Millie as Experiment

It occurred to me suddenly. Millie stopped wetting where she shouldn’t downstairs in part, I think, I because of the covered litter-boxes. But it was something else. She had been wetting against a wall. I blocked off the wall, with boxes and a freezer. She stopped wetting there. She did not seem to consider wetting against the obstacles, which constituted the ‘new wall’, as it were.

I decided to do the same in the cat-room. So far, in response, she has used the litter-boxes three times in two days, counting this morning, and has not wet anywhere else. This, despite there are still being unobscured walls elsewhere. There appears to be a mild obsession about certain locations; once they are denied her, Millie sees no alternative to the litter-box.

I have no idea how this will be explained to someone interested in adopting her. However, readers may note that one of the obstacles, seen in the photograph, is a cat-tree, with perfectly good access to the wall behind it. She has not wet there. This suggests that the real obstacle is anything that presents even a notional barrier to her preferred location for wetting. If this is the case, then I can gradually reduce the obstacles to something insubstantial, before removing them all together.

First things first, however. We will see if this policy, borrowed from her time in the library, will keep Millie focussed on the litter-boxes. I will then allow her to roam the rest of the house, when she wishes it, while keeping the other cats out of her safe-room. As with every controlled experiment, one factor needs to be confirmed first, before moving on to the next.

Let’s hope the subject doesn’t catch on to what I am doing.

No Lurkers in the Safe-room

Millie did not adjust to moving upstairs to the cat-room as well as I had hoped. She started wetting outside the litter-boxes again.

I think - or, perhaps, just hope - that the problem is that the other beasts were able to enter the cat-room too easily and too often. That was never the case when her safe-room was the library. I have changed the rules. Now, Mills can come out when things are quiet, for instance in the afternoon, or following a meal when the beasts are typically at rest, and no other cat can go into the cat-room. I want to re-establish that as her safe-spot. She dislikes the other cats right now, and having them in the cat-room when she needs that as her own was too much of a step forward.

After all, seeing these two ready to disturb your day might be too much for anyone.

Oh, What's This?

I was seated at my computer during the weekend, and I heard a ‘whap’ from behind and above me. I turned and saw this.

Valkyrie has discovered the ceiling fan in the bedroom, and gave it an exploratory hit. Well, I’m sure she won’t bother doing anything to it. She was just curious.

Right?

Happy Father's Day, Mr Nibble!

“Mr Nibble! Mr Nibble!”

Neville raised his head wearily from where it had been resting on the warm green grass. The sun this morning was bright and unobscured, and had risen the temperature of the lawns outside the residences at the Cosy Cabin Feline Sanitarium to a very comfortable degree. Neville, the oldest cat currently at the sanitarium, was taking advantage of the day’s sunshine. The urgent but happy cries of Valkyrie, the youngest cat currently at the sanitarium, had disturbed that advantage.

“Neville. My name is Neville…”

Valk bounded over to the recently prone Neville with all the energy of her age and stopped abruptly in front of him.

“Do you know what today is?”

“Sunday.”

“No! It’s Fathers’ Day”

“It should be Fathers’ Day, since it belongs to all fathers, not just one.”

“What?”

“So what if it’s Father’s Day?”

“Dr Bellen says it is, and I think we should celebrate. Are you a father?”

“Am I…? No, no, I’m not. I don’t think so. It was a long time ago that I could think of such things.”

“Why? What happened?”

Neville peered wearily at the youngster, and was a about to explain, but merely sighed, and settled back down again.

“I don’t ‘member my dad. I don’t think I had one.”

“We all have fathers. It’s a biological necessity.”

“A what?”

“You had a father; I had a father; we all have them.”

“Then where are they?”

Neville opened his eyes, which he had hopefully closed. He realized that there was going to be no rest for him for the time being. Though other cats were lounging on the warm green grass, none was near by. The birds sang in the trees, and some of the younger cats gambolled after the sparrows and robins who landed on the ground, but they were not serious about catching them.

“Cats’ fathers are different than cats’ mothers,” explained Neville. “They don’t always stay with the children.”

“Why not?”

Neville sighed. Then frowned. To be honest to himself, he didn’t know why cat dads didn’t stay with their families. It seemed to him that this was the case with many animals.

“I’m going to ask around,” squawked Valkyrie. “Maybe other cats know their dads.”

The youngster turned and bolted from the lawn, running into one of the residences, where her thumping feet could be heard echoing down corridors and staircases. Neville was left alone. He pushed himself to his feet, and, turning, ambled absently. Without meaning to, he headed in the direction of the administration buildings.

