September Days

Autumn is impatient this year. There are still a few days until the calendar changes the seasons, but the leaves have their own schedule. We don’t get a great deal of variety in southern Alberta when the colours turn. There are few reds, and not so many more oranges. Various shades of yellow are what we get, but it can still look pleasant.

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Our problem is the wind. It comes up every autumn and blows all the leaves off the trees. Sometimes, it strips the branches very soon after the green disappears; at other times, it gives us a chance to see some beauty in the autumnal hues. Most of the trees haven’t lost their verdure yet, so the wind is waiting…

The air is still warm and, in fact, the days have been very nice, balmy, of the sort that I would have enjoyed in the heat of summer. Even the nights enjoy moderate temperatures right now. The windows of the house remain open to the screens; I like that, as it means the cats can be entertained by what they smell and hear, as well as see. Soon, they will watch the descending leaves, not knowing that they are signs the screens will soon be off and the storm windows on. But for now, my feline friends will admire September.

Josie's Progress Report

A month ago, I became concerned that Josie was suffering from a hairball that would not go away. She was throwing up fluid, either clear(ish) or brown. This was not her sensitive stomach bringing up food that didn’t agree with it. So I put her on a schedule of hairball remedy. It’s not an arduous schedule: once on Saturdays and once on Sundays, I shoot three or four millilitres of goo into her mouth which, upon swallowing, will smooth the way for any hairballs to leave her wide body.

The results have been good. I realised this weekend that my Chubs has not thrown up any fluid in a couple of weeks. To be honest, I don’t know if there is or was a hairball involved. But the vomiting has ceased, at least for now. Since I don’t know for certain what the cause of her problem was, I can’t be any more certain that I am providing the solution. But I will continue to give Josie the hairball remedy. If my suspicions about the cause of her troubles were correct, then this will, hopefully, prevent a recurrence. If not, then she will need to be rid of hairballs anyway.

The Great White is doing well. She is eleven this year, and has been free of any major health problems in her life. Because she can’t reach her bum to clean it, I do that for her periodically. She enjoys that as much as she enjoys the delicious malt flavour of the hairball remedy, "which all cats love". (The unfortunate malt taste follows the unfortunate fish taste of an earlier medicine.) But a few minutes washing her nether regions, and a couple of oral injections of goo a week are a very small price to pay for health. Now, if I could only get her to commit to some weight-reducing exercises...

The Flavour of Warmth During a Taste of Autumn

The temperature fell precipitately in southern Alberta last week. It is climbing again, and is supposed to be almost summery next week. It is only September, of course, and the weather is usually quite pleasant in this month. The extremes of August are past and those of November are yet distant. But now and then, especially in this part of the country, temperatures fluctuate wildly, for brief periods, creating very cold days in the summer, and warm days in the winter.

Seeing Tungsten crouching on a cushion like a little (very little) old lady pulling her coat tight against herself in the teeth of chilly winds made me think it was time to bring out the heating pads for the cat-beds. I decided to take the opportunity to clean the two matching cat-beds. I brushed them and removed a shopping bag’s-worth of cat-hair. The collection was a neutral beige, as it was an amalgam of hair from half a dozen felines. Then I threw the beds’ components into the wash.

The result was clean and, once through the dryer, free of most of the remaining hair that had been clinging to them. I think the majority of the hair ‘came out in the wash’, as the saying goes - literally, in this case. There must have been half a pound of cat-hair on the sides of the washing machine’s drum. I’m glad most of it did not drain.

Then the heating pads were inserted under the cushions and Tungsten was reintroduced to one of her favourite spots. She abandons cat-beds during the warm months, but enjoys them in winter, even if the temperature doesn’t fall very low. Right now, she continues to come to bed with me, but I anticipate a time when she will cleave more frequently to the cat-bed. I don’t mind. Her comfort was, after all, uppermost in my thoughts when I cleaned these cat-beds and put in the heating pads. Kola, who is restricted to the parlour now only when I am absent, has his own heating pad under a blanket of towels on the couch in that room, and, as you can see from the picture above, he and Tungsten are not the only ones to love the warmth.

But it’s for my skinny senior cat that the cat-beds were renewed, one placed at a slight altitude, so Tungsten would not have to worry about Cammie’s attitude, whenever the Siamese princess passes. I think it’s a success so far: I didn’t notice that smug little smile on the tiny terror’s face until just now.

Kola Goes Around in Circles

Several foster-cats ago, I bought a toy for my beasts. I think it is called a Track-ball. I’d heard many good things about it. I brought it home, and none of the animals knew what to do with it. I think they still don’t. Periodically (and I’m using the term as geologists and palaeontologists use it to describe the eons of Earth’s history), one of my cats will knock the ball about. Renn will roll it around, jump about a bit then walk off. If Tucker is lying next to the toy, he will absently paw at it. And Tungsten uses the cardboard in the centre to scratch at while she’s stretching. That’s how it remained until Kola came to visit.

He doesn’t play with it all the time, or even every day. But when he does, he has a great deal of fun with it. He'll throw the ball about in its groove with frenetic energy, jumping over the toy, then running away, only to rush back at it with renewed violence. Then he will swat the ball some more and repeat the process. Sometimes, the Track-ball will be pushed all over the kitchen/dining area.

