The Lotos-eater

“In the afternoon they came unto a land, in which it seemed always afternoon.”

Those words, from Tennyson’s The Lotos-eaters, always puts me in mind of a balmy day, in the late spring or early summer, with blue skies, white clouds and green fields. It always feels like afternoon; the chores of the morning, finished in the cool of the first hours of the new day, are done, if there were any to do, and laziness and slumber are all that make demands on one now.

I am just over half the way through my holidays, and though Idylland is not quite as free and careless as the results of a half-consumed lotos, it is quite enjoyable, nonetheless. I relish the feeling of time: I needn’t hurry and do all that requires accomplishing today, because I will have time the next day or the next after that. Certainly, my holidays will end soon enough, but for now, I have time, time to spend with the cats, time to read and write, time to listen to music, time to do nothing.

This is as close to Lotusland as I will come. It’s not bad for all that, even if some appear to have found their own way to the lotos...

Sounds in Silence

I discovered something interesting about Minuet last week.

She and I were on the couch in the library watching a movie – well, I was watching it, she was ruminating about important things – and I coughed. It was one of those abrupt coughs that catch you by surprise, so it comes out as more of a bark than a cough. Minuet immediately looked up. I had not moved much, not enough to jiggle the couch and alarm her with sudden action; it was entirely the sound.

Then, later, a character in the film dropped a coffee cup which smashed on the floor. Min reacted to that sound, too. It was a light, tinkling sound, but the frequency of it must have penetrated my very-oldster’s silent world and alerted her to something.

Minuet is unquestionably deaf. I can move litter-boxes, sweep and even vacuum a couple of feet away from her, and she won’t realise it. And yet, now and then, some sound, due to its harshness, or pitch, will filter through what very little remains of her hearing.

I wonder what she thinks of these noises, if anything. Out of a great screen of blankness, sound comes to her, very rarely and without warning. Does the very fact that she hears it startle her, or is she pleased that she can perceive it? Does it matter to her at all?

In any case, I communicate with her through touch and gestures, sight and smell. We have come to understand each other in a number of ways, and that is what matters. She is deaf and, if I were deaf, I would still feel her purr, and that happens all the time.

The Sleeping Blep

Now and then one of my cats will stick his tongue out, and keep it there for a while. Minuet has never done it; Renn has done it very rarely; Hector does it, too, a little more often. Neville, on the other hand, though he doesn’t show the blep every day, or even every week, does it more frequently than the others.

The other day, he was in fine form. After blepping while both sitting and lying down in the sitting room, the Nevsky removed himself to the bedroom, where he snoozed comfortably in the late afternoon and early evening. To my surprise, he stuck his tongue out even while asleep. I don’t know of what he was dreaming, but I would like to know if the blep was showing even on the other side of consciousness.

 

While the Lilacs Last

I was going through old blog-entries and found in one this photograph, from May of 2011. It shows my First Four taking advantage of the spring air coming through the screen door of our former house. Eleven years ago, I had no foster-cats, and this quartet was still with me; even Tungsten had almost three years left to her. They loved the fragrances to be smelled, especially those of the blooming bushes and trees, such as the lilacs.

I was remarking to myself just this week that the lilacs’ flowers seem to be lasting longer this spring than in previous years, though this might be an illusion due to a later blooming. Their aroma is my favourite of the season, and I regret when it disappears. However long they thrive, it is nonetheless the way of things that they will pass, and other flowers take their places.

Each blossom has its time, and each gives way to its successor; if the season lingered and the first had remained, those flowers that come after would not have sweetened the air in their own fashion. I may wish for the lilacs to remain, and live forever in their spring, but an infinitely wiser mind than mine has devised that it be otherwise. The best – and perhaps the wisest – that I myself can devise is that I enjoy their scent, while the lilacs last.

The Oldest Member

I don’t think Minuet will ever fully integrate into the feline population of the Cosy Apartment. She may, quite literally, be too old to change. That is all right with me. If she is too old to change, then she is old enough to have earned respect for how she wants to live. A kitten should integrate with other cats for its own good. An older cat should integrate for the good of the household. A very-oldster, however, has the right to her own spot away from everyone else, like the veteran member of a gentleman’s club, who has his favourite armchair, his place venerated by time – and woe be to any upstart who tries to usurp it.

Nonetheless, it is interesting to watch, and listen to, Min’s reaction to the other cats. As described previously, she tolerates Neville best of all. But even Nev will evoke a sharp cry of anger at times. This comes if Neville ventures too close, too abruptly. For instance, if Minuet is lying on the library couch and the Nevsky climbs to the top of the lower bookcase using an arm of the couch, hurrying past his ancient roommate, Minuet will protest in no uncertain terms. If Hector approaches or is too near the path that Min has chosen to walk, again I will hear the raucous cry of annoyance.

But simple proximity is not always offensive to Madame. As may be seen in the photograph below, she will acquiesce to any cat, even Hector, being near, just so long as they abide by her rules, not all of which are apparent to me – or to the other cats.

Whenever she yells, I hasten to see what is the matter. I do that not because I think there is danger to one cat or another, but because I want Minuet to see that I will respond to her cries. It is not so important if I do so with the others, as they will adapt to changing circumstances; for the most part, they have the youth – even my two older cats – to deal with unsatisfactory situations. Minuet must surely feel her age; her exile in the Cosy Apartment must still feel somewhat lonely after sixteen years in another home, and her deafness must be a liability to her sense of strength. These factors probably make for a somewhat anxious time now and then. I can tell that she feels better when I make my presence known.

So if I coddle my very-oldster, if I treat her differently than the rest, I think it is justified. I am sure that every person with more than one cat treats each uniquely. I want Minuet to feel contented in her retirement home. She can handle herself pretty well on her own; if she requires a little assistance in relation to her roommates, she will have it. After all, if she is too old to change, maybe there is nothing wrong with the way she is right now.