Dr Bellen was in his office, even on this Sunday morning. There always seemed to be work to do, something left over from the week that had been. But on Sundays, it could be done relatively slowly; a cup of tea would last longer, there were more biscuits at his elbow, and music relaxed the pace. He also had plenty of time for any visitors who may stroll in to see him.

“Neville, what are you doing?”

The old grey cat raised his head and looked about. He had wobbled his way across the lawns and was passing directly under Dr Bellen’s window. The human had seen him approach, and opening the window, leaned on the sill to speak.

“Oh, sorry, Doctor. I didn’t mean to bother you. I wasn’t coming to see you, really…”

“You look pre-occupied.”

“I am thinking.”

Indeed, Nev did look very thoughtful. Dr Bellen waited for him to speak further; he didn’t want to inquire into something that wasn’t his business.

“Do you remember your father, Dr Bellen?”

It was a question that caught the human by surprise, though it shouldn’t have been as unexpected as it was, considering the day.

“Yes, I do.”

“People-fathers stay to help raise their children, don’t they?” The cat was still thinking, even as he spoke.

“Most do, yes.”

“Cats’ fathers don’t.”

“Every species has its own ways of parenting,” stated the doctor. “It usually works out well.”

“But if human fathers help their children become good humans, shouldn’t cat fathers do the same with their children? Make them good cats, I mean.”

“Cats are different than humans. Kittens learn from their mothers, but also from other, unrelated cats.” Dr Bellen put his head on one side, thinking. “I’ve known of quite a few cats who were uncles or grandpas to young cats; substitute dads, in a way. There’s Moxy, for instance—“

“The tabby with the annoying voice?” If Neville had had eyebrows and could have raised just one, he would have.

Dr Bellen chuckled, and answered, noncommittally, “Moxy helped instruct little Xandria in being a cat, so did Brazil.”

“Brazil! Really?”

“Indeed. Cats switch fathers, if you will,” explained Dr Bellen. “One may have kittens whom he won’t help raise, but he will help raise other kittens. Some humans have step-fathers, who take care of their own children, but then become fathers to other children, as well. They are every bit as good parents to the step-children as to their biological ones.”

“Raising other kittens than their own…” Neville nodded. “I hadn’t thought about that.” Then he shook his lion-maned head. “But I’ve never raised any kittens.” His voice couldn’t decide if it wanted to be sad or relieved.

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” murmured Dr Bellen, as he saw Valkyrie rocket across the lawns toward them.

“Mr Nibble! Mr Nibble!”

“That’s Nev— Never mind…”

Braking to an abrupt halt under the open window, Valkyrie didn’t see Dr Bellen just within his office. Her attention was on Neville.

“I bin talking to a lot of cats about their dads. They don’t ‘member them at all. But they ‘member other cats, who were like their dads,” the youngster declared breathlessly, excited at her discovery.

“Oh?” If Neville could have, he would arched the other eyebrow now.

“Yes! And you know what I d’cided? I d’cided you are like my dad!”

“Me!?” The single-word question was not quite one of horror. “We don’t do anything together.”

“But I watch you. I’ve seen you climb places I didn’t go, and show me it was safe. I watch you stay put when new humans come to the sagitarium, and show me they’re not scary.” Valkyrie’s sentences came out in a rush. “An’ you know what else? Others think the same. It’s like you are the dad of the whole saxifrassium!”

“The whole—?”

“Yes, ‘cause you’re so old and grumpy and know everything about living!”

“Well, I—”

“I’m gonna run and tell everyone about you being our dad!”

Valkyrie shot away, to be as good as her word, leaving Neville protesting that he did not want any responsibility for any of the other cats. But then Valk halted a hundred feet away, and yelled out, in her surprisingly loud wail:

“Happy Father’s Day, Mr Nibble!”

Once the youngster had vanished, Neville sunk down on to the grass, which was as warm and lush under Dr Bellen’s window as it was elsewhere. The human drew further back into his room, and returned to his work, with a smile on his face. Outside, Neville drifted off to sleep, through which he was pursued and jumped on by dozens of kittens, of all shapes, sizes, ages and colours. They observed him and asked him questions, and as he tried to answer them, they asked more, and demanded to play games. Dream-Neville grew exasperated, yet he started to purr, despite himself, for, even as he watched, the kittens grew to adulthood and rushed away to live their lives, and each one looked - just a little bit, maybe around the whiskers, or next the eyes - like him.

