Chaos to Cosmos
The path from chaos to cosmos was discovered by telling one's life story

Showing posts with label Kittehs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kittehs. Show all posts

Monday 3 May 2021

World's Smallest Kitten

The very spot where we found the three tiny kittens 20 years ago

On May 3, 2001, at 7 p.m., the dog and I were walking up the road, no more than 50 yards from the house, when we both heard a faint little squeak. Often lizards make this sound, so we didn't think too much of it at first and carried on walking. But on hearing the second squeak, Holly dog cocked her head and we must have both thought the same thing at the same time, "That ain't no lizard!

We turned to see what we thought was the World's Smallest Kitten crawl out from the undergrowth to the side of a clump of canes, close to the water trough and onto the side of the road. It was the ball of fluff, later named Balu because at that time he was just a light brown with no black markings or stripes, resembling a little teddy bear. He quickly dashed back up into the undergrowth, where he huddled with two better qualified entrants for the smallest kitten record. 

Holly was down the ditch and up the bank in a shot to "rescue" them, unprompted. Needing three more cats like I needed a hole in the head, but being unable to leave them there alone to get eaten by wild dogs or squished by passing cars, I went home and got a box then rounded them up with very little resistance. All three of them fitted in a shoe box with two-thirds of the space spare.

Noting the difference in size between these kittens - Balu was the largest and measured 4½ inches from nose to bum (he fitted in the palm of my hand) and my vet estimated them to be between two and three weeks old - and the 50 lb. mutt, I first put the box on the table, out of her reach. That was not the right answer, because she paced and howled and yowled and cried. So I put the box on the floor and supervised closely as Holly stuck her snout into this clawing mass, fished out little Balu, laid him on the floor and began to wash his underparts. 

For the next three nights and days, the dog never left the side of the box and continued watching her new "adopted children". 

Three kittens in a basket and this was when they were already half grown!

While I fed baby milk in one end every couple of hours for the next few weeks, Holly took charge of cleaning the other ends, in a production line system. 

Balu was "the baby who would not be put down" and screamed his little head off if I tried to do so, so mostly I didn't. Thus, he spent most of his first few weeks sleeping in a makeshift hammock inside my t-shirt as I worked, took the dog for walks, etc. And, as soon as he was big enough to crawl up, he would crawl up the front of me, plonk a paw either side of my neck and reach up to "kiss" me on the lips. And he still did this almost every day of the 15 years of his life. 

As the kittens began to grow up, I could open the front door, in full knowledge that this big dog would carefully pick up stragglers and carry them back indoors again. Six years later and both Balu and his sister, Kitty (sadly, we lost the other brother, Khan, in November 2006), still came in to hide whenever "mummy" barked. And as soon as they were old enough, they would come for walks with the dog and I, like a line of little ducklings and it was so funny, when they started trying to bury "mummy's" poo pile that was almost as big as themselves! 

The day after we found the kittens, I learned that my friend Natalia (whose cats may have been their ancestors), had died at precisely 7 p.m. on May 3rd, 2001.

Nothing to see here, just a dog and her "adopted offspring" out on a walk.

Tuesday 1 June 2010

Inter-species wrestling

Many's the time I used to wake up to scenes where Balu and Holly would be play wrestling. For 13 years Holly and I were virtually joined at the hip. I felt safe with her and I loved that dog more than life itself and never more so than when she adopted and took on the job of being mother to those three abandoned kittens.

She would watch them, keep them under control, the cats would come in and hide if Holly barked a certain way (even when they were all grown up), she'd tell them off if they scratched the furniture, she brought them back if they wandered too far, she'd wash their little bottoms and she would play with them, teaching them to "ruff and tumble."

Balu especially, who would be on his back and Holly would nuzzle into his floofy belly. It always made her sneeze incessantly and her nose would wrinkle, which always gave the impression that she was giggling. In fact, I almost believe she was. Balu was clearly enjoying himself too, because he made no objection and didn't dig his claws in her snout as she virtually used the fluffy mog as a feline floor mop! How I miss waking up to such loving scenes.

But as much as they should be really wonderful memories, remembering is not yet a pleasant thing. I wonder if it ever will be? Still now though it only brings with it a painful, aching longing, a huge lump in my chest and throat and a reminder of the massive void in my life that she filled. I was with Holly when I had to have her put down in 2008 - because at the last, at least I could do that for her and never desert her -  but I cannot get over it. Every time I think of her, I can see the expression on her face that day. It still comes to me in flashbacks at inappropriate times during the day and it comes to me as nightmares at night. It haunts and terrorizes me. And I have no idea how I can make it better.

Sunday 10 May 2009

Sunday, 10 May 2009

Love this pair almost more than life itself.

Mother knows that the cats don't like her. They cower and even run away from their food if she's in the kitchen. What can I say? They're cats: they're not stupid and capable of assessing people for themselves, but of course she wilfully refuses to see why this is, or to alter her behaviour in any way to improve relations. 

Besides, you simply can't win cats over by constantly approaching them and talking loudly at them. You have to let them come to you. She won't and then, when they (understandably) shun her, she gets angry and huffy and makes it worse.

You also don't win cats, dogs, or for that matter, human beings either, by treating them as nuisances before they even start and by telling them off for every damn thing they do. Whatever these poor cats do is wrong, wherever they go is wrong and they are yelled at (even when they aren't doing anything wrong) instead of being shown, loved and encouraged when they do good things.

Suddenly realised that's exactly how she’s treated me as a child and all my life.

Most rooms are kept closed to them, because she's decided they'll cause destruction and mayhem – that's more likely if they're kept to a very confined space and not allowed to explore. If a door is temporarily left open and they merely go for a harmless sniff round, they're immediately meet with a loud, hostile and panicky reaction that – naturally – spooks them even more.

