Josie the Literate

Renn may be my resident scientist, interested in the natural phenomena that comprise his small universe, but he’s not the only cat of an intellectual bent in my household. I’ve noticed recently, that Josie may often be found near, or on, books.

This is an old characteristic of hers, as may be seen from this photograph taken of her in my old apartment. She continued her fondness for literacy after we moved and, when she gets the chance, will lie down by a book and see what it has to say to her.

At first, I thought it was the large, well-illustrated volumes that attracted my Chubs. There are several books concerning residential architecture that seem to hold a fascination for her. But she is not one dependent upon pictures to hold her attention.

As you may see in the picture below, she seemed to be fascinated by the fine print of an old stand-by of mine, an historical encyclopaedia, a one-volume work full of information. I believe she was learning, in this instance, something of the Mongol invasion of thirteenth century Europe.

But Josie doesn’t restrict herself to reading books, it seems. She appears to have some cognition as regards to my writing. This would be quite a feat, as most who see it declare that my penmanship borders on the incomprehensible; indeed, some would assert that it has crossed that border and taken out full citizenship in the land of illegibility. But Josie doesn’t mind. She finds my writing relaxing, and seems even to enjoy a restful cup of tea while digesting my work.

There are hidden depths to the creatures that populate our lives. Tungsten fears nothing, an excellent quality for a top-cat. Renn is fascinated by his surroundings and seeks to learn what he can about them. Tucker - well, Tucker’s a melon-headed little goof; with him, what you see is what you get. But Josie is a bookish cat, perhaps fitting for a pet who likes to remain a little apart from the others, somewhat aloof. Who knows what great works of literature she will conquer next? Perhaps she is even considering penning her memoirs.

Bored on the Inside

I can’t help thinking that my cats are bored much of the time. I try to entertain them with play, I give them toys, a friend kindly supplied them with the Undercover Mouse machine, they have windows out of which to look, and, periodically, they can annoy each other, and me. But, for the most part, they seemed sated with what their small world has to offer. The house is all they have, and the great outdoors beckons them through the windows, tempting them with all the variety of an undiscovered country.

I see other cats who are allowed to go outside. A number of those who feature in other blogs are outside/inside animals. They seem to fare well, but I can’t believe mine would. Let’s take a look at the individuals, and consider their chances in the wilds.

Tungsten would probably do the best. She is a tough little cat, who will stand up for her rights. But she is indeed a tiny creature, and weighs less than the fur on her back. As I discovered from previous foster-cats, my orange one realises that her size limits her dominance of any situation. She will hiss and growl, and even fight, if necessary. But she knows that she will be bested by cats larger than herself. This doesn’t keep her from confronting them, but it will keep her from defeating them. Therefore, Tungsten should stay indoors.

Renn is a big, strong animal. His muscles bulge when he climbs up a cat-tree; he is swift and powerful. He is also timid. When an automobile pulls up outside the house, he growls and hurries for the shelter of the bedroom. He comes out quickly when the visit is over. If the visitor is a friend he will rejoin me to welcome our guest. But, though he becomes braver every day, he still fears the world a great deal. He could, if it came to a matter of survival, beat most opponents. But I don’t believe my big boy would stand up to the battle, unless he had no choice. His share of spoils in the wild would be small, and he would go hungry. Therefore, Renn should stay indoors.

Josie puts up with little nonsense. My Chubs doesn’t have a great sense of humour, and her life revolves around the basics of food, water and sleep. She plays, but I don’t see much laughter in it. She is a practical cat. Josie would know how to survive outside. Yet knowledge and practice are not identical. She is fat. There is no evading the fact. She can run, but not fast. She can jump, but not high. She can fight, but not with great agility. She is more likely to be a meal than gain access to one. A feral animal would look at her and see only an immense dish of Fancy Feast in a white coat with tabby spots. Therefore, Josie should stay indoors.