Neville dreamed all afternoon, until he was woken in time for dinner.

And Now Presenting...

My new book will be available for purchase in paperback form on June 16th. It is available for purchase now as an e-book. Though it is currently listed as the first volume in a two-book series, I have at last managed to find a way to re-arrange the order, and in a matter of three days or fewer (or more, if I didn’t do it correctly), the two volumes in the series will be listed as just that.

Yes, Idylls of the Spy is another collection of short stories featuring Linus Smith, field operator for the British Secret Service in the 1920s. These stories are, in chronological order, sequels to those collected in Inductions Dangerous. I may have a different publisher for the third volume that will eventually be published, but for now, it is, and will be, available on Amazon.

Ta da!

Striding Forward

As the holidays progress, so does the situation at the Cosy Cabin. Indigo is feeling better. For the first time in a week, she jumped up on the bed to spend the night with me. That is as positive a sign, as is her consumption of food, which is nearly back to what it was before her illness. I am continuing to give her Recovery with Restoralax in it, to help her poop. She has done so, which is, if you’ll pardon the pun, a relief, but the poop has been in small amounts, and rather hard. I hope the medicine will have an effect on that.

Millie is adjusting to things in her new foster-home. I leave the door to the cat-room open much of the time when I am present. The other beasts, mostly Moxy and Brazil, go in, and, while Mills doesn’t like this, she puts up with it. As well, she comes out and explores the house when things are quiet. There are still blow-ups from time to time, either when someone - principally Shimmer - gets too close, or when the newcomer and another accidentally meet outside the cat-room. But Millie is handling the changes very well.

As a sign of her steps forward, she has not wet outside the box in five weeks. I am not discounting anything yet, but this record began when I gave her no alternative to using covered litterboxes. (Mills had been using only an uncovered box in her previous home.) I have decided therefore to remove the ‘splashguards’ - soaker-pads I had placed behind even the covered boxes to catch Millie’s urine at the most likely spots she would wet, if not in the boxes. The pads in front are to catch litter tossed out of the boxes, more than to absorb any fluids.

I will keep my fingers crossed. I am not a particularly superstitious person, but things tend to go wrong when one thinks they can’t. Part of me will stay pessimistic. But most of me is striding forward with Millie and Indigo.

The Semi-secret Garden

A bit of a different entry today…

First, I will report that while Indigo appears still to be under the weather, she is eating. She responds well when I bring her food, and eats most of what she is given. She has also wet in the box twice in the last couple of days, but has not pooped. She may not have eaten enough for that, but it is giving me some concern. I have been mixing a little Restoralax in her Recovery, and that should move anything along, if it is there to move. So there is improvement, but she is not back to normal yet.

For pictures today, though, I thought I would show what the back garden of the Cosy Cabin looks like. It is a small one, but private, with a shed for storage, and to serve as my bicycle’s garage. The lawn takes little time to mow, which is fine with me.

The patio furniture is actually being used, unlike that at the old Cosy Apartment. I am not sure why there is a difference; perhaps it has to do with the privacy I have here. (The drainpipe’s position is temporary; it did go over the gate to the garden, but during the winter filled with ice and collapsed. To prevent water from turning to ice on the walkway, the present expedient was devised.)

There are some small flowers growing. I think the magenta and the white are varieties of the same species, but I have no idea what. I am leaving them alone, since that is their best chance of survival.

It is a pleasant little space, which I am enjoying, and I am grateful to have it.

...And Indigo Moves Sideways

What would holidays be without an ill cat?

I heard Indigo throw up a couple of times Saturday night, and she didn’t come to bed with me, which is unusual. The next day, she didn’t eat at all, and vomited a couple more times. I injected her with Cerenia and though, later, she still did not want food, neither did she bring any up thereafter.

I wondered if this was a recurrence of what the doctor thought was pancreatitis. The symptoms seem similar to what had happened before. She may be in some physical discomfort, but I don’t think it is worth the stress for her to go to the hospital to have some pain-killers prescribed. I will keep an eye on her behaviour for clues to that.

Today, Indie is eating small amounts of Recovery. In case there is constipation, as accompanied her last episode, I am dissolving some Restoralax in her food. I will also try to give her some fluids, though the most recent attempts at that produced such resistance that it was impossible to complete the process without a fight, which is counter-productive.

At least in this instance, I am home to give her food at irregular intervals and to watch her.