The Tempos are four months old today. I think they look half a year, judged by their size. Here they are compared to their mother. Rhapsody, though slim, is about the right size for a smallish medium-sized cat. In the first picture, Rho is trying to groom Largo, with Allegro looking on. Mum has a lot of territory to clean.
In the other photographs, Rhapsody is behind Largo, with Andante above them. (Click on the pictures to enlarge them a bit.)
I think their father may have been a bobcat…
I want to thank all those who have congratulated me on my new book, and those who buy it. I hope you enjoy it. I won’t be retiring on the sales, I know, but it looks and feels good to have the stories in book form.
But there never seems to be good without bad in life. That’s just how it is. A friend in the Blogosphere lost her best feline chum yesterday. PITA had been with her since kittenhood - 17 years - and was well until a month ago. If you can spare a moment, please leave condolences at her blog. Loss is lessened a little by the knowledge that others understand and care.
https://masferalcats.blogspot.com
I have a new book available for purchase. A Little and Certain Compass is the third volume of short stories featuring Linus Smith, British Secret Service operator in the 1920s. This volume is a sequel to Idylls of the Spy, which was itself a sequel to Inductions Dangerous. Since the stories take place in real-time - well, real-time in Smith’s universe - it is now the late ‘20s, with all that that setting brings with it.
The book, like the earlier two, is currently available through Amazon, but I will be publishing it through IngramSpark, as well, and that will allow bookshops around the world to offer it. I mention this in case someone will want to order it in German or Portuguese or Japanese. The book will remain in English; it will just have to be ordered in those other languages.
And, on the subject of languages, I have already been asked about the title of the new book. It comes from Viscount Bolingbroke (1678 - 1751), who once wrote that truth could be found in a ‘little and certain compass’ - a small and well-defined space - but error is immense. I thought the quote appropriate for a book about espionage.
After more than a year and a half, I have petted Sable.
She has still been moving when I come too close to her, often scurrying around me when she and I meet in a corridor, and she keeps a wary eye on me at most times. But she has been letting me come quite close when I present her with her soft-food. I sensed a slight change in her recently, possibly the result of the altered situation with the departure of Millie and the death of Indigo. Why these events would have a change on Sabe, I don’t know, but additions and subtractions among a cat-population will frequently have an effect on the crowd, effects that are felt but not understood, probably by the cats as much as by the humans.
In any case, Friday night, I had just gotten into bed; the lights were out and Moxy was already on the bed, about level with my knees. Sable came to lie next to him, as she often does. She has been lying on the side nearer me than on the farther side for a few nights. She was easily within my reach. She started grooming her best friend and, while she did this, I started stroking her tail, just visible in the gloom. She did not react.
Encouraged by this, I moved on to her torso, and stroked her lower back for about half a minute. Not wanting to push my luck, I stopped.
Last night, the same thing happened. She was in the same position, and I again stroked first her tail, then her back. Once more, she made no reaction. I will continue to try to do this each night that she lies close enough for me to reach her without making a disturbance.
Perhaps Sable can pretend in the dark that it’s not a human touching her. Perhaps in her mind, perhaps in its sub-conscious, this is how she can test me, allow me to touch her and see what harm I will do. In the twenty-one months, she’s lived with me, I have let her set the pace of our relationship - a very, very slow pace, a pace with which snails might feel impatience. But if she now permits my touch, all the waiting will have been worth it.
In the last few days, Rhapsody’s behaviour has changed a little, noticeably. I hesitate to ascribe it to her spay, since regardless of the removal of her parts, her body would still be affected for a while by the hormones they were creating.
Today, when I had a nap, Rho came into the bedroom and hopped up on the bed to lie down next to me, where she remained for the whole nap.This is the first time she has done that. She has become less slappy with Moxy and Brazil. Previously, she would smack them whenever they came near. She still does this, but to a lesser extent.
As I wrote above, it seems early days for these changes - which, after all, may not be permanent - to be caused by physical alterations. Even so, it was interesting that the doctor commented on the thickness of the walls of Rhapsody’s uterus when it was removed. The doctor stated that she had not seen that before, and that it might have a connection with the fluid that built up in her abdomen. Perhaps it caused other things, as well.
In any case, the little never-to-be-a-mother-again is well. If her attitudes become friendlier and more social, then I will take that as a bonus.
“What are you looking at, Imogen?”
Dr Bellen came up behind his personal assistant, who was sitting at one of the administrative building’s wide windows. Outside, the sun was bright over Idylland, and made the green grass and the blue sky above it vivid. Imogen’s eyes, however, were not on the beauty of nature, but the beauty of something else - or at least what most would have thought were beauties.
“Those kittens…” Imo muttered.
“The Tempos?” The human smiled as he watched the youngsters gambol on the sun-warmed grass. “They have certainly made a difference to the sanitarium, haven’t they?”
“Yes,” agreed Imogen, though not quite in an agreeable tone. ”Why did the sanitarium have to put in a nursery?” she asked, annoyed.
“The sanitarium exists to help all cats, of all ages,” the doctor reminded Imogen. “Rhapsody needed a safe place to give birth, and to raise her children. Kittens are always vulnerable, but particularly so right after birth. And there may have been complications in the birth itself, dangers to Rhapsody and her infants.”
