Cats (old)
Oct. 16th, 2002 11:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
triskellianI have two, a tortoiseshell called Cobweb (torties are almost always girls, and she is too), and a ginger called Puck (gingers are almost always boys, and so is he, although their mother is also ginger).
One of the biggest bonuses of being made redundant is being able to spend most of the day at home with my cats. They seem to be enjoying it too. Of course, they have their own business to pursue during the day, but they come to check
on me periodically, and if it's time for a snooze (often, if you're Puck), they generally come to join me. I've had to install a third chair in the study so there's one each for the three of us. No one has any fun when I return to my computer only to have to evict a cat from my chair.
This doesn`t work in the evenings, when my boyfriend is here too, but there isn`t room for four chairs in our tiny study, so someone has to sit on the floor if we all want to be in here. That someone is rarely a cat.
My desk is next to an upstairs window. While I've been writing this, I've been spending much more time than usual sitting here, so the cats have become more acquainted with the view from the window, encountered whilst walking
across my keyboard, or chasing my mouse pointer across the screen. More familiarity with the view seems to have enabled Cobweb to connect her knowledge of outside with her knowledge of inside, so she's worked out a rather perilous route to the outside window sill (which is just the right width for her). Foolishly, the first time she did this, I opened the window to say hello to her, and she now thinks having the window opened is one of her basic rights. Once I've given in, she's fond of standing directly on the join, so I can't close the window, and have to sit here shivering. Puck's got in on the act now, too. He hasn't figured out the outside route to the window sill yet, but he agrees that it's a fine vantage point from which to survey their domain, enjoy the fresh air, not get wet if it's raining (the roof overhangs), and still have someone to worship them close at hand.
I was tempted to fit a cat flap, but next door's friendly tortie has now discovered the route, too, and is rubbing up against the window in a most friendly and affectionate way. I felt very mean for not opening it.
Apart from our two, there are at least four cats who use our garden.
Next door on one side has a tortie, who seems to be on good terms with our two. I occassionally get confused if I just see a flash of tortoiseshell as she jumps onto a wall, because I assume she's Cobweb, and then realise that Cobweb's sitting on the other side of the room. They also get confused for each other at night, as they're the only dark coloured neighbourhood cats.
Somewhere on the other side of the house - possibly next door - are the other three neighbourhood cats. There are two black and white cats. The smaller of them I've just seen wandering around, but haven't met. The larger one, we call `The Alien` because he invades our house. Sometimes Cobweb and I will see him from my window, walking up our path, and we'll sneak downstairs to ambush him when he comes in. When he sees us, he just casually turns round and leaves again.
The fourth neighbourhood cat is a fluffy grey cat, who is probably a housemate of The Alien. He's the neighbourhood Bad Cat, because we suspect him of picking on Puck and Cobweb when they were little. We don't see much of him these days, hough, so perhaps they've asserted themselves now they're bigger
As a cat-lover, I find it strange to be considering some cats as the enemy - or, at least, not as friends. Maintaining loyalty to my cats, and supporting their claims on their territory is really important, but I can't help realising that if I met The Alien or The Bad Cat in someone else's street, I'd stop to say hello.
We moved into a house in November 2000. It was always part of the plan to get cats as soon as we were living somewhere it would be fair to keep them, so we thought the ideal thing to do would be get cats at the beginning of the Christmas break, so we could be there with them all day for the first week or two, rather than abandoning them to the whole day alone.
Rescue cats, we thought. But no. Animal rescue centres don't give out animals before Christmas, even though we had good reasons for wanting them at Christmas. They are concerned - reasonably enough - that animals housed before Christmas may be given as presents, and be back in the rescue centre early in the new year.
So we resorted to privately sold cats, and found a family (an hour and a half's journey from our house) selling kittens from a litter of five, who would be old enough to leave their mother just before Christmas. They had apparently been approached by several potential purchasers who wanted to give the kittens as presents. Sometimes as surprise presents. They refused. We - in our 'nice young couple' guise - were much more acceptable.
The litter was three boys, all ginger, and two tortoiseshell girls, who were mirror images of each other. There were two left who hadn't yet been claimed - one of the girls and one of the boys. If there had been three, I think we'd have taken all of them. They were so small and so excited by everything, and we fell in love. We agreed to come to collect Puck and Cobweb (as they weren't yet) just before Christmas.
The appointed day came. We phoned to confirm times, and were warned that there was flooding in the area. 'Wear boots, and leave your car in the pub car park and walk from there', we were told.
'Walking from there' turned out to involve ten minutes of wading through knee-high (to me: I'm not very tall) water. The only sensible boots I own are Doc Martens. They're pretty good with puddles, but even if they'd been completely waterproof, they weren't any use with water level this high. At one point, I almost slipped on grass and mud invisible under the water.
