Nip in the Air

Some time ago, I participated in an on-line auction and bought a cat-hammock. It is, in fact, a Ham-Mick, made by Forty Paws. A very good purchase it was, too, as it is always in use by one of three cats (Tucker, Josie, Kola) and sometimes a fourth (Renn). But Tucker, though he enjoys snoozing in the hammock, especially, for some reason, after nine o’clock at night, has a reaction that is different than the other cats’.

When the hammock arrived, it was liberally covered with cat-nip. That has a bad effect on some of my beasts (Tungsten, for instance, becomes almost comatose). But after a brief shake, the hammock was put together and ready for use.

Periodically, however, Tucker will detect a smell of cat-nip strong enough to go a little loopy. He rubs his fuzzy face up and down, back and forth. He rolls and twists, this way and that. It’s a very mild reaction and he seems to enjoy himself without getting carried away, though sometimes he ends up a little distance from the hammock, demonstrating his true roly-poliness…

And though I wrote that Tucker did not get carried away, he does sometimes push the hammock from its place. I’ve found it half-way across the dining area, on its way to the bedroom. Then I know who has been having a little fun, and that there’s a nip in the air.

Observing the Observer

I try to keep an eye on my cats’ habits, so I will know as early as possible when something is amiss. One of the traits of which I am particularly watchful is their trips to the litter-boxes in the basement.

Early in October, Renn appeared to be having trouble urinating. An overnight stay in hospital did not result in much but a diminution of my bank account, though I think that the doctor’s suspicion of a mild inflammation, pressing on Renn’s bladder, caused my big boy to think he had to go when he did not really need to. That has long since cleared up and all my cats appear in good health right now.

But they cause me worries nonetheless. Soon after I took Renn to the veterinary, I noticed that he was spending an inordinate amount of time downstairs. That usually means time spent at the litter-boxes - unless it is Tungsten trapped by Cammie, ready to ambush the orange one on her way up the stairs. So I waited until my big boy thumped down the staircase once more and did not return after a few minutes, and then followed him down.

He was at the litter-boxes, to be sure, but he was not interested in using them, except as a means of getting to the back of the space under the stairs where they are kept. As you may know if you’ve read my blog for a while, Renn is my scientist, a scholar of all things. He had evidently seen something that aroused his curiosity: a spider, perhaps, or a centipede. It had likely come out of or gone under the drywall there. All Renn would need is to see the object once, and he would return repeatedly to stare at the spot where he had last observed it.

Renn caused me some anxiety in this matter, and, though many of the alarms I experience in regard to these beasts are false, they are better than real ones. In watching out for the cats we care for, we have to be as observant as my big boy himself.

The Leap

Tucker is not built for agility or speed. His is not the form of a lean jaguar, leaping from branch to branch in the Amazon jungle. Nor is he like the cheetah, a blur on the African savannah as it charges after its prey. Rather, Tucker is lumpy and tubular, like those rolls of Pilsbury dough, ready-made for baking into cookies. Seen from the rear, his swiftest gait looks like an overweight dancer from the Folies Bergere trying to keep up with the front end of a pantomime horse.

So it was with trepidation that I witnessed the roly poly one contemplating a jump from the middle of the tall cat-tree in the sitting room. The platform on which he was sitting is perhaps three feet off the floor; not high, really. But Tucker, having finished looking out the window, was thinking of crossing a distance that was horizontal, as well as vertical. He wanted to snooze on the armchair, and didn’t want to go to the trouble of climbing down the cat-tree to do it. The space that he had to cover was, for a stubby-legged cat, considerable.

He hesitated on the platform for half a minute.

“I can do it… No, I can’t… Yes, I can… It’s not far… I can do this… I’d better not… What if I fall?… I won’t fall… I can do it…”

A dozen times in that period I thought of telling Tucker not to try it. I had visions of him plummeting three quarters of the way to his destination, 18 pounds of fat cat smashing onto the little round table beside the chair, or striking the chair’s arm with his chest, his baby-like forepaws scrabbling ineffectually at the fabric as he flipped over backward and fell to the floor. I think he had the same visions. But I refrained from saying anything, as I thought my outburst might catch him just as he was taking off, and throw off his balance (such as it is).

Then he leaped.

It was a perfect arc, right to where he wanted to go. He hit the cushion of the chair as though he were the arrow shot by Errol Flynn in the tournament scene in “The Adventures of Robin Hood”. Except the arrow weighed a few ounces. Tucker sank the cushion six or seven inches into the chair, and I’m sure I heard the furniture’s springs shout obscenities. But they, and Tucker, recovered quickly. He spent minimal time getting comfortable before settling down. He was probably stunned and dizzy. Then, tired out from his unwonted aerobatics, he slept.

My fur-wrapped little dirigible.

Cats and Candy

I am not a big celebrant of Hallowe’en. In its modern form, it is far too commercialized and conventionalized for me, and I have no affinity with its original pagan form. However, children enjoy it, and I like to give out candy to them because I recall being a youngster and disliking the people who were home but refused to give out treats at their houses. Besides, when there are few children, I get to have whatever candy they don't.