The clearest example is whenever mother hears the sound of a cat scratching. She doesn't think to check - just in case - that the cat is actually scratching where it should be scratching, in the litter box (the sound is different, but she cannot discern this), so she immediately screams (yes, screams), “Oy, oy, oy”.

Just what is that teaching the confused cats? The damage is done and she simply will not be told that this is wrong. To her fantasy logic, this telling off is justified and brushed off as unimportant, because at other times the cat is wrong.  

Today, she was rattling dishes she was taking out of the dishwasher, which she knows worries the cats and sends them running to hide. She also knew I was outside with both cats, because she'd watched me go out with them. She's seen this enough times that she knows they're already nervous enough about it. So she chose that very moment to do this job – at best, totally unthinking and a typical example of how, what she wants, she does, disregarding everything else.

Because of this, the cats got even more nervous. I've worked bloody hard – with calm and patience, love and encouragement - for 11 months, trying to get them to feel comfortable enough so that, at the very least, if they were outside and did not feel happy, their instinctive reaction should be to run INTO the house and not to bolt away from it, but we never seem to make real progress.

The eventual aim (though, truthfully, I give up on ever attaining it now) was to be able to let them go out so that they could get some exercise and play and be normal and, hopefully, happy cats. But every time they seem to be getting used to it, mother does something (thoughtless or deliberate?), which effectively wipes out all of the benefit of the months and months of hard work I've put in.

You're going to say it isn't deliberate, but I've been making that excuse for her for 52 years and it just doesn't stand up to the scrutiny of logic and reason. (And in typing that last exasperated sentence, I can hear my father talking.) 

So, instead of coming towards the house and happily coming in the door, Balu heard the noise and started backing up, trying to escape his harness. Because I had both cats, this was difficult to handle and I had to act quickly and decisively: I threw my voice so that I would be heard clearly – for the very good reason that my mother cannot hear her TV unless it's blaring (so loudly I can still hear it the other side of the house, through 2 closed doors and with headphones) and cannot hear things like the doorbell or the phone, unless they're next to her, etc.

But, of course, if I merely enunciate clearly, apparently, I'm shouting.

I'd had to get her to stop making the noise with the dishes for a moment to get the cats in – and I had to quickly impress upon her that it had to be immediate – which, without an assertive tone, she would have paid absolutely no attention to at all and would most likely (based on previous experience) have argued it unnecessary - specifying it was because I could not get the cats to come in and one was trying to pull out of his harness. She understands the implication.  

She damn well knew all of this without me saying a word.

But instead of quiet and swift (in)action, what I got back, was an argument and a bloody diatribe. I was snapped at and told not to shout. It was needed. Of course, she claimed she was right. She argued that she'd stopped making the noise, but, of course, she'd replaced it with the noise and stress of arguing instead.

I was lucky this time, as I managed to get both cats in without too much more upset, but this was the third time recently that she's done something similar that she knows will upset them; coming to the door just as we're approaching; coming out into the garden for no reason just as we're heading back, all three times when I have both cats out together, which she knows is harder than one.

Coincidences? Well, I have never believed in those. 

Ignorantly thoughtless or wilfully malicious? I'll let the jury decide.

Whatever it is, it means I can no longer risk taking the cats out when she's at home. And it is breaking my heart that they are stressed unnecessarily.

Wednesday 8 April 2009

Wednesday, April 8th, 2009

Awoken at 7.30 by the sound of cat hacking up hairballs on the carpet. The only good thing about that is, perhaps if he feels as crap as I do, maybe he'll just lie quietly or snuggle up. I do not have a single body part on me that does not hurt, badly. Life has been cancelled until further notice. Even TV watching hurts.

Wednesday 1 April 2009

Wednesday, April 1st, 2009

Balu fluffy and gleaming in the sun

The cat's coat is soft and lovely and today it's positively gleaming. Now he can shed as much hair as he damn well likes on the carpets, but at least it'll be clean! However, as a result of bending to wash and dry him, which, as I explained earlier, was hardly a major task, I woke up even stiffer than usual with pain in my lower back and right up the sides of my torso and into my shoulders and arms. From years of experience, I know it will take days of stretching and rest to unknot.

Yet, if I were reading that and wasn't inside my own body to know better, it sounds like a little bit of ache and stiffness: something one can "buck up" and ignore.

Honestly, the only way I can explain the back pain is that my torso feels like it's broken in half and, it feels like my spine isn't strong enough to hold the top of me upright. The pain is always much more disabling than is sounds. In addition to the aching, which is actually all over pain at a level that can't be ignored; distraction doesn't work and it doesn't respond to painkillers, one also feels generally unwell, more often that not with nausea, exhaustion (despite just having got up), and a general malaise akin to that you'd have when you're wiped out by a bout of bad flu. You feel so ill that even lying still takes supreme effort.

Walking to the kitchen or the loo takes supreme effort too as one feels like one's weight has just been trebled, one's legs are made of rubberised lead and you're dragging a ton weight behind you. Such simple movements make me breathless. And when you've felt like that every other, or every third day, or even once a week, for 15+ years, you've really run out of ways to buck up and carry on.

But the sun was out, so one tries.

(And, of course, the mere fact that one tries one's best not to be floored by these symptoms means that one looks capable and, consequently, you're judged to have nothing at all wrong with you, because your legs do, in fact, still exist.)

