Guide Cats For The Blind

Intruder!

Meet Munchkin. S/he is very beautiful. But far too at home in our house, and has Grolly and Benjamin both prowling around my bedroom at night, keen to inform me that their favourite sleeping spot has been misappropriated once more.

Shutting the cat flap leads to many puddles and pongy deposits; Grolly not being one to deign to use a litter tray. Except at the cattery, where, apparently, she is a model cat.

So, any tips for long-term eviction?

She loves in the house which backs onto ours; her family are lovely and gave us some beautiful flowers in exhange for three of her collars - she likes to shed them in our cat flap. I know she's loved, well cared for, and well fed. So it's not a case of a cat needing a loving home. It's a case of a very hissy growly cat deciding our sunroom, cat food, laundry basket and doormat are hers and hers alone. And of my own cats being wimps.

And, if tips are being offered, anyone know where the twenty partners to the odd socks in this laundry basket might be hiding?

Tia

Sproing!

In which Benjamin Bounces

 This is the face of a loopily recently anaesthetised cat.

And this is the story of how and why.

Both cats like to take walks with us. I think Grolly prefers it when it's just her; Benejamin prefers to walk beside us, pause and bounce onto Grolly's head, and then spring back to us. I think it's the colouring; Tigger blood runs deep. Anyway; she's not impressed and much prefers it when we leave him inside.

It was Benjamin's turn last night though, and he decided to accompany us to Brownies. Both cats usually stop when we reach the garages just past our house, but occasionally one of them will venture across the road before panicking and running back. We don't encourage the road crossing. Actually, Grolly gets halfway across the road, then panics and starts crying for help. I've had to post her back home more than once before now.

Anyway, yesterday, Benjamin decided to be more adventurous. Crossing the road, he walked to heel, cat-style. Which means, for the uninitiated, he walked between my heals and over my heels and mainly under my heels, causing an increasing amount of worry as we got closer and closer to the Big Main Road where Gotcha met his end last summer.

I was about to give in and carry him home, when a car drove past. Panicking, he ran for home; unfortunately running directly into the path of the oncoming car, hitting the wheel with an almighty thud and a crunch and a squeal and a cat bouncing along the road.

Add a seriously shaken driver, an overinterested canine witness, and two girls late for Brownies. A brief pause, no pools of blood and incredibly, he had picked himself up and raced off, so I decided to drop the girls at Brownies before going hunting.

He limped his way home, and was seriously underimpressed to be scooped up and taken to the vets for a thorough overhaul. Initial exampination showed no obvious injury other than two scuffed paws, but some creaky hips which would need X-raying in the morning.

Home then, with instructions to keep him in my room overnight in case it turned out he had done something to his diaphragm. Benjamin quite enjoyed the being shut in my bedroom bit, but was distinctly less impressed with the whole starve him from tea-time ready for anaesthetic bit. At 4 AM, when he'd moved on from licking my chin to chewing my nose, I decided his diaphragm was officially not ruptured, and banished him to the sunroom instead. It's soundproof; useful in a cat prison.

Back to the vets, who knocked him out and X-rayed him. The Little Princess is impressed about this and thinks he must be very naughty; she always sits still for X-rays and doesn't need sleepy medicine.

And then a few hours later a phone call. Hips fine, so they'd looked at his chest. Chest fine, so they'd looked at his knees and elbows. All fine, so they'd checked his feet and legs. And everything absolutely fine.

 Two little scuffed grey patches on his paws the only visible signs of any injury at all.

 The need for cuddles and thumb sucking revealing a little more of clinginess he's been showing ever since though.

Suddenly, he looks very young again.

I have a feeling he's used up more than one of his nine lives though; and if you were the woman driving the grey mercedes (no it wasn't you, A!), then I'd like you to know he really is absolutely fine; apparently Benjamins bounce. He'd better not try it too often though!

Tia

Reason number 3751 why I am often running late.

I can deal with the instant affection, winding round the legs and begging for fuss which occurs whenever I stand up and make for the door.

I can dismiss the sixth sense which somehow informs them when I am about to get up, and ensures that at least one cat will land on my chest, purring into my chin.

