I Should Have Re-named Him Jed

Moxy loves playing. It was a rather daunting prospect for him, when he first came to live with me. He was frightened by string-toys, especially. How that has changed.

He will pursue the little ‘bug’ on the end of the string, running and standing on his hind legs to grab it. (Though he can jump, he’s not one who leaps after desired objects; he’s too heavy for that.) He has developed a habit that I haven’t seen in my other cats. Sometimes, though not always, the Mixer will seize the string-toy’s ‘bug’ in his teeth and hold it, clamp it, with his teeth. He will thus retain his prize for one minute, two, three… Play comes to a stand still while I tug gently on the string, offer him other toys, and cajole him to release his catch. He eventually does, though it seems to be more through fatigue at keeping the ‘bug’ in his dental vice.

Moxy loves playing. And once he has won the game, he doesn’t want to let go of his reward.

A Page From Her Diary

Dear Diary.

This iz third month ov my catvitipy. This playse iz stil stranj to me. Its not a unpleasant playse but its kinda weerd. Theres a human here who taykes care ov the cats. He seems nice. He sez nice things to me an cawls me by my name. I nver knoo I had a name til he started callin me by it.

One day the human came down the stares an saw the box with funny smeling sand tipped ovr. The sand was all ovr the flor an we poohed an peed on it cuz thats were the sand was. The human sed some loud wurds and the other cats sed thos wurds ment we shood go elsewere for a cupple ov minutes. That was funy. Hahaha. Hes nice anyway.

The human feeds me an the other cats. He yused to feed me when I was a owtsider-cat. I went to his home and waited an he alwez fed me. That was nice. Then I got in a cage an was poot inside. The inside of the playse looks difrent than the owtside.

At first I wuz scared all the time. Now Im more cawshus cawtius cawshooto not as scared. I still dont like the human comming close. I hide under a bed or couch (see, Diary? Im lurning words) but he looks under and smiles and pooshes food at me. There is plenty ov food, difrent kinds (some I like beter than others) and Im never hungry.

An warm, too! I looked owt a window an saw something. It had lines on it. They were like this.

I dont know wut it means but I no its cold owt!! Here the floor down the stares is cold but the couch is comfy and the floor up stares has wooliness on it. Im warm warm warm!

Thare are other cats here. Im usded to them more than humans. I comme owt from under things sometimes an the other cats dont bother me. Some want to be frends but I dont no if Im ready for that. But I xplor an sometimes talk but no one here nose my language. I am lurning theres. Yesserday the human almost saw me on the bed! I wuz too fast for him tho. Hahaha.

This is a nice playse. I miss my old frends an my old playses, but I dont miss stayng hudled up in my hol freezing withowt food in winter. Here my tummy never feels empty.

I wil get yused to this playse. I miss somethings but it was scary a lot were I wuz. Dogs an peeple who hated me an cold an dirt. I miss my sister who died long ago. But I will make frends here. Mebbe with the cat who duznt like me or the kitten - shes funny - or mebbe with the human.

Time will tell, Diary...

The Best Gift

We cat-people of course know that cats are capable of as much affection as dogs, humans, or any other animal. Yet it still sometimes surprises me as to how these beasts of mine show that they like me.

The most common expression is coming over to me and rubbing up against me. Now, one mustn’t be naive: mine do that at meal-times, which is hardly, shall we say, an impartial time to show affection. Yet they do this at other times, as well. My late friend Tucker was a good one for doing this. He would jump down from a chair where he was relaxing, just to walk over and rub up against me. Or not, since he was such a timid soul that he sometimes was startled and turned before he reached me.

Others will want to spend time with me. Indigo is not friendly right now with her fellow felines. Yet, when I am sitting at my computer in the bedroom, Indie will jump down from her armchair and come over to sit next to me. She rarely jumps onto my lap, but will consent to be picked up and put there. Once rather awkwardly settled there, she will purr contentedly for ten or fifteen minutes, before she leaves.

Valkyrie will see me and call out, reaching one of her long forelegs to stop me as I walk past. Her purring is instant as I start stroking her head, and she leans into my palm.

Most demonstrably affectionate is Imogen, who has taken to lying on my lap on the sitting room couch after dinner. She will sit facing me, slowly kneading my thighs, and then lean forward to bump my face with her head. Then she will curl up on my lap. I will scratch under her chin and if I stop, she will grab my hand with her paw, to urge me to continue.

