As Expected

It was a day she never thought would come. In fact, she probably didn’t even know there were such days. The last time Imogen went to the hospital was soon after she came to live with me, and she went for a simple check-up. Her teeth, I recall, were good then, but with signs of trouble to come. Trouble came: though she is in otherwise very good health - excellent heart and lungs, perfect weight - Imo’s teeth are in poor shape. She will go for a dental procedure, probably next week. The teeth will need to be cleaned, and at least two removed. As always, I will request that any teeth that look to be on their road to ruin be removed; they won’t get better.

As well, there are two tiny white growths, at opposite ends of Miss Silky: one in the corner of an eye and the other near her nether region. I had noticed the one, and asked about it. The doctor is cautious about them right now. There is no current reason to worry about them, but I must keep vigilant.

As for Imogen’s behaviour, well, she could have been a bit more grown up about it all. On the way to the hospital, she cried constantly; in the examination room, she wailed and paced and worried. I told her that the Tempos behaved better. Still, once the actual examination was complete, Imo twirled and turned around the doctor’s legs, quite charming and relieved.

She doesn’t know that another trip is already being planned…

Just a Precaution

Imogen goes to the doctor tomorrow. Nothing is wrong with her that I can tell, but she has been with me for three and a half years and not had a check-up since her initial examination. She is estimated to be between seven and eight years old now, and her breath is a little smelly. That may just be the usual feline breath, but she is at the age when teeth become a worry, and it’s best to have them looked at while Imo is hale, and well able to cope with surgery, if that is necessary. She has given me no indication that she is feeling discomfort with her mouth. Except for possible oral concerns, I expect the proverbial clean bill of health for Miss Silky.

Everyone Who's Anyone Goes There

The torn and tattered under-lining of the bedroom’s armchair continues to provide what must be a comforting spot for the Cosy Cabin’s beasts. Earlier today, Sable was resting there. Imogen has done so, and I’ve published a picture of Brazil in the same location. Now, Moxy has found it. Perhaps it gives the same sort of security as a box.

I do plan on repairing the chair, or at least making it more presentable. However, there is little point to it while the Tempos are in the building. Their attitude to any repairs would be along the lines of ‘didn’t we already work on this?’

Until they are all adopted, it will remain a strange little refuge for the perma-cats.

They Might be Giants

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…

Gain and Loss

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

We'll Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Cats Momentarily...

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.

Trust in the Dark

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.