Imo watched as one of the Tempos threw his brother in a somersault, while another pair were trying to bite each other’s face. The adult cat almost hissed.
“They do all right on the outside, don’t they?” she asked, grumpily.
“Only about twenty to twenty-five per cent of kittens born to an outside mother survive past the age of six months…” Dr Bellen told her.
Imogen was startled.
“That few?” She continued to watch the kittens’ antics.
“Yes, and of course those who survive often are malnourished or under-nourished, and face continuing dangers from parasites, diseases, predators, the weather… It’s very harsh for an outsider-cat, and harshest for her kittens.”
The pair were joined by Moxy, the sanitarium’s Director of Resident Relations.
“Whatcha watchin’?” he demanded cheerfully. “Oh! The Tempos!” He leaned his big fat head closer to Imogen’s gracefully proportioned countenance. “Aren’t they fun, Imogen? There’s something fascinating about watching kittens at play, don’t you think, Doctor?”
“Indeed, Moxy.”
The kittens rolled and jumped closer to the window. Suddenly, one of them saw Moxy through the clear glass.
“Uncle Mixer! Uncle Mixer!”
The Tempos began bouncing up and down, then rushed to the nearest door. They burst into the building like a horde of lemmings rushing toward a cliff - except that they were rushing toward Moxy. Even he seemed alarmed by the onslaught, as they pushed against him and rubbed their fur against his. But he started purring, and the little ones - not so little these days - did, as well.
Imogen watched the scene with some disapproval.
“You wouldn’t like to play with them, Imogen?” the doctor asked, with some amusement.
“I would not. Good Heavens, look at that: rolling about, boxing, nipping, grabbing… Moxy is trying to groom them and they won’t even hold still.” Imogen sighed, still frowning. “I suppose it’s fine for some cats. Moxy, for instance…”
There was a disturbance in the bustle of activity around Moxy, as the kittens seemed distracted by something. Imogen turned and saw Brazil walking slowly down the corridor.
“Uncle Shimmer! Uncle Shimmer!”
Two of the Tempos detached themselves from the melee around the overwhelmed Director of Resident Relations, and galloped toward Brazil. The latter hissed but no regard was taken of it by the youngsters, who apparently knew better. They pushed against the big orange cat, and their purrs filled the air.
“And evidently Brazil, too…” added Imogen, belatedly.
Dr Bellen smiled, saying, “This is good to see, Imogen.”
“I thought the sanitarium was trying to reduce the cat over-population…” Dr Bellen’s personal assistant was confused.
“We want that, of course, and if Rhapsody had come to us without kittens, it would have been better if she wouldn’t have any at all. But they were already on their way. Since that was the case, we welcomed them and made sure they had everything they needed for a long and healthy life, after they leave us, and to make sure they have happy and loving homes. A bad start could have the worst effects later on.”
“Renn once told me that he was born in the wild, he and his brothers, and they would have died out there, if they hadn’t been rescued,” said Imogen, her face thoughtful.
“Renn?” Dr Bellen smiled at remembering his big boy. “Yes, indeed. He was always grateful for his rescue, and for coming to live at the sanitarium.”
“And maybe Indigo’s problems were because she wasn’t treated decently as a kitten; maybe a bit more trust and human kindness…”
“It’s certainly possible.” The doctor regarded the cat suspiciously. “Do you miss Indie, Imogen?”
“Certainly not! A grumpy old thing!” Then Imo’s expression softened. “Still, one doesn’t want anybody to leave for Samarra before they should…”
The Tempos, with their short attention spans, were already looking for new entertainment, and they spied Imogen, speaking to Dr Bellen off to the side.
“You’re becoming rather a softy, Imogen,” the human remarked.
The kittens surged away from their uncles, toward the black cat.
“Auntie Silky! Auntie Silky!” the youngsters cried with delight. Imogen snapped out a low growl that stopped the kittens in their assault.
“Sorry, Miss Imo.”
“Sorry, Miss Imo.”
“Sorry, Miss Imo.”
“Sorry, Miss Imo.”
As the babies retreated toward more assured welcomes from their uncles, Dr Bellen laughed.
“Softy is a relative term, of course,” he stated.
“One doesn’t want anybody to leave for Samarra before they should,” Imogen repeated mutteringly, “but leaving the sanitarium might be good for everyone…”
“Come on, Imogen. Let’s leave the boys to handle the kittens. There’s some paperwork I need to do.”
“I’ll lie on the papers for you, Doctor,” offered the black cat, as she trotted away beside the human.
“That’s what an assistant is for, my girl…”
Rhapsody’s recovery is proceeding very satisfactorily. After the disturbances of yesterday, she was much more herself today. She behaved as if she recalled I was a friend. We played a little with the string-toy. She was ready to play quite hard, but I kept it gentle, with no jumping; that she wanted to play was a good sign. She is also eating well. I don’t want to overfeed her, but she seems now to know when she’s had enough, and I don’t offer her more at that time. I had a good look at the incision and, despite not wearing the cone, Rho appears to be leaving it alone. It is not red, or even pink.
This morning, she did fear that I was intending to seize her and put her in a carrier for the second straight day. As I was leaving for work, Rhapsody hid under the bed. I suspect that, after I had left, she congratulated herself on foiling my attempt to take her to the hospital again.