We arrived at the house feeling wet and miserable. There was a stream now running across the end of the driveway, which we jumped. The doorstep was surrounded by sandbags, and the water level creeping up the steps from the cellar was within half a step of the top. We squelched into the house, and Puck (we'd named them in the car on the way down) bounced over to say hello. He was tiny and cheerful and curious. Cobweb, and their remaining siblings, looked up but didn't come over.
We'd forgotten the cat carrying box we'd carefully stolen from my parents, so we borrowed a cardboard box, which my boyfriend lined with the fleece lining of his coat, and took our new kittens away from their waterlogged home.
Two years previously, I'd gone with a friend to collect her new kittens. They'd both screamed through the whole journey home, and this was the part I was dreading. It was heartbreaking, and the temptation to stop and comfort them - prolonging their agony - was almost overwhelming. I needn't have worried. Cobweb settled down in a fold of coat lining, and slept peacefully for the whole journey. Puck played a fun game of trying to get out of the box. We'd left the top of the box open, thinking they'd hate to be enclosed, and my boyfriend was ready to stop them getting out if they tried. Tiny Puck thought this was wondeful. He'd try one side of the box, be rebuffed, pretend not to be interested any more, and then try the other side when he thought the coast was clear. We were in hysterics the whole way.
When we finally got home and let them out of the box, they found a snug corner under the table and promptly went to sleep.
When Cobweb & Puck had been with us less than a fortnight, we had a New Year's Eve party. We shut them in the kitchen, and put a sign on the door asking our guests to keep the door closed so the cats didn't get out. However, our kitchen is on the way to the bathroom, so people encountered the cats on their way, and we started to realise there were people who weren't in any of the 'party locations'. We found them in the kitchen, playing with and worshipping our two tiny kittens.
Obviously, no self-respecting cat would drink out of the designated water bowl if alternative sources are available. For example, the pint glass of water, placed conveniently on the cupboard next to my desk for any cats who decide
they are thirsty whilst upstairs, and not for me to drink in the vain hope of curing my hangover.
The trouble for Cobweb, as she drinks out of the glass, is that the water level is sufficiently low that in order for her tongue to reach it, she has to immerse her head up to the ears in the glass, which squashes her fur against the sides and looks very silly. Puck's preferred method - equally silly - is to stick a paw in the water, then bring it up to be licked. Sometimes he does this just for fun, and not because he's thirsty, in which case he simply shakes the wet paw, and watches the drops fly around. This was the most fun before we were wise to their ways with uncovered glasses, and still used to take glasses of water to bed (we now take bottles). Not only did he have the delight of watching the drops, he also had the far greater delight of watching one of us waking up wondering why it seemed to be raining in the bedroom.
Chairs
Chairs
One of the biggest bonuses of being made redundant is being able to spend most of the day at home with my cats. They seem to be enjoying it too. Of course, they have their own business to pursue during the day, but they come to check
on me periodically, and if it's time for a snooze (often, if you're Puck), they generally come to join me. I've had to install a third chair in the study so there's one each for the three of us. No one has any fun when I return to my computer only to have to evict a cat from my chair.
This doesn`t work in the evenings, when my boyfriend is here too, but there isn`t room for four chairs in our tiny study, so someone has to sit on the floor if we all want to be in here. That someone is rarely a cat.
Windows
My desk is next to an upstairs window. While I've been writing this, I've been spending much more time than usual sitting here, so the cats have become more acquainted with the view from the window, encountered whilst walking
across my keyboard, or chasing my mouse pointer across the screen. More familiarity with the view seems to have enabled Cobweb to connect her knowledge of outside with her knowledge of inside, so she's worked out a rather perilous route to the outside window sill (which is just the right width for her). Foolishly, the first time she did this, I opened the window to say hello to her, and she now thinks having the window opened is one of her basic rights. Once I've given in, she's fond of standing directly on the join, so I can't close the window, and have to sit here shivering. Puck's got in on the act now, too. He hasn't figured out the outside route to the window sill yet, but he agrees that it's a fine vantage point from which to survey their domain, enjoy the fresh air, not get wet if it's raining (the roof overhangs), and still have someone to worship them close at hand.
I was tempted to fit a cat flap, but next door's friendly tortie has now discovered the route, too, and is rubbing up against the window in a most friendly and affectionate way. I felt very mean for not opening it.
Other neighbourhood cats
Apart from our two, there are at least four cats who use our garden.
Next door on one side has a tortie, who seems to be on good terms with our two. I occassionally get confused if I just see a flash of tortoiseshell as she jumps onto a wall, because I assume she's Cobweb, and then realise that Cobweb's sitting on the other side of the room. They also get confused for each other at night, as they're the only dark coloured neighbourhood cats.
Somewhere on the other side of the house - possibly next door - are the other three neighbourhood cats. There are two black and white cats. The smaller of them I've just seen wandering around, but haven't met. The larger one, we call `The Alien` because he invades our house. Sometimes Cobweb and I will see him from my window, walking up our path, and we'll sneak downstairs to ambush him when he comes in. When he sees us, he just casually turns round and leaves again.