Finally, there’s Tucker. My roly poly one is shaped like a sausage, and has the personality of a happy, mischievous child. He is strong, and quick for his size. He has fortitude, and has rebounded heroically from adverisity, retaining his hair-trigger purr through it all. Yet this quality would enable him to suffer well, not survive well. He, like Renn, is easily frightened: though he knows I will not harm him, he still sometimes scurries past me as if expecting trouble. He almost expects to be frightened in any given situation, and bows to any powerful personality that confronts him. He would wait on the edge of a feeding circle, hoping for a scrap of sustenance, and be disappointed. Therefore, Tucker should stay indoors.

There are my four cats. I promised the rescue-group from whom I adopted them that they would remain indoor cats. But beyond my word, there is my concern. The quartet would not do well outside. I don’t think I merely flatter myself that only I stand between them and destruction. It is, unfortunately, true. They must remain inside, bored but safe, wistfully peering through window panes at what they may never have. I think they are happy most of the time, or at least content. But once in a while, watching the world at large, seeing what they may never share, they are, I think, bored on the inside.

The Age of Tungsten

How old is Tungsten, really?

The truth is that I don’t know. When she was rescued, it was estimated that she was six years old. The rescue group with which I volunteer had rented a building at the time in which many of their cats resided, and Tungsten was deposited on its doorstep. She was a foundling, without any information provided for her. It was a veterinarian who suggested her age, and that, I believe, was based largely on the condition of her teeth. Her exact age is unknown, and its estimation is an educated guess.

She has always acted mature. The rescue group believed she had lived with an old woman who had, perhaps, passed away. Tungsten’s demeanour was gentle, and sad. In the years that she has been with me, I’ve come to know her well. She is an intelligent animal, who is largely indifferent to anything that doesn’t matter, and contemplative toward that which does.

Hasty decisions are not for Tungsten. She has watched foster-cats come and go (and two who came but did not go) and tolerates their presence, if it’s at a distance. She weighs situations and acts accordingly. It is an adult’s attitude. This contrasts to Tucker, for instance, who is eight years of age and acts like an eight year old - and eight year old human.

She is the top-cat of the household, reserved, not in the way Josie is, staying physically apart from the other cats, but simply because she isn’t quite like the younger ones, and never has been. I have a mechanical game called ‘Undercover Mouse’, which consists of a wand on a nub that revolves around a circular motor. The wand is largely hidden by a sheet. The cats chase the wand. Tucker, predictably, gets the most enjoyment out of it. Renn, just as predictably, studies the toy and its motions. Josie will watch with interest. Tungsten is mostly uninvolved. She will jump on the circular sheet, stopping the revolving wand, after which she seems to think the game a silly one. If she were playing ‘jacks’, she’d simply throw the ball hard enough to give her time to pick up all the jacks at once. It’s an adult’s decision, not a child’s.

Tungsten does have fun. She shoots around the house from time to time, rocketing faster than any of the others. She will periodically grab at Josie, as if showing her who the boss is. She will wrestle with a string-toy. But, usually it seems, games are something childish to her, something to indulge in once in a while, in a rare frivolous mood, but which are, for the most part, for other cats.

When I think about Tungsten’s age, I remember a scene from the Frank Capra movie “It’s a Wonderful Life”. James Stewart’s character, George, is sitting with his father, discussing Stewart’s younger brother, Harry, who is attending his high school graduation that evening. The boy is ebullient and raucous in a good-natured way; Stewart asks if he had been like that, and his father affectionately replies, “You were born forty years old, George.” That’s how I feel about Tungsten.

Now, she has age spots, something to which orange cats are prone, and her face is starting to reflect extra years. She is slowing down a little, and I’m beginning to notice that she doesn’t like jumping high, which she used to do as easily as walking. I will be taking her to the veterinarian for a check-up in a couple of weeks, because she is at a certain age (or uncertain, since I cannot pinpoint that age). But she’s not too old for my lap, nor too old for purring. She still fits into my hand when we sleep at night and greets me at the door when I come home. She jumps onto my shoulders and pushes her fuzzy head against my face.

Any age at which she does those things is young to me.

Dauntless

I don’t know if Tungsten fears nothing or is simply apathetic about most things. These two qualities are sometimes the same, I suspect. My orange cat is not curious about things, as is my big boy, Renn, so her disinclination to run and hide has nothing to do with interest. Loud noises will not shake Tungsten from a restful pose, nor will the dropping of an object interrupt a snooze. She’s not deaf, so I can’t attribute her calm to an inability to hear anything. She is just not disturbed by many things.