We've even found a way to overcome Benjamin's habit of throwing himself down on the ground, on the lintel, just in front of the Little Princess' wheels, thus ensuring she can't move forwards or backwards. Since I can't squeeze past both girls when they're lined up in the hallway ready to go out, we now have a long poking stick. You'd think the threat of crushing by 125kg tank would be an effective deterrent. It's not. A couple of prods from a broom handle will eventually persuade him to amble a few steps further down the ramp; not enough to get past but at least enough to shift the girls gently so I can grab him and peel him off the concrete. 

Two cats lying around each other on the concrete ramp produce a beautifully compelling yin/yang effect, although thankfully the effect is very short-lived. Sniff, sniff, kiss, kiss, rub, rub, and then BounceHissSpitWalkAwayQuickly. For the cats are only nearly good friends. Allies, I think, rather than soul mates. 

And this is now their latest "Don't leave us" trick. Into the bus as soon as the doors are open, settle onto the seats comfortably as I clamp the girls in, and then dive under the chairs, safe in the knowledge they won't be run over. Have you any idea how hard it is to remove two furry felines from the far crevices of the car, with speed enough to ensure that the first has not performed a rocketlike re-entry during manoeuvres to remove the second? 

It's a good job they're pretty. 

Tia

Sunny Sunday

Hanging around with friends

Cuteness

Benjamin has discovered that beds are soft.
And small children are having to fight for ownership. Unfortunately we are still working on minor aims such as wrists, however contracted, are rarely if ever considered acceptable fodder, and that tubing for Nippies and CPAP and SATs monitors etcetera are not toys.
He has created for himself the role of flush inspector
which is slightly more acceptable than his other roles of toilet paper shredder and cat litter spreader.

He is dedicated.

Grolly is mostly unimpressed, but has decided he must be washed at regular intervals. This she does, when not otherwise engaged in making herself too fat to fit through the cat flap. The two of them almost nearly snuggle together at times. Grolly has forgiven me for bringing in this intruder and begun to sit on my chest again. She doesn't do laps. This would be ok, if it weren't for the fact that Benjamin has decided under the chin is his own personal spot. Two large fluffers sitting on my lungs mean no photos of them together. Fortunately it doesn't last long before Benjamin remembers he needs to jump on Grolly's head, and she remembers that she needs to pin him down for another Serious Washing. After which she squeezes herself out through the cat flap, pauses to jeer at him as I close it off to prevent him following, and settles down in the garden for a nice therapeutic round of hunt the leaf whilst he takes comfort in chasing one of her pieces of fur around the kitchen.

It's not a bad life
Tia

Because it is, ultimately, all about me.

A new kitten is a great way to occupy a week or two. Throw in a poorly child; nothing majorly wrong but just "Not Right", and there's a beautiful distraction from the fairly major surgery planned for child number two.

But there does come a time when, no matter how cute the kitten, the headline news on the radio is that patients admitted to hospital on a Sunday are 16% more likely to die than if they are admitted on a Wednesday, including planned admissions, and the "la la la I'm busy, can't hear you" stops working, and you realise you are in fact heading that way in just two days' time (and yes, going in on the Sunday). It is, however, significantly better than the outlook this morning, when I misheard 16% for 60, and was considering calling the whole thing off.

I could drive myself mad wondering whether there really will be a statistically significant difference for the Little Princess between our Sunday admission and our originally planned Monday admission, but ultimately it's out of my hands, and I either trust the staff (and God) or I don't. We're going in.

But, in the meantime, if the sight of a very confused little kitten trying to suckle an equally confused neutered adult cat isn't distracting enough, then I have a lovely bag of yumminess to explore.

It occurred to me, in one of those pre-dawn-ugh-I'm-not-awake-back-off-world moments that there may well be a considerable amount of down time over the next week. We'll be aiming to keep the Little Princess nicely comfortable, and that should hopefully mean a fair bit of her being asleep. And then of course there's the op itself on Monday when I'm absolutely certain she'll be unconscious and there won't be a great deal for me to do, since for some reason they don't seem to like parents to be involved in the surgery.

And, with a new kitten in the house, crafty type stuff is having to be on the back seat - pretty photos aside, cats and knitting just aren't a natural combination. Hmm, a cat free week; what can I do with that? Legitimate knitting googling; hurrah!

I found myself here (warning: link could be hazardous to anyone keen on rather splendid wool). Free patterns, marvellous! Free patterns for some extremely delicious fair trade hand dyed gorgeously textured ouchily pricey wool. Hey, it's Fair Trade - buying it is a Good Thing, yes?