The gardner came to cut the lawn and I'd not met his new dog yet. I do so miss mine, so I asked to meet her. Of course, I knew I'd have mixed feelings, but what I wasn't expecting was that she would be a facsimile of my dog, who I'd had to put down just a few short months ago (against my wishes); my best friend joined at my hip. Just a little darker. Same temperament. Same eyes. Same ears. Same nose. Same tail. And as I took the lead she just naturally took me for a walk. I wanted to hug her, but I couldn't. I went cold. To say that this devastated me all over again, would be the understatement of the century. I felt a pain like a kick in the chest. A real pain, an ache, a longing that I can neither shake nor stand.

Tuesday 31 March 2009

Tuesday, 31 March 2009

Well, this is going to be an exciting entry: today I bathed the cat. Bear with me, because it's relevant as a comment on the state of my health and how severely everyday tasks affect me.

Anyway, it was the cat's first bath in over a year, which was a bit overdue because, even not going out, he has too much hair to do it himself and, for the first time in his life, he's properly molting, so I needed to help with the frequently falling fluff.

Yes, we already brush handfuls out everyday ... because it's frequently falling in big tufts all over the carpet, provoking much deliberate picking up and hand-brushing of the carpet. Hand-brushing, because the Hoover won't pick it up - which is more of a comment on the (lack of) quality of the carpet, than it is on the inefficiency of the Hoover, though there's probably an element of that too.

Can I manage to get on my hands and knees to hand brush a carpet? Not a hope!

In a house with all tiled floors and in a warm climate, you just bath the cat and let it go outside. It just sits in the sun and licks itself dry and any moisture it drops on the floor on the way from bathroom to exit door, is easily and simply mopped up.

It's a task I'd been putting off for ages, not wanting to cause him any more distress than he's already feeling in a strange land and, not wanting a grand "ho-ha", because it's not that easy to bathe a cat in a fully carpeted (even the bathroom) house and NOT leave one or two drops of slight dampness somewhere. Odd drops of water - even when they're appropriately inside the bath - cause great distress to my mother, who reacts, flapping about there being "water everywhere".

She also obsessively wipes and dries the bath every single time it gets wet, which I find both hilarious and the possible indication of a mental affliction, but, whilst I can ignore this behaviour, the cat wouldn't and would pick up on the tension. So to avoid any anxiety that might unnerve the poor cat, with shampoo at the ready, I grabbed the opportunity this morning while she was out for his annual bath.

He's no trouble at all: actually he's more compliant that the dog used to be and hardly objects, so it's not even a case of needing strength and agility to control him, 'coz the little bugger just stands in the bath and lets me massage the soap into his back, thoroughly enjoying the attention and purring away.

Afterwards, I wrapped him in a towel - which he lay in relaxed and prone like a baby - rubbed off the excess and then gave him some fluffing up with the hairdryer, which in the absence of sun and decent temperatures, was necessary to keep him warm while he was damp. He's happy to put up with this too and I can even roll him on his back to dry off the fur on his belly. He's no trouble at all.

Except the bending. And the doing anything really.

Yes I paced the task sensibly: I took a rest after the bathing and did the drying in several short bursts to avoid over exertion (cat puts up with that better too). When he was essentially dry, I let him finish "cooking" at Gas Mark 1 - he got into bed, so I switched on the electric blanket to keep him warm and avoid damp.

Heat helps fibromyalgia too, so I should benefit from lying on it too. And yet ...

This simple task just about "broke" my back (so you'd think from the pain), but not only that, I was actually shaking and trembling from exertion, indicating that I had pushed myself beyond my level of endurance. Now, even I'll admit that it's totally ridiculous to get to beyond my level of endurance from such simple, everyday, activities but this is not unusual. It's what happens and it's hard to see how to avoid or overcome it.

Saturday 20 September 2008

I haz a kid

Inter-species snorgling

I love goats, which tended to be a good thing when I lived in a valley filled with hundreds of them, had friends who kept goats (and made terrific cheese), but long before that I'd joked a goat would come in handy to keep the weeds down in the garden. Those who laughed at the idea, see dis.

Every day in the late afternoon in Tenerife, you come across herds of goats, but it took lots of walks to meet the goats in a local pen before my daft dog would no longer bark at them (she was no better with horses and a lot worse with other dogs, but that's a whole other story.) Whenever I took her to see the goats, an entourage of cats (her adopted kids) would follow us too.

Betty climbed the 3 meter wire fence to get up close and personal with them and wasn't so certain about meeting goats in person once one chased her all around the perimeter of the field.

But my favourite memory is from the first time Cleo (my little shadow and then queen of the feline troupe) came with us. She was not exactly sociable with other critters normally, so it was the more surprising and touching to see her standing up on hind legs at the fence, nose to nose with a goat kid.

My good friend Natalia, who kept goats, made cheese and was usually followed around the valley by her own entourage of cats, died, at the far too young age of only 47, at 7 p.m. on May 3rd, 2001.

How I can still remember so clearly, is because I remember exactly where I was at that very moment: with Holly, rescuing three kittens, two of whom are with me in the UK. Cleo had kidney and liver problems, so I had to end her suffering in 2004. This year, in June, I had to leave Betty (and Mico) behind in Tenerife and had say goodbye to Holly, my beautiful dog and best friend. Too soon and not by choice.

As a result, all of these memories have turned bitter-sweet. I miss friends, the other cats, my dog, the goats. I miss the walks, the wild fruit, the nature, the mountains and the fresh air. I miss them all so much it hurts. And in their place is just an emptiness that makes my heart ache beyond anything I can bear.

Sunday 20 July 2008

On the trail of squirrels and pigeons

Balu outside

Stop the presses: Balu actually woke up and got up, during daylight hours! This is progress, after weeks of cowering and hiding in bed, only appearing after dark and for meals since flying into Britain in June.