The cats’ reaction to the evening varied. Tungsten, of course, disdained to react at all, and spent the whole time in her heated cat-bed. The night was a pleasant one for the end of October, so there was almost no chilly draught from the door being open so often. But she is old and likes the warmth of her cat-bed at any time, so she is certainly not going to bother making a fuss over such nonsense as giving out candy to strangers.

Renn doesn’t like people coming to the door. He quickly warms to them after they arrive and, if they stay a while, he will often come and lie beside them while they sit on the couch. But this to-ing and fro-ing unnerved him a bit, so he remained in the bedroom. Josie too stayed there, but because she has a habit of checking out the door whenever it is open. She would go outside if she could. So she kept Renn company.

Kola too is a greeting-cat, and his fondness for coming to the door to see who is entering is why he was banished to the parlour for the duration. He was quite excited by it all and had his lasers on, to give the best show for all who were coming.

Cammie normally gravitates quickly toward whatever noise or ruckus is in the making, but I think the continual ringing of the door-bell frightened her a bit, so the Siamese princess took refuge on her tall cat-tree in the bedroom.

The cat who surprised me was Tucker. There was a time when he would hide at the slightest intimation of a newcomer. But he has been growing bolder - in that respect, at least. A visitor some weeks ago remarked that the roly poly sausage didn’t run and hide when she came in. Indeed, he is standing (or lying) his ground and braving whatever may come his way. So it was on Hallowe’en. Repeated ringing of the door-bell did not drive him to seek cover and, though he did not appear enthusiastic about the whole evening, he kept me company in the sitting room.

So it was not too bad an evening for all concerned. Children had fun, the cats were not too alarmed, and I got the leftover candy.

Lurid Beast

Renn is a lap-cat under certain conditions. Sometimes, when we are watching a movie on Saturday nights, he will crawl onto my lap while giving his rough purr. The only other instance, is when I am sitting on the right side of the couch, never the left. He will jump up, usually over the arm of the couch, and step down onto my lap. From there, his posture may become any shape at all. And in the light thrown by an electric lamp in an early autumn evening, the image can be a bit unusual. But not for Renn.

Just a Little More Snug...

A sure sign of the coming cold weather is emplacement of storm windows at my house. The screens that have allowed the windows to be opened, and the cats kept inside, have been on since spring. They could stay on longer; after all, Friday’s temperature is predicted to be 18° Celsius (64.4° Fahrenheit). But the days are, for the most part, seasonal, and the nights are chilly. There will be few days when the windows would be open, even if the screens were still on. This day was very windy, blowing at about 80 kph (50 mph) with gusts up to 100 kph.

Because the screens are simply fitted into the lower half of the windows, I take the precaution of securing them to the frames. This keeps the cats from falling out if they push against the screens. None has done that, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

I would be outside for a while (I estimated half an hour), so I locked Kola in the parlour, so that Tucker could not get at him, if the roly poly one tried. Initially, the Floof-King was intrigued by what I was doing. He watched intently the removal of the screens, and their replacement with the storm windows.

Then he lost interest. He retired to the ottoman for some rest. All that paying attention - well, for a few minutes, at least - had worn him out. I suppose snoopervising a human’s activity isn’t as entertaining when you can’t actually interfere in it.

When I was finished, I entered the house again, glad to be out of the wind. The wind banging against the sides of buildings can make them colder than the real temperature would suggest, and every cat was snoozing in a comfortable spot. This is the scene which greeted me when I took off my jacket.

I wasn’t even thanked for making the house more snug...

A Welcome at the Window

When I come home from work, there is often a cat or two looking out of a window. I can’t say for certain that they are watching for me, but it is enjoyable nonetheless to see them on a cat-tree, staring out. Tucker and Josie are the ones I see most often. In this first photograph, Tucker may be plainly seen, and Josie is almost hidden in the reflection above him.

I usually enter the house from the side-door, but sometimes I climb the steps to the front door, then peek around the corner at the roly poly one, if he’s there. I usually get a meow, silent to me, asking why I’m not coming in already.

My Chubs is most frequently seen, if gazing at the outside world, on the shorter of the sitting room cat-trees, to one side. There she is, all folded up and blob-like.

Renn I sometimes observe from outside curled up in the sitting room armchair, one of his favourite sleeping spots. But now and then, I’ll catch him at the bedroom window. The weather is getting a little cooler these days, and windier, so the windows are not open as much as they have been. My big boy has to crouch to peer out.

Cammie is sometimes watching the world from her old saddle-topped cat-tree in the bedroom, but pictures don’t show her dim-coloured body very well in such a setting. Kola will more often see me off from a window in the morning than welcome me back from one in the afternoon. And Tungsten would show up colourfully if she ever looked out a window, which she does rarely. Besides, as my veteran beast, she knows I’ll be home, so why rouse herself from a comfortable snooze just to look for me?

Seeing my cats at my windows is a sight that never fails to make me smile, especially when I return from an inauspicious day, which, at my job, is nearly every day. Yes, I will spend the next forty-five minutes feeding the animals, sifting through their litter-boxes, sweeping up debris and perhaps even cleaning up the odd pile of vomit. But then I will eat, and finally relax, and my cats will tell me I’m home.