Just one problem; hospital admission on Sunday, and today is Friday. Our local wool shop doesn't stock the right wool for the pattern I've chosen (although it does stock the silk and lace yarns, check them out!). I call an internet supplier. No problem; they can arrange a delivery for Saturday. Small problem; they don't have the colours I want in stock. I take a look at another site and decide I don't actually have time to arrange a second mortgage. I check a third; equally ouch. I call another supplier, Yarn Box. Handily, Nicola is about to sort out the day's post, and will pick and pack my wools as she does. Even more handily, Yarn Box turns out to be based very locally, and she will drop the yarn round herself - now that's definitely service! And here it is:

Pattern downloaded and printed, needles ready and waiting, and it is only the kitten lying on my lap playing with my hair which is preventing me from making a start already. Roll on Monday; I'm almost looking forwards to it now!

Tia

by special request

It seems that the recent cute overload is causing mild ructions in places where the almighty cat is not universally worshipped.

If that's you, then here are some reasons why parts of your family may not be over enamoured of the fluffy little beastlings.
Unneutered, they may at times spray the walls.

they like to scratch their claws, rejecting the very special cat tree you have purchased for the purpose, and instead choosing your child's toy box. and their ideas of suitable gifts are not always graciously accepted.
But still, how can you resist this?

Tia

Mostly Good

Everyone up and off in time for school; two girls into chairs with no fussing and two cats sniffing each other instead of hissing.

A long deep bath, interrupted only by the occasional pair of blue eyes peering over the side, querying why on earth I'd want to mess up a good waterbowl by climbing in with bubbles.

A minor panic at the realisation I'd left myself just four minutes to get dressed, and then an inevitable interruption - this time from school saying Miss Mog was all "white and spiteful" and Just Not Right. I did however still manage to be clothed and decent before being picked up; I'm sure my friend was grateful for that.

A diversion to collect a fairly limp and pale Mog from school, and then on to the important business of the day - coffee with the ROSY ladies (and George). Where else can you go, be introduced to someone for the first time, and find people uttering the warning "there's a lot of poo talk, just so you know"? And there aren't many places where you can sort out an evening out, babysitters for that same evening out, and the loan of a changing bench for three weeks in the summer all without having to put your coffee cup down or pick up a phone. Nor are there many circumstances where you can be sniffling over the death of a friend's child whilst simultaneously discussing the creation or arrival of each others' children - conception, birth, death, poo and parties; we cover it all in just a couple of hours.

Move from coffee on to lunch; more chat, more laughs, more yummy food and a good prowl around the antique shop. Must. Resist.

Fortunes safely unspent, and home to the post. No much awaited parcel, just a speeding notice and offer to attend a Speeding Awareness Course or else take points and a fine. Grump.

A Grannie visit, and a photo of my precious newest nephew, born on the 25th. Congratulations to the Scottish contingent! And well done on finding a name which is truly unique and sounds well beside his sister.

And then the best news of all (because new baby news I've had for a couple of days now), two cats sniffing and finally kissing before settling down in different corners of the same room.

Fluffy Stuff

Grolly is not best pleased with life right now.

There's a house invader. And he seems to be filling this house just as much as he fills the doll's house.

He's a lap surfer,
A child-fisher (it's possible she's a kitten-fisher, but it seems to be about equal),
phone hogger,

and power napper.

And her nose is seriously out of joint.

That said; it's not going too badly. They've met each other and had the odd hissy stand-off, but nothing more. Overnight, Benjamin has the sitting room and his beloved computer table, and Grolly has the rest of the house and the whole wide world. During the day, they both have most of the house, Grolly has exclusive access to my bedroom and the cat flap . And I'm only feeling a little bit like neutral territory when I have kitten on my shoulder peering down and cat at my knee, determinedly not looking up.

There is more to life than cats right now, but they do seem to be a fairly huge part of it.
Tia

New Arrival

No, not the one family are waiting for (but all the best with that, Y!) Nor yet a temporary fosling. But please meet Mr Benjamin Boots.

Please also ignore any typos, as he's standing on the keyboard trying to help me type.
Unlike Grolly and Gotcha when they came, he shows no fear.
Meep. Please come and play.

Excuse me.
Normal service may be resumed at some point when he deigns to slee.p. (extra full stop delicately inserted by one white paw).
Tia0000 (those OOs too)

Oh dear...