I'm sure it won't happen again any time soon, but he did get the chance to go for a stroll in the front garden, meet one of the neighbours (yes, it is a cat on a lead), then after a good sniff round, he flopped down in front of the gate, right where there's a gap that the cheeky squirrels use to come and go from one garden to another. Balu has never actually met a squirrel mind you, but he's probably worked it out, because they're forever skipping past, just inches from the house. They must be half tame to get that close. Or they live here! And Balu has probably seen them when he's been watching from the windowsill during nocturnal hours.

What's the chance he flopped down in that spot for no reason whatsoever? Or just to sunbathe? It was a rare day when he could have. He was a dab hand at catching canaries & bunnies in Tenerife, but we won't be encouraging squirrel hunting (too high in cholesterol?), nor pigeon perturbing, which is what I think really caught his eye! So he got some new balls instead (I mean the plastic type, for playing football) and a fake mouse that he tossed around until we all got tired.

Balu also got the run of the house while mother was out and, strangely enough, though he explored everywhere, he didn't try to destroy anything. He was so quiet that, in the end, I had to go see where he'd gone and, of course, found him lounging happily on the roof of mother's dolls house: THE place that is absolutely verboten to cats! (Well, along with 1001 other places that are forbidden, which - constantly meeting closed doors - can't be helping them feel at home.)

Of course, cats immediately go for THE place they're not supposed to!

The real irony is that, only the day before, I'd said I doubted the cats would ever settle enough to stop this hiding in bed all day lark (I still have my doubts that they'll come out of hiding regularly and, I'm certain they'll never be settled and confident enough to go outside alone). Balu did go straight back to bed after breakfast - like every day for the last few weeks - and, just as he was slinking under the covers, I commented that I "used to have cats", i.e. not just lumps in a bed. Mid-day he got up and stayed up all day. Contrary puss!

Sunday morning: He was back to bed the moment he'd eaten some food and had hissed at me once and tried to run off to the bedroom to hide, no less than three times during breakfast. But, amazingly, both cats were out of bed, lounging at opposite ends of the sunny windowsill when I woke up. Both dashed to the kitchen, shouting loudly for food as soon as I moved. Yes that's normal behaviour for cats in general and was for them before, but they haven't done that here before as timidity had gotten their tongues. We shall see if he graces us with another appearance later, though it probably won't be for a while, because the snoring sounds are getting pretty loud again!



Tuesday 15 July 2008

Kitty is Hissing

Kitty

You'd hardly know the poor things were here, but the cats are clearly a real nuisance. Mother just won't deal with the idea of shutting doors to make sure they don't escape. When she leaves doors or windows wide open and I point it out, I'm told that it "wasn't much". Of course, in all the years I've had cats - well over 40 - I couldn't possibly have got to know what size gap a cat can get through, could I? 

So I have to keep my eyes on her the whole time, or keep the cats shut in with me (which I also can’t achieve, because they need to get to their food and litter box and my mother opens the door and barges into my room whenever she likes).

She's forever finding fault and shouting at the cats, even when they’re not doing anything wrong (which I've told her time and time again NOT to do), so it's no wonder poor, timid Kitty isn't settling in and has now taken to hissing at my mother, which makes my mother, unjustifiably, even angrier with the cat. 

I despair, because Kitty's reaction of cowering and hiding is not getting any better and, this could become a habit to send a former wild cat wild again.

And, for as long as Kitty isn't happy, I won't be able to let her out, because she might run away. And, for as long as the cats don't go out, they'll be in the way, shouted at and will take longer to relax and settle. It's a chicken and egg situation that can ONLY be solved if my mother would stop scaring the poor cats.

Wednesday 9 July 2008

Pussies Progress

A progress report on these Canarian "expatriate" moggies now living in Blighty: They don't like the bloody weather any more than I do and spend all day long, curled up tightly under a thick duvet, appearing only when the sun goes down for the odd meal. I've tried peeling them off the bed, but they just slink right back up under the covers and Velcro themselves back into place again. The lumps in the bed are hardly discernible and, if it weren't for the odd sound of snoring, you'd could almost forget that they're there.

That isn't really a problem on it's own, because it's perfectly normal for cats to sleep for around 16 hours a day, but they're not just sleeping, they're also still hiding from everything. Their general behaviour is not normal (for them), they aren't eating and drinking as they should be doing and they're showing absolutely no signs of settling in. And, if they're showing no signs of relaxing and settling after a month, then I think one has to accept that they may never do so.

Well, I know I will never do so, so I shouldn't be surprised really.

Balu did seem to be making some progress, but then suddenly became timid and scared, running and hiding from every other strange noise, person and thing. He's been cowering, belly slinking on the floor and even hisses at me, none of which he had EVER done before in all his 7 years. He became so uncomfortable with it, his walks in the garden got suspended. Yesterday, I tried taking Kitty out for a stroll in the morning, which was going fine, until my mother came towards her. Kitty immediately took fright, tried to run away, got caught up in her harness, then started hissing, spitting and flailing. With some difficulty, I was able to subdue Kitty and rush her back inside the house again, but not before she'd lacerated my hands. Kitty's gouged through the tip of one of my fingers so deeply it probably needed a stitch, which gives you an idea of how jumpy and scared they are.

The cats spend all day hiding, coming out just long enough to eat and even then I mostly have to take them to the dish and they'll run away from it and go back into hiding again, immediately, if there's even the slightest noise.