Each of my cats has a certain spot or two in which he or she will be most comfortable: a heated cat-bed, a corner of my bed, the tallest cat-tree or another cat-bed in the corner. Yet each will, in his or her own way, forsake a warm and most comfy spot to come and spend time with me. A human lap cannot really be that well-made for a cat’s relaxation, even if a cat is a most flexible and flowable creature. Yet from time to time, one will want to spend time there, just to show the human that he or she likes him. Whenever one wants to do this, I try to accommodate him or her. After all, it’s like being given the most loving gift every day.

Meal-time Mania

I can’t say that meal-times with the beasts constitute my favourite moments in the day. Not only do their relationships make dining in different locations necessary, but they eat at different speeds, requiring my rapid movement about the Cosy Cabin like the sole waiter in a busy restaurant (and no, I don’t mean the waiter who serves only sole).

Brazil eats on the taller cat-tree in the sitting room, while Imogen eats on the cylinder-house cat-tree. Moxy and Valkyrie are served in the kitchen (and periodically poach from each other’s bowls), while Neville eats in his bed. Indigo dines in the bedroom and Sable either under the bed or under the couch in the library.

Except for the last two, I can’t give them their whole portions at once, otherwise the cats will eat some and lose interest and walk away, only to want more later. I feed them partial portions and, once they finish that, they ask for more, if they are so inclined. This is the policy, which I have tried to alter many times, that keeps me so active during the meals.

The worst, though, is when one or more of the beasts simply decides that nothing on the menu is to their liking. Two, three, four different varieties are offered, and none eaten. Eventually, of course, I give up and the reluctant diner must go without. Even so, there is something particularly annoying about serving food that they liked previously, that they showed no sign of disdaining, only to have them sit back and stare at it, and then at you, as if the management is too stupid to comprehend what it is doing wrong.

However, it all ends at last, and we can all rest - except for me: I have to clean up. The cats, at times the worst customers a restaurant can endure - retire to their respective cosiness and await the next meal.

Art for the Cat-room

I hung more pictures yesterday, this time in the cat-room. Two of them are needlework (I think), reportedly done by my grandfather, many many years ago. One is of a woman sitting knitting while her cat plays with yarn. Why she has the door wide open and a fire going at the same time, I don’t know. The second is a blacksmith’s shop. The frames are massive, too big for the works, perhaps, but they have always gone with them.

Also hung are two wintry pictures, which were a gift from some time ago.

Two tiny pictures are in the corridor just outside the cat-room. These are old, like the needlework, though not produced by anyone I know. On their backs is printed the words ‘British Empire made’. These little pictures may not stay where I put them. I’m not sure it’s the best place for them.

I have large blank spot on the left-hand wall of the cat-room (as one enters). There will hang the portraits of my deceased feline friends. I want to find a sturdy, short cabinet, heavy enough for the cats not to tip over, where I will place the urns. Above them on the wall will be the portraits. I want to have the right furniture, so I am not in a hurry.

I’ll be like Imogen, and bide my time.

Deadly Cleavers

“Heartbeat racing…pupils dilated…gasping for breath…fighting for my last ounce of life…struggling…twisting…turning…trying to leap…caught in the vice of the monster…HELLLLPPP MEEEE!!”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Brazil, I’m just trimming your claws. Hold still.”

When Tummies Rest Easy

I hesitate to write about this, as mention of good health with cats who don’t always have it sometimes jinxes it. Nonetheless, I like how Neville is doing.

It may be a coincidence but since he’s started eating this gastro-intestinal food, the number of times he has thrown up has decreased greatly. It used to be an occurrence he suffered almost every day. It didn’t seem to affect him much - except the loss of food and water - but of course, whether it is vomiting or regurgitation, it is a symptom of something else, perhaps something serious. Now, he barfs once a week or less, and it is usually mostly water when it happens. (In fact, it is only most likely Nev, since I haven’t been here when it happened.)

The kernels are not easy for nearly-toothless Nev to pick up, but he does eat a decent amount - amid throwing numerous kernels about on the floor.

Between this food and the soft-food Recovery, the Nevsky is doing well in terms of nutrition. If the new hard-food is responsible for his improved internal condition, I am grateful to it, and to the fact that he likes it. And I am grateful, too, to Recovery: it has not only a higher concentration of nutrients than other foods (it is meant for convalescents) but is accurately described as a ‘mousse’, so the old grey cat can lap it up easily, which his nearly-toothless mouth cannot with even Fancy Feast paté. (Yet Tucker, who was also toothless in his later years, had no trouble with any food.)

The estimate for Neville’s birthday is late April, so he will be sixteen (we think) soon. With his years, his diabetes and his hyperthyroidism, he is actually doing well. He is shaky on his feet periodically, but he can still climb cat-trees and jump on to a couch, if he wants. I am pleased that he is doing well, and that what he eats stays eaten.