She has stood her ground against the biggest and fiercest foster-cats. When Luther was living with us and battled my perma-cats, he found that the tiny terror did not give an inch. Luther, a solidly-built, young and strong male, has no malice in him, and assaulted other cats in an almost playful manner, though screams and fur flew freely. Tungsten did not see enjoyment in the activity, though, and fought with the ferocity of a trapped lynx. Years ago, when I had another foster-cat, Wixie, there was less fighting but as much confrontation. Wixie, too, is a sweetie, a gentle cat who simply wished to become top-cat. This was opposed by Tungsten, who, as she would later with Luther, did not back down. Wixie was twice Tungsten’s size and thrice her weight.

Vacuum cleaners are a bain of a cat’s life. They are noisy, relentless and have a sucking ability that animals don’t understand - similar to the incomprehension many humans experience when the sucking ability inexplicably ceases. Tucker fears the machine, and Renn hurries away to escape it. Josie climbs a cat-tree. Only Tungsten remains. In fact, she has recently becomes emboldened enough to sniff at a running vacuum cleaner nozzle. I ran the fabric cleaning applicator over her fur, and instead of being uncomfortable, she liked it, noise and all. Each of these pictures was taken while the cleaning machine was running, some while I was holding it, which accounts for the blur.

Just yesterday, I caught my foot in the nylon tunnel and accidentally sent it hurtling across the sitting room into the drinking fountain. Water splashed, the metal fountain clanged; Renn leaped from the cat-bed and disappeared, Tucker shot down the basement stairs probably without touching a step, and Josie ran into the bedroom. What was Tungsten’s reaction? “Oh, the cat-bed’s free. Neat.” And she leisurely strode over to the bed and lie down in it, next to the wreckage of the nylon tunnel.

I can’t believe that her dauntless attitude is the result of a life spent struggling for survival before she came to me. As ferocious as she may be, she is too small to have won many combats against determined enemies. Besides, she’s too gentle to have ever been a fighter. Perhaps it comes from intelligence, a brain that calmly and quickly evaluates any situation and reckons the low danger each presents. Her nerves are steel wires, and will not let her jump or start at any sudden sound.

I think Tungsten is just a brave little animal who isn’t afraid of much. I of course try to limit what could scare any of my beasts, and to provide them with a safe home, but I’ve observed that being a cat often means a life of concern and worry. Everything seems alarming to some of them. But not to Tungsten. To her, the world is filled with things unworthy of her attention; she disdains those dangers that frighten others; an easy-going cat without many concerns, one who knows her capabilities and lives within them. Tiny, orange and fearless.

Glad Tidings

There have been a couple of changes here at the house of four cats since New Year’s Day. One has a direct effect on us all, the other is more in the way of good news, connected with someone we know.

Firstly, Rachael is no longer living with me and the perma-cats. She has been taken in by a couple who are better able to foster her. There is a chance that she may not come back to us, but the arrangement at her new residence is temporary. More important, it seems to be working. There were a few problems at first, and may be more to come, for Rachael is a sensitive animal and feels change greatly. But the couple with whom she is with are experienced with cats and in dealing with them, so I have hopes that things will work out well.

She is staying with the couple who fostered, and then adopted, her former roommate, Dude. Rachael, Dude and Marvin were three cats from a household whose people decided to ‘downsize’ their pet population, and so the trio - and two dachshunds - were sent away. The cats came back to the Lethbridge PAW Society, from which they were adopted. Dude and Rachael went into separate foster-homes, and Marvin had to undergo a surgery for cancer in his nose. He no longer has a nose, but neither does he have cancer. It’s believed his chances of avoiding it in the future are good. Dude, as I mentioned, has been adopted - and re-named Doolie - by the couple now hosting Rachael. They thought that if there were a chance that the two remembered each other and were friends, then they should be together again.