These two cats, I bottle fed (with much help from the dog) from when they were 2-3 weeks old. Balu spent his first weeks sleeping inside my T-shirt, he spent the next 7 years kissing and cuddling me and generally being a fungus. Now he doesn't want to do any of that. As a friend said, he has no-one else to blame (except me) for the horrid move and the current situation he doesn't like. It really hurts. And now I feel like I've lost "my baby" (on top of everything else.)

Saturday 21 June 2008

Caturday Curiosities ...



Well, I've made a(nother) rod for my own back! (Anyone surprised?) :-)

Because the two cats (aged 7) I've brought from Tenerife have never moved house before and, because they're really quite timid former ferals, I've been giving them "familiarization walks" in the garden on a harness and lead. This should allow them to get to know the place slowly and in relative safety and, hopefully make them less liable to bolt (in the wrong direction), when they encounter unfamiliar (and here, everything is) sights, smells and sounds.
"The problem with cats is that they get the exact same look on their face whether they see a moth or an ax-murderer." - Paula Poundstone
Compared to their natural habitat: a ridge well away from a main road, in the middle of a rural valley, with no neighbours, there's a lot to startle cats here. There's traffic noise and human noise - we're surrounded by houses and this is hover mower country - and then there's the constant screaming of seagulls overhead, as well as neighbour dogs, garden birds and new weird animals.

Taking them out on a lead seems like the natural thing to do: after all, their "mother" was a dog. Well, I say "them", but I've only taken Kitty out a couple times because she is clearly not keen. She was trembling and just wanted to dart off, so, in the meantime, we'll concentrate on Balu, who is Lovin' It(™) and, with luck, once he's comfortable with it, his confidence might rub off on his sister.

As the nice lady says in How to Walk a Cat on a Leash, it's easier to start when they're young. Thirty years ago, I did just that with my old cat, Tom, which proved to be a great boon over the years, because I could literally take him anywhere, like a dog. I would have done it again when Balu was small, but I couldn't find a suitable harness in Tenerife and anyway, he was then one of triplets and then I had three other cats too. I couldn't walk them all.

Could have tried harnessing them all up in a team, except ...
"Cats are smarter than dogs. You can't get eight cats to pull a sled through snow." - Jeff Valdez
Nor six or seven of them, as there were on occasion, I suppose.

Anyway, for the first few days, Balu's performance on the lead (no photos: one of us should be allowed to retain some dignity) was pretty much like the cat in the above video. He looked about as happy with the idea as this fluffball. As in all things, purrsistence (sic) pays and he now has me trained.

The curious thing is, he had been an indoor cat for a year or more in Tenerife, but more and larger windows, including patio doors (that are just like widescreen HD TV for cats) opening out onto the part of the garden where there's a bevy of birds and a surfeit of squirrels, must be tempting him outside. Hence, we've had some right tantrums and, trying everything; food, drink, litter tray cleaning, cuddles, et al, I found a short outing into the fresh air was sufficient to placate him and, ever since he's been insisting on it daily. Morning routine has now been set by his Royal Fluffiness; ablutions, breakfast (his: mine comes later), walk in garden, coffee. In that order. By command. Yes, the coffee is for me and I'd LIKE to have it first, before going out, but the whining kinda takes the edge off enjoying it. Balu is such a beautiful cat, until he opens his big fat gob. He has the most grating, screeching, whining and annoying meow I ever heard, which tends to encourage me to do something (anything) to shut him up, in the shortest time possible.

So, we've been going out promptly each morning and, you know how quickly they become creatures of habit. Yesterday, as soon as he'd eaten, he began moaning, came to where the lead is kept, stood there while I put his harness on, then led me to the back door. This morning, he "cut out the middle man" and just waited by the back door, letting me bring the harness to him. He's not bloody stupid, is he?

Today finally, he walked, leading me, right round the perimeter of the garden. He didn't flinch at the noises going on in the pigeon shed next door (it sounded to me like they were shagging), nor was he purrturbed (sic) by the robin sitting on an archway, shouting and swearing (s/he has babies in the holly bank.)

Next week, watch us stroll down the local main street (not!)

Wednesday 18 June 2008

Fatty Fortress Britain ...

Gatwick International Arrivals

Gatwick airport may have just celebrated it's 50th Birthday, but the airport authority should spend the next 50 years getting the place consolidated: it's now so sprawling and disjointed, I felt like I'd walked to the UK from Tenerife. 

Then there was the interminable wait to be sneered at by the grumpy staff in passport control. We were, for all intents and purposes, a bog standard tourist flight full of (previously) happy holidaymakers; I was apparently returning to my own country even ... And yet we were lined up, told where to stand, eyed suspiciously and checked out like a bunch of criminals or illegal aliens. 

Welcome to F*cking Fortress Britain, I thought.

I reached out to grab my (relatively slim) suitcase off the carousel.

A coffee break ensued and I realized then immediately why the rate of obesity has quadrupled in the UK during the last 25 years. Just take the size of the coffee these days. What used to be served in cups, or even mugs (and those were probably overlarge), is now served in sodding great buckets.

It narks me, because there's no earthly way anyone needs coffee (or portions of anything) that size and, with millions starving, rising food prices, global food shortages, etc., it strikes me as criminally wasteful and gluttonous.

Please understand that I'm not dissing the coffee. Britain has, at least, learned to serve something half reasonable since I was last here, but the caffeine overload is a very worrying and they know how to charge for it too. Certainly wasn't surprised about the latter point, mind you. Subsequent observations of the Americanized "bottomless" this and "neverending" that everywhere and it's no wonder that around one in four men and one in three women in the UK are overweight, according to government statistics.

Well, hell, you don't need government statistics, you just need to look around. You hardly notice things when it's happening around you on an everyday basis, so maybe you won't have noticed how people in Britain have expanded, but after such a long absence, to me, it was shockingly obvious.