Kola is eleven years old, but he has a great deal of energy and vitality. He likes to fight with a string toy, and he will flip about like a stranded carp attempting to grab it. He also chases the fuzzy mice in the back parlour, which is his room. Recently, I found eight of them under the ottoman. I felt as though I had been feeding a slot-machine in Las Vegas, giving him more and more little fuzzy mice to play with.

My newest foster-cat has much of the kitten left in him, as much playfulness, as my Tucker, but with much more energy. It’s entertaining just to watch him entertain himself.

Not Always the Little Menace

A few more words about Cammie before I move on to other cats. And I do have other cats, though you may not know it from this blog. Cammie seems to take up quite a few articles here, but only because it is her personality that is changing the most right now.

From the previous article, you may think that she is a non-stop trouble-maker. But she is not. Even with the roommates whom she annoys - or tries to annoy - the most, she is not always a little menace. Tungsten will tolerate her from time to time, as may be seen in these photographs; and if the orange one periodically doesn’t mind her, then there’s hope yet.

Much of the time, Cammie is sleeping, or resting or snoozing. There is so much to do in that line, after all. So many ways to take one’s leisure. I have mentioned that she uses Bear-Bear’s old cat-bed. I realised after I had written that, that it is the only cat-bed she does use. She once stepped through another cat-bed, but that was the extent of her use of it. However, the princess doesn’t need a cat-bed to enjoy being lazy. Sometimes, she just needs the sun.

And so, Cammie lives her days in what I hope is comfort. I don’t know whether she is happy or not. It’s hard to tell with her; as befits one from the Orient, she is, as the stereotype used to run, inscrutable. Sometimes she purrs, so I think she is content, at least sometimes. And that’s frequently the most that we can hope for ourselves, too.

Turning the Tables on Cammie

Cammie likes to play. Sometimes, she plays with fuzzy mice, or a fuzzy ball. She will twist and spin and chew, and from what I can see, have a delightful time. Then, she will play with a string-toy, though I have to be on the other end of that. She will pounce and jump and roll, trying to get that long caterpillar-like object on her end. And she likes to play with the other cats.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the type of play in which Josie and Tucker indulge, pursuing each other about the sitting room to their mutual satisfaction. No, Cammie enjoys stalking the other cats, waiting for them behind corners, confounding their movements and, when they try to get past her at a run, chasing them.

There is no real aggression to these activities. The Siamese princess is merely having fun. It’s not fun that the other cats like, but it's what he likes. Even when another feline warns her off, as Tungsten does, she takes the warning in relatively good humour, and creeps off, disappointed but not angry.

So it is with some ill-concealed amusement that I see my newest foster-cat, Kola, turning the tables on Cammie. Kola has not, so far, been afraid or even put out by Cammie’s obvious annoyance at the new boy’s stalking. He has held his ground, as if in ignorance as to what may be causing the princess’s irritation.

The other day provided a good illustration. I was emptying some items into the rubbish bin - which is why it is in the middle of the kitchen floor in the photographs below; that is not its usual spot. I then saw this drama develop, and so stopped to enjoy Cammie’s discomfiture.

Cammie will periodically slip into the cupboards under the kitchen sink. She does this when frightened (eg. of thunder) but also just when she has a mind to. She will go in by the door on the right and come out by the door on the left. This time, Kola was patiently waiting for her.

Growling did the princess no good. Kola ignored the sounds. Eventually, Cammie felt that she should simply try leaving. She did so carefully, as if expecting an attack. Kola, however, doesn’t do such things; he’s declawed and knows his disadvantages. Besides, he’s not the violent sort.

Once out of Kola’s vicinity, Cammie trotted away, expressing her displeasure by continual hissing. Doubtless, the others watching experienced a certain amount of Schadenfreude - though just as undoubtedly keeping straight faces.

Cammie means no harm, no more than Kola does. Her behaviour may be a mild attempt at establishing paramountcy over the others - though shadowing Tungsten, as she does, doesn’t seem to be a part of any power-play. For the most part, she just likes to be left alone. Annoying her roommates is just that, a little fun for herself at others’ expense. And who among us hasn’t had a bit of mischief in the same vein, now and then?

Tucker the Lump

Most cats are odd in some way. Tucker is odd in many ways. He loves his comfort, to be sure, but he also loves being inside tunnels. This is strange, because he doesn’t like actually being enclosed in blankets or similar swaddling. But when I am sweeping the sitting room floor, for instance, I will turn over the rug that’s there to sweep underneath it, thus making an improvised tunnel. Tucker, who distrusts brooms, will nevertheless remain on the rug so that I can fold part of it over him. He will then lie perdu, thinking that no one can see him.

Combine that with his laziness and you have a situation much like that from last night. It was time to retire for the day, and the boys were snoozing on the bed. Renn’s position need not have changed, but the roly poly was close to the pillows. He needed to move. I thought I would coax him from his comfy spot by turning down the bed over him. It just made him want to stay all the more.

I think my big boy’s look in the second photograph says it all.