So far, that belief is being justified. Rachael recognised her old roommate and, though they may not be bonded, they appear comfortable with each other, and have snoozed next to one another. The integration with my cats was progressing very slowly due to, shall we say, personality clashes. I think my keeping Rachael separated from the perma-cats may have contributed to the length of the integration. In any case, she should thrive with a whole house in which to roam, and a chummy cat to share it with. I wish the little lion the best in her new adventure.

The couple who are fostering Rachael now had previously tried the same with Luther. I fostered Luther for a few months, but he tended to attack every cat on sight. He acted similarly with this couple’s cat, and since he was a very old animal, that couldn’t be tolerated. So Luther came back to stay with me a bit longer. He is a good little fellow, with a disruptive quirk.

But something wonderful has happened. Luther had gone to live with someone else, where he would be the only cat, and thus be free to roam the house and receive all his foster-guardian’s attention. This was good, of course, but it got better. His sponsors, the Lethbridge PAW Society, decided to pair him with a kitten. It was felt that he wouldn’t attack a baby, and sure enough, he did not. The two quickly became friends and Fortune, the youngster (bearing in mind that Luther isn’t two yet), quickly grew to idolise the older cat and followed him everywhere. Not only did Luther have a companion now, but it would probably help him integrate with other, adult cats, if the need arose. But the good news continued.

Luther - and now Fortune - could not stay long in their beneficial foster-home. The young woman taking care of them would be leaving town in the early summer, so a new residence would have to be found for the cats - one to accept both would be better, but one for each if it came to it. Luther and Fortune did find a possible home - a possibly permanent home. They are going on a trial-adoption this very weekend. If this works out, they will stay together and have a loving family to look after them.

So the new year begins well for the cats I have fostered. I look forward to writing more happy tidings here in the weeks and months to come.

The Bounty of Christmas

I was fortunate enough to receive a number of gifts this Christmas, all of which are greatly appreciated. I thought I’d show two of them here, since they are cat-related.

The first is a set of steps. I had mentioned to friends that Josie was having trouble getting up onto the bed at times. This may be because of her weight or it may be due to laziness. Unlike the other cats who jump up on to the bed, she does not land rear feet first. She throws herself upwards then seizes whatever she can (ie. blankets, sheets) with her forefeet’s claws. This is inconvenient for her and costly for me. So a short flight of steps were made for me.

They are hand-made, varnished and have little felt pads on the bottom to protect the hardwood floors. The structure is heavy enough not to move whenever weight is put on them but light enough to be easily portable. This is a simple yet excellent present, which must have required not a little time in the making.

Josie has tried the steps and know how they work. Cats are naturally conservative creatures, though, and she will no doubt continue to jump up the side of the bed for a while. But I show her the steps as a reminder now and then, and she will start to use them when she realises that they provide easier access than leaping, an activity for which she is not really built any more.

Another gift was a sort of tapestry, featuring a cat asleep on a bookshelf. This item is not made for covering a floor; my cats’ clawed feet would see to its demise soon enough, but as a wall-hanging or a covering for the back of the couch, it is most attractive. Books and cats seem to dominate my life, so the subject is appropriate.

Though the principal colour, or perhaps I should write, background colour, is black, the tapestry is quite vibrant, and the details come out well in these photographs. The books depicted all have cat-related titles.

Christmas was a very pleasant time for me this year, and not just due to these and other generous gifts. Though sick (rather violently) the Friday before Christmas Day, I had recovered completely by the time the big day itself arrived. I suffered a complete loss of appetite which, for someone who enjoys eating as I do, was a disaster. I was, however, hungry by Christmas dinner. The cats shared a little of my turkey, except for Renn, who has an aversion to human food of any kind. This is a contrast to Tucker, who eats almost anything.

I hope everyone’s New Year’s Eve is enjoyable and safe, and the new year itself begins - and ends - happily.

How Tungsten Spent Christmas Morning

These pictures are self-explanatory. Tungsten, who is starting to feel her age, I think, has always been as thin as the page of a book seen end-on, so she enjoys radiant warmth. And nothing is as warming, physically or otherwise, as a good fire. I placed a cushion in front of the hearth so that she could enjoy her time even more. This is how the orange one spent Christmas morning.