People are noticeably larger in the UK now and noticing people that large was something I'd not done since Disney World in Florida, back in 1980. And it was at Cypress Gardens in Florida that I'd first seen bucket sized soft drink servings. There has to be a connection between these things, you know.

Forget grumpy passport control. Just put the cafes before the entry point and make the doorways narrower. That should keep a lot of people out.

Actually, it's a wonder the obese don't die of heart attacks on the walkways!

On the other hand, remember the immense amount of paperwork I had to generate (with apologies to the entire forest of trees); another example of a "queue-creating, time-wasting, job-justifying madness" - this time on the part of the British - just to import two (quite portly) tabbies into the country ...

Well, we got lost, in the dark, trying to find Animal Aircare (somewhere in the arse end of the cargo sheds.) It's been moved to a new location apparently. We asked and were told that, it's 30 yards this way, then someone else told us it's 50 yards that way and, finally after walking back and forth among and along the cargo bays, balancing on ledges, a nice man took us to the right place. Well, I was still just looking for the place for the paperwork (release note), but we were taken straight to where the cats were and, were promptly handed them.

After all the performance and red tape, the animal control bloke said he hadn't even taken the cats out of the box, but that they "look alright". Indeed. 

Because, he said, "The little one's hissing at me." Is it any wonder?

Dunno about Kitty, but I felt like hissing at this point!

And then he gave me a "delivery note" for "TWO LIVE CATS".

Actually, I had specified tabbies and he said that was what I was going to get, 'coz that's all he had. Good to see British humour hasn't changed then!

Personally, I still reckon I should sue 'em under the Trade Descriptions Act. Since it's so bloody cold in this country, all the cats have done since they arrived is hide and curl up tightly under the bed covers. Were it not for the occasional snoring sound emanating from the corpulent one (that would be Balu), I'd say that LIVE was a most inappropriate term and a bit of a gross exaggeration!

Friday 6 June 2008

The Longest Day ...

Storming the beach

Well, damn, I knew there was something significant about today's date and was thinking, thank goodness we didn't do this a couple of years ago (on 6/6/6), 'coz that really would have been a beastly, devil of a day.

Finally, the penny dropped when I was reminded that, it was on the 6th June 1944 that the allied troops had disembarked in Normandy. Duh!

So, what will I be doing 64 years later on 6th June 2008?

As you read this, I'll be "storming" Britain!

... along with two fat tabbies, who have to be checked in at 12:20 mid-day and, who will not clear the other end until 2 hours after our ETA of 19:45 hours. Add a couple of hours travel to and from the airports at both ends and you just could not find anything more apt than the description of The Longest Day ...

And, Britain has no idea what's about to hit it, does it? :-)

Sunday 1 June 2008

Synchronized Sunday ...

Kitty and Balu

At Artsy Catsy they do Synchronized Sunday Sleeping, quite elegantly. What do they do in my house? About 1 1/2 seconds after I'd filled it with clean litter, Fluffy bum, I mean Balu, found it necessary to use the feline bathroom facilities, which is one of those fairly common hooded litter trays, with a small opening and with, generally, only room for one adult cat to use it at a time. 

Long ago, 7 years ago in 2001, when they were kittens, I learned that they do pretty much everything together. Sleep, eat, wash, play, poop ... Rinse, repeat.

Meal times and ablution rituals were carried out in a manner not unlike working on an assembly line on the factory floor. Squirt milk in one end, hold kitten up for dog to lick clean at the other, next ... We lost the third one, Khan, in 2006, which just leaves the two fat tabbies, Balu and Kitty.

Anyway, so this afternoon, while Balu was in the poop box, Digging for Victory, along comes his sister Kitty, attracted by the sound. Walked straight towards the box and, before I could say, "You're not going to go in there too?", she did. Seven years and they still have to do absolutely everything together. 

Inelegant Synchronized Sunday Sh*tting!

Thursday 27 September 2007

Miss the eyes and you've missed the shot

Betty and Mico

An article entitled, Ten Tips for Photographing Wildlife Like a Pro, begins:
"Miss the eyes and you've missed the shot. Getting the eyes in focus is key to capturing a photo of an animal. It's human nature to look at the eyes. It's how we determine emotion and how we connect."
With this little green-eyed monster called Betty, "wildlife" is the right term and, getting the eyes at all is a major accomplishment. They either don't show up, or are closed and getting her to keep still long enough usually (she's more at home climbing trees, fences, walls ...), but in a rare moment of composure, posing on top of her long-suffering "husband" Mico, out in our (scruffy) utility room, I finally managed to capture her looking straight at the camera.

Monday 6 August 2007

We wuz refugees

The other saint of animals
The scent of barbecued pine isn't as nice as you expect when it's related to the biggest fire in Tenerife's recent history that affected an area equivalent to 13,882 soccer pitches (over 28,000 of the American type).

Nothing has calmed down yet since getting home. Yesterday and this morning we were without electricity for 14 hours, internet connections have been erratic and, I'm constantly in demand to give local information, or do translations.

A man had come banging at the door at 5 am last Tuesday, to tell us that we had to leave because there was a big fire in the mountains and we were being evacuated. There was no way of knowing what, if anything, of our possessions would remain when we got back and it was only through luck, because the wind changed, that the fire didn't come in the direction of our house, but it had become dangerous to remain here from the risk of smoke inhalation. What I chose to take was one change of clothes, a backup of my computer (I hadn't actually done this successfully, but I THOUGHT I had), myself, four cats, a dog and all my important documents, including insurance policies.

