Follow the Feeder

It’s funny the relations cats have with one another. Since Tungsten died, there has been no top-cat in the household. Each does what he wants, and as long as he doesn’t interfere with another, there is harmony, more or less. Josie is a bit of a top-cat with regard to food; when she wants to eat, she approaches the bowl and anyone already there must move on. Usually this is done automatically, but sometimes there is whapping.

The boys are another matter. There is no competition, but when Renn goes for a nibble, Tucker almost always comes along, and lies near by, waiting. He often isn’t interested in the food-bowl until he sees his brother go for a bite. For his part, my big boy isn’t intimidated by Tucker, and takes his time. The roly poly one waits patiently, then has his turn.

Following Renn in such a manner may be why Tucker fills up so much space.

Slow and Steady Wins the Race

This past weekend was the first in which spring made itself felt. The sun shone and, though the temperatures were still cool, the air was warm enough outside for the windows to be opened. The cats were enjoying the scents that they could smell through the screens, and someone took the opportunity to attempt a little closeness with his new roommates.

Parker still hopes to become friends with the others, especially Renn. The perm-cats remain reticent, however, and there is a limit to proximity. But with each day, familiarity grows.

We are patient, Parker and I.

Even in Arcadia

Nicolas Poussin painted a famous picture in the 1630s entitled “Et in Arcadia Ego”, which may be translated as, “Even in Arcadia I am.” Arcadia, though a real place, has long been synonymous with the ideal of a pastoral paradise, a land with no industry, where people live in harmony with nature; in other words, a kind of utopia. The painting features several shepherds examining a tombstone, with the title words engraved upon it. The meaning most scholars have ascribed to the image is that of death being present even in the best of worlds.

Two years ago today, my friend Tungsten died. She had been with me for less than eight years, but we were together every day of that time and, except for one or two over-night stays in the veterinary hospital, every night, as well. I’ve described the orange one previously, and told of her character, and how it has affected me. I won’t repeat myself here; I’ll save that repetition for another time.

I may inveigh about how Tungsten was taken away with so many years yet to live, but in fact, in this world of uncertainty – which seems to be growing more uncertain every day – I prefer to be grateful for the relatively short period during which she was with me. The tiny terror – a nickname that her means of disciplining bigger cats earned her – could have been killed earlier by one of the many illnesses, conditions or tragedies that afflict our pets. Or, by any number of chances, she could have gone to someone else. But as it was, she came to me, and she and I shared half of her life.

I miss Tungsten every day. Even so, while people have for millennia realised the truth that even in Arcadia there is death, I like to remember that there is also life. And I am lucky to have been able to spend some of that with my friend.

A Return to the Round

Until some months ago, the cylinder-house cat-tree was Renn’s favourite spot in the apartments. He spent much of his time there, even preferring to eat his meals there, because some human didn’t insist that he get down and eat them on the floor like a civilised animal. Then, Cammie started snoozing in the cylinder-house. This was fine with Renn, as he took possession when it was vacant, which was most of the time. Then Cammie threw up in the cylinder.

After that, neither cat cared to use the cat-tree. For months, it was vacant. This week, however, Renn moved in once more. Why he decided to climb back in after all this time, I don’t know. Perhaps the smell of Cammie’s accidental discharge faded enough for olfactory comfort. But I am glad the cylinder-house is being occupied again. It needed a cat.

I Should Have Adopted a Giraffe

The sounds cats make are sometimes puzzling, sometimes amusing, sometimes startling. I may have mentioned Tucker’s weird, warbling noises; he puts me in mind of what the Disney character Goofy would have sounded like as a toddler. The roly poly often makes these noises in the evening, but rarely later in the night. When he does, the effect can be unusual.

The other night, I woke from a dream, still befuddled and not fully conscious, to hear what could very well have been a caricature of a human baby roaming the apartment, calling out.

“Helleurrr? Helleurrr? Helleurrr?”

Before I thought I had been cast as an expendable extra in an out-take of the film The Brood, I realised that it was merely Tucker, ambling about the residence, talking to himself in the dark. My interrupted sleep was afterward untroubled, but there are times I wonder that I get any sleep at all.

Just one more reason why I should have adopted a giraffe. They hum serenely at night, like a lullaby. That’d be nice.

An Unsatisfactory Menu

Perhaps it is no surprise that Cammie has disdained all the varieties of food provided to her for the benefit of her kidneys, which are beginning to fail. The princess lives up to her nickname, and wants only what she wants - and not always even in that case. She will change her mind about what food she likes while she is eating it. She will be contentedly consuming a portion of Fancy Feast - because the Merrick offered her initially was refused - stop, sit up and not want another bite. Wise to her ways, I will then suggest the Merrick earlier condemned as inedible. That will then be eaten without hesitation.

My battle of wills with Cammie - doomed as my attempts to win it may be - is not over. There are other brands of kidney food that I have yet to try. These will be brought from the veterinary hospital soon. In the meantime, I am researching the methods I can work with my cat to increase her health.

Cammie is the worst of the beasts for medicating in even the most innocuous way. The slightest deviation from what she desires - at the moment - will be met with unbending resistance. I look at her with frustration and wonder why I ever adopted her. The reason is that no one else would have. That isn’t so much a reason as a warning. No, the real reason is that I wanted her to be a part of my home and family. I’d tell her that she could show her gratitude by eating well, but she’d probably respond that allowing me into her presence is gratitude enough.

That’s my princess.

The New Excitement!

Yesterday’s article about playing did not include news about the cats’ latest toy. Over the weekend, I bought a track-ball (or whatever brand name this particular version is called). I had one in the house before, but only the foster-cats played with it, so when one of them - I believe it was Kola - was adopted, it went with him.

But recently, seeing that the beasts often looked bored (they probably just want to be left alone to sleep), I thought I would introduce something that would bring hours of action-packed enjoyment. Instead, I bought a track-ball.

Many cats like the track-ball. Many spend a long time trying to catch that elusive sphere as it spins about the circular groove. Many cats love pushing the ball about as fast as it will go. Many cats don’t live with me.

This is not to write that the track-ball doesn’t get used. I may be in the washroom brushing my teeth, or sitting on the couch reading, and hear the ball make an orbit in its course. The ball moves leisurely, deliberately, as if it were on holiday, thinking of where to go, what destination is best value for its hard-earned vacation. My cats will lie beside the toy and gently prod the ball (which comes with a blinking light for greater fast-paced excitement). The ball may complete the circuit, or it may putter to a halt half-way around. It is all the same to the cats.

Yes, they play with it, in the same way a person may sit down, turn on the television set, flip through the channels hoping for something to pique their interest, then turn off the machine and go and eat a meal because there was nothing good on the one hundred and fifty eight channels now available.

The beasts will use the scratch pad in the centre, but normally simply lie on it; well, partially on it, and partially off. Cammie, like Tungsten before her, is small enough to crouch on the whole pad. Frankly, I think $19.99 is a bit steep for a circle of corrugated cardboard. But if that’s what it takes to give my pets another spot on which to sit and wait while I prepare their soft-food meals, I am happy to pay that kind of money. Really.

With a sigh, therefore, I will leave you with these pictures of two of my cats being thrilled by the slam-bang non-stop action of their latest diversion. I hope the blur of their speed doesn’t give you a headache.