The fourth neighbourhood cat is a fluffy grey cat, who is probably a housemate of The Alien. He's the neighbourhood Bad Cat, because we suspect him of picking on Puck and Cobweb when they were little. We don't see much of him these days, hough, so perhaps they've asserted themselves now they're bigger
As a cat-lover, I find it strange to be considering some cats as the enemy - or, at least, not as friends. Maintaining loyalty to my cats, and supporting their claims on their territory is really important, but I can't help realising that if I met The Alien or The Bad Cat in someone else's street, I'd stop to say hello.
Adventures: Finding the cats
We moved into a house in November 2000. It was always part of the plan to get cats as soon as we were living somewhere it would be fair to keep them, so we thought the ideal thing to do would be get cats at the beginning of the Christmas break, so we could be there with them all day for the first week or two, rather than abandoning them to the whole day alone.
Rescue cats, we thought. But no. Animal rescue centres don't give out animals before Christmas, even though we had good reasons for wanting them at Christmas. They are concerned - reasonably enough - that animals housed before Christmas may be given as presents, and be back in the rescue centre early in the new year.
So we resorted to privately sold cats, and found a family (an hour and a half's journey from our house) selling kittens from a litter of five, who would be old enough to leave their mother just before Christmas. They had apparently been approached by several potential purchasers who wanted to give the kittens as presents. Sometimes as surprise presents. They refused. We - in our 'nice young couple' guise - were much more acceptable.
The litter was three boys, all ginger, and two tortoiseshell girls, who were mirror images of each other. There were two left who hadn't yet been claimed - one of the girls and one of the boys. If there had been three, I think we'd have taken all of them. They were so small and so excited by everything, and we fell in love. We agreed to come to collect Puck and Cobweb (as they weren't yet) just before Christmas.
The appointed day came. We phoned to confirm times, and were warned that there was flooding in the area. 'Wear boots, and leave your car in the pub car park and walk from there', we were told.
'Walking from there' turned out to involve ten minutes of wading through knee-high (to me: I'm not very tall) water. The only sensible boots I own are Doc Martens. They're pretty good with puddles, but even if they'd been completely waterproof, they weren't any use with water level this high. At one point, I almost slipped on grass and mud invisible under the water.
We arrived at the house feeling wet and miserable. There was a stream now running across the end of the driveway, which we jumped. The doorstep was surrounded by sandbags, and the water level creeping up the steps from the cellar was within half a step of the top. We squelched into the house, and Puck (we'd named them in the car on the way down) bounced over to say hello. He was tiny and cheerful and curious. Cobweb, and their remaining siblings, looked up but didn't come over.
We'd forgotten the cat carrying box we'd carefully stolen from my parents, so we borrowed a cardboard box, which my boyfriend lined with the fleece lining of his coat, and took our new kittens away from their waterlogged home.
Two years previously, I'd gone with a friend to collect her new kittens. They'd both screamed through the whole journey home, and this was the part I was dreading. It was heartbreaking, and the temptation to stop and comfort them - prolonging their agony - was almost overwhelming. I needn't have worried. Cobweb settled down in a fold of coat lining, and slept peacefully for the whole journey. Puck played a fun game of trying to get out of the box. We'd left the top of the box open, thinking they'd hate to be enclosed, and my boyfriend was ready to stop them getting out if they tried. Tiny Puck thought this was wondeful. He'd try one side of the box, be rebuffed, pretend not to be interested any more, and then try the other side when he thought the coast was clear. We were in hysterics the whole way.
When we finally got home and let them out of the box, they found a snug corner under the table and promptly went to sleep.
New Year's Eve
When Cobweb & Puck had been with us less than a fortnight, we had a New Year's Eve party. We shut them in the kitchen, and put a sign on the door asking our guests to keep the door closed so the cats didn't get out. However, our kitchen is on the way to the bathroom, so people encountered the cats on their way, and we started to realise there were people who weren't in any of the 'party locations'. We found them in the kitchen, playing with and worshipping our two tiny kittens.
Glasses of water
Obviously, no self-respecting cat would drink out of the designated water bowl if alternative sources are available. For example, the pint glass of water, placed conveniently on the cupboard next to my desk for any cats who decide
they are thirsty whilst upstairs, and not for me to drink in the vain hope of curing my hangover.
The trouble for Cobweb, as she drinks out of the glass, is that the water level is sufficiently low that in order for her tongue to reach it, she has to immerse her head up to the ears in the glass, which squashes her fur against the sides and looks very silly. Puck's preferred method - equally silly - is to stick a paw in the water, then bring it up to be licked. Sometimes he does this just for fun, and not because he's thirsty, in which case he simply shakes the wet paw, and watches the drops fly around. This was the most fun before we were wise to their ways with uncovered glasses, and still used to take glasses of water to bed (we now take bottles). Not only did he have the delight of watching the drops, he also had the far greater delight of watching one of us waking up wondering why it seemed to be raining in the bedroom.