The sky was vivid red with flames, the smoke was getting thick and my dog, Holly, wouldn't even go up the road for a walk. She must have known it was dangerous out there. The people next door just let their dog free and left, but I refused to leave until I knew that we would all be OK. I got transport organized and took us all (four cats and the dog) off to a 5 star hotel - er, for a night at that unmentionable place: THE VET. As you can see, it's a very nice place for anyone to stay, but the cats thought they must have done something wrong.

The over 40C heatwave killed 55,000 animals (50,000 hens and chickens and 5,000 bunnies) even before the fire. Nobody knows how many dogs and cats, as well as sheep, goats and wild animals were killed by the fire. People in nearby valleys have lost their homes and everything they owned. We were very fortunate.

Saturday 21 July 2007

Allergies Cats Can Have

Bettty under the vines

When people think of cat allergies they usually think of people being allergic to the cat dander and the mild to severe reactions a person can have. It is important to realize that just as people have allergies cats can have allergies too.

Figuring out what your cat is allergic too is no easy task, but process of elimination and observation help. One of mine had a skin rash so bad (he would develop scabs on his ears and neck and the fur would disappear from these areas and his underarms and tummy would erupt in red blotches like hives or heat rash) that he had to be given cortisone injections.

But knowing that those are undesirable, I wanted to get to the bottom of the problem. Food is one major culprit and my dog may be allergic to certain things: she gets diarrhoea from multi-colored foods that have colorants in.

We discounted food as the problem in the cat. We eliminated any household products, because the problem improved if the cat was kept indoors.

At first the vet thought it was reaction to flea infestation, but we ruled that out too. Once everything else was eliminated, we knew that it must have been an allergy to a plant of some sort, but I live in the countryside, in a fertile valley, that has hundreds, if not millions of plants, both wild and cultivated.

Where the heck do you start?

The vet said that we could do patch tests to find out what he reacted too, but that this would be both exhaustive as well as prohibitively expensive, so I spent years watching the seasons and the rash come and go (treating it naturally with aloe and olive oil and simply keeping the cat in for spells to let it calm), before I finally cracked it when the rash totally disappeared and healed within a week of the grapes being harvested from the vines.

Now I can see why: the cats used to spend a lot of time sleeping in the shade under the vines in the summer, which is hard to avoid when there are vines - enough to produce 200 liters of wine - right here in our backyard.

It appears that the acid from the fruit was literally burning them. Mico is obviously highly allergic as he has the biggest adverse reaction; Betty, who also comes from another part of the island, is also slightly affected.

The two cats who were born right here in the valley show no symptoms: presumably come from stock that has developed immunity.

Now the only recourse is to keep the cat away from the substance causing the allergy. In our case, I have to keep them in from when the grapes first form in June/July through until early October when they're harvested. In old man Mico's case, this presents no difficulty.

Betty is another story: she yowls at the door and tries to escape constantly.

How do you tell a cat that something is for their own good?

Friday 13 April 2007

Friday the thirteenth, part deux

Friday the 13ths aren't supposed to be a problem in Spain. Here it's when the 13th falls on a Tuesday that you need to worry. (Likewise, look out for jokes on the Day of the Innocent Saints, December 28th, not April the 1st.) And all of my cats (and the dog) were born and bred on Spanish territory, sooo why do I get the impression that they were having a late April Fool / Friday the 13th joke on me yesterday?

The day had started with Balu and Kitty being reluctant to being photographed for their 6th birthday and, degenerated rapidly from there. Normally they just get on with the serious business of sleeping and let me work. Most of the time you wouldn't even notice that there are multiple cats in the house. 

Today, one after another, or in pairs, the cats wanted to spend time on my lap (Betty insisted on this and when Betty insists, you obey, because she bites and scratches and anyway, if you put her down, she just bounces back up again), on the desk, on the printer (that I've given up on being able to use and turned into a cat bed anyway), on my mouse arm, playing "musical chairs" with the basket on the dining table - first the two boys, Mico and Balu, then Kitty and Balu huddled in it, then ... Finally, the fluffy feline on his own curled up tightly in a ball, paw over nose and it looked like we'd get some peace. It didn't last long.

I'd also done a little spring cleaning and had stuff drying in the spare room that I wanted that fur persons kept away from. You're right, what I wanted and what I got were two entirely different things. Whatever you want kept away from cats is the very thing they become absolutely determined to get into. 

The Old Ruins of El PalmarIt's convenient here to understand how traditional Canarian cottages are built. They were mostly built of just two rooms, one of those previously being the kitchen / dining / living room and the other being the entire family's bedroom. (Plumbing and bathroom facilities, such as they were, were added later, outside.)

Lots of these typical thick walled cottages still exist, though the uses of the rooms have changed, they've had a coat of plaster and had iggldy-piggledy extensions added over the years, but one feature that remains - mostly out of the interests of economy - is that the doorway between the original two rooms does not have a door fitted in it. Despite the cosmetic changes, this type of dwelling is terminally damp, virtually unfit for human habitation, but "purrfect" for fools on a budget who want to rent an ideal location to keep a family of cats.

In the interests of warmth and privacy and, because there are other doors in and out of these rooms now, I have the gap closed with a wardrobe across it.

Ha, but, of course, the flying feline makes light work of jumping up onto the top of the wardrobe, squeezing his fat ass through the small gap at the top where the wardrobe is not quite as high as the doorway, shimmying right down the back of the wardrobe and into the spare room - right where you don't want him and that he now cant get out of because the other door is closed. So then I put some cardboard fruit boxes on top of the wardrobe to close the remaining gap. He sat on the bedside table for a few moments, looking up and thinking. Then he just jumped (flew) up onto the wardrobe, placed a paw behind the "offending" box, hooked it out of the way, shimmied through the gap and back down again. I added more obstacles. He surmounted them. He'd go round, I'd fetch him out.

