the time and very depressed. I was cold at night, my furry hot-water-bottle was missing. I went to the surgery for a blood test early one Monday morning. Imagine my delight when he was sitting on my front window on my return. I later found out he had once again escaped. At this point the owners gave up and subsequently moved house, leaving him and a dog behind. The dog was taken in by neighbours, Herbie remained with me.

At night he slept with me, down under the bedclothes, a furry, warm bag of obliviousness which I could mould into whatever shape I liked and he would never wake up. I had to stroke his head, then he would wash my knee, then came a big sigh and clunk he was fast asleep until morning. He sucked my ears and chewed my hair, he like to lick my scalp. I tried to stop him and consulted our vet. They suspected he had been taken from his mother too soon and I was a comfort. I explained the problems with his real owners and that he just didn't wouldn't stay with them. Even when I handed him back over the fence he had come straight back again. The vet decided he just needed me and wanted to be with me instead. It was just his way.

The wanderings continued, Herbie was seen in other parts of the village, at the shop, on the recreation field and in other houses. He had regular route, across the road, play under the pampas grass, down another road, cross the main road, visit a house near the shop, cross a field, visit an old lady in a bungalow, round the bungalow estate, cross the main road again, visit another house by a stream, slip under my opposite neighbours fence, go under her gate and be back out at the front of my place. It took all day. He left on his rounds at about 10 after a late breakfast and returned at 5 for tea. All this after his first walk of the day with a lady round the corner and her cat-friendly collie. Herbie would race out at 6, meet this lady at the end of the road, walk about 400 yards and then return for a quick snooze before breakfast.

Then came the day a feral cat had six sickly kittens at the top of the garden. We took them in and eventually nursed them back to health, keeping the two worst, Misty and Nelson. This was too much for Herbie and he left home when the kittens were only 5 weeks old and still living in the garden, he had been betrayed. He still walked his daily route, now including 10 minutes or so at the front of here, sitting staring up at the windows in disgust. If we went out to speak or to stroke him he tried to bite us and spat. He spent 18 months living near the shop, where we don't quite know. Then he moved again and lived with an elderly couple about 300 yards away from here, one of the houses he had always visited. He took over, slept in their bed to the point of lying full length on the chap's stomach with a paw on either shoulder. Just after Christmas the lady of the household went into hospital. Another betrayal, so now Herbie is over the road at my opposite neighbour's most of the day and night. He doesn't like their cat's prescription cat food so eats elsewhere but otherwise has made himself at home yet again, sleeping alongside her disabled husband in his downstairs bedroom and keeping his back warm at night. Yesterday morning I opened my curtains to see him sitting on her window cill.

He's been getting a bit friendlier again recently and I have stroked him a few times although I wouldn't pick him up. He's a big strong cat now, twice the size of when he lived here. I still miss him at night, no other cat has come so close and been quite so trusting. He still misses me too I'm sure if I see him outdoors he keeps watching for ages and will follow me from a distance. Occasionally he will come round the back and just look until he realises he has been seen, then he runs off. I wonder if he will ever come back, I like to think that one day he might and his wanderings will turn full circle.

The cat with his own overnight bag

Nelson is in love. He purrs, he is happy, he sleeps peacefully and he is calmer than he has ever been. His neurosis on the back burner for once. He spends a lot more time in the house now, to the annoyance of Misty who thinks that he rules the roost. Nelson has found a new permanant place to sit and cuddles up with the object of his affections, totally ignorning the ploys of his mad brother.

It all started about 6 weeks ago. I had ordered some Christmas stuff from a catalogue here on the internet. When the goods arrived they were accompanied by a 'wonderful free gift'. I examined the package. It was a small very tacky-looking, supposed 'overnight bag in faux suede'. Well overnight bag for a dwarf or a Barbie doll perhaps, it would just about contain a toothbrush and flannel. I tossed it on the floor with disdain until I could decide what to do with it. The bin seemed too good, maybe it could go into the next charity shop bag. I promptly forgot about it for 24 hours, being hidden from sight as it was under the dining table.

The next thing that happened was Nelson disappeared. One minute he was there, the next he wasn't. Then he seemed to keep appearing from nowhere. Finally my brain did a bit of joined up thinking: Nelson was under the table. Strange. On closer examination there he was having dragged the bag into the corner of the room underneath the floor lamp, and was happily seated on it purring loudly. Not something he does very often. When he finally moved the next morning I moved the bag en-route to the garage and the charity bag. Nelson shrieked and walked round in circles. He cried, he jumped up onto the arm of the sofa and looked into my eyes. He kept crying, real tears. I put the bag back again and on he leapt and rolled on it waving his legs into the air. He settled down again and, after breakfast, fell into a deep sleep.

So now I have a tatty, tacky hold-all under my dining table and one very happy, chilled-out cat. I presume the fabric is warm as it has a plastic lining and that the 'faux-suede' is soft to his paws. It can't be very comfortable, having two thick straps, a buckle and zip on it's top surface but Nelson loves it. After 5 years he has finally found a bed he loves and a peace which which has calmed us down too, life wasn't easy with a neurotic cat.