Rinse and repeat. Incessantly.

Balu is bright, he's incredibly determined and he's an absolute menace. (Of course, he's also handsome and I love him to bits and he knows this!)

Meanwhile, I'd put a chair in front of the wardrobe so I could get up there to put these obstacles in Balu's way. Kitty, trying to see if she could use this chair as the quick way to the top, stands up on her hind legs and pushes the bedroom door closed. Just as the door starts swinging, she hops down and dashes through the gap in the nick of time. Thinks it's a game, does she?

The bed in the spare room is on legs, so Balu ran to hide under there. So I go in with the broom to sweep him out. He runs out and in the time it takes me to cross the hall (scant seconds), he's gotten into the basket, laid down and is lounging in there looking the picture of perfect innocence (almost).

What can you do? I was absolutely beside myself with laughter.

Friday The Thirteenth

Balu and Kitty on their 6th Birthday

Balu and Kitty celebrate their 6th Official Birthday today. Maybe "celebrate" is too strong a word. To be honest, I don't think they're the slightest bit interested. I tried having an "official birthday photo-shoot", for posterity, but all I got were some very serious expressions and a bit of a sneer from Kitty.

Today does bring bitter-sweet memories, as it is their first birthday without their brother Khan, who we lost to kidney failure last November. Maybe Kitty didn't want to be shown with her shaved neck, after blood tests. This morning, Kitty, who is normally a very independent Miss and prefers to sleep alone, was in bed with me when I woke up, tucked in beside me. Balu was, as usual, sitting on my chest, shouting at me for his breakfast, so some things are normal at least! 

Monday 5 February 2007

Caution: Mystery Meat in Garden

Pork chop remains thrown onto our garden

What kind of being, because it sure isn't human, throws a pork chop bone - a little underdone, if you ask me - fresh from today's lunch, into someone else's garden? Bearing in mind that I live in the middle of nowhere and that nobody is going to drive half a mile to throw away a bone, then it has to have come from one of our group of only three houses here. One neighbour, who only comes on alternate weekends - including this - barbecues, just yards from where this was found.

My dog found this as we were going out to go for a walk: Ms Supersniffer went straight into the overgrown weeds where it had been thrown and had got it in a trice. Fortunately, a very sharp "Drop it!" command ensured that she did.

Besides being pork, which dogs shouldn't have and, apart from the fact that it's dirty and gross and would also have attracted all the other wild dogs, cats, rats and goodness knows what to our house if it hadn't been found, one has to be cautious of other non-kosher ingredients, because there are always accounts of people putting down poisoned meat to kill other people's animals here.

There honestly doesn't have to be a reason.

And the other neighbour (both neighbours are brothers) had been out spraying chemicals this morning. It would be just far too coincidental. Whilst I am not saying it was and I'm not about to have it analysed, I'm just saying it would not be unheard of, so I'm not about to take chances. It's also just bloody lucky that the cats have not been out for quite some time and are unlikely to do so, so they couldn't have found it first, when I wasn't around to act in time.

Why have the poor cats all been imprisoned again? Apart from bad weather and a list of other reasons, after losing Khan to kidney failure in November, his brother, Balu started pissing blood last weekend. Sister, Kitty just didn't seem her normal self, then Betty started throwing up. So, last Monday, I took the whole family to the vet, plus Mico and the dog. At this point I was fraught and not just from the constant "choral singing" on the long journey either.

One must not have favorites when one has a "numerous family", but the fact is that I found Balu, abandoned, when he was only 4 1/2 inches long, brought him up on the bottle and, unlike his siblings, constantly carried him around inside my clothing when he was "the baby who would not be put down." 

Brilliant vet mind you. Balu lay in my arms without being held down, while she shoved a catheter up his you-know-what to make sure there was no blockage and to "extract the urine", so to speak. He only flinched slightly, once.

Kitty walked out of the carrier, allowed herself to be prodded and poked, without complaint and, walked back in again.

Mico was also entirely unperturbed by the experience.

Holly is a damn traitor. She kissed the vet! Otherwise, she was a total menace, because she barked and lunged at all the other doggies in the surgery. Partly because she has no clue what a dog is and partly, because, obviously, she was protecting her "children", the cats.

And Betty did her usual two circuits of the surgery like a whirling dervish, before hiding in a cubby hole in the desk, from where I had to extract her - hissing, spitting and scratching - from between the computer cables.

Oh well, at least she didn't climb a wall this time. 

Then the nice lady vet, called Ana, hugged and talked to her. Actually, I think she may have hypnotized her, because Betty was the model of good behavior after that. By the end of the day though, I was wishing I could hop on the vet's table too, probably to be put out of my misery.

The upshot is that Balu had a very nasty urinary infection, but the results of the analysis did not indicate any other, more serious, problems. Phew!

Betty had wind (gas). However, during the rattling off of the long shopping list of animals, their histories and various symptoms, the vet did query if there was any possibility that they might have been coming into contact with poisons.

Funny she should ask ...

The council is also undertaking a large "desratizaciĆ³n" (de-ratting) campaign here at the moment. They'd been round door-to-door and held meetings about it just before Christmas, but said that they were putting the rat poison into boxes and tubes to avoid risks to domestic animals. Locals, of course, never bother to tell me when they spray with weed killers and such. That is how I came to spend one Christmas Day in that same veterinary hospital with Betty, seven years ago and the next three days and nights nursing a cold cat that didn't move, jabbing her with Vitamin K. And if all that fails, they just throw mystery meat!