Norwegian Swimming Cats

Ocassionaly, I look after a gang of Norwegian Forrest Cats and some British Short Hair cats in the village for a delightful lady who breeds them and loves them to bits. She only has a couple of breeding males and females, and the rest are 'retired' and very well loved pets. This weekend, I was charged with looking after the gang, which is always a pleasure. There are three cats in an orchard enclosure (bigger than my entire garden), a breeding male and two neutered females to keep him company, two more breeding females in a very swish 'house' near the swimming pool, Bertie, the falsetto breeding male, who lives and squeaks in the Studio, a very sweet but slighly nervy British Short hair female and her one remaining wonderfully bold kitten in the bedroom and last but not least, the four NFC pensioner cats, who have the run of the place.

The pensioners are my favourites. There are two males, Alv nd Affie, who are huge, furry and as soft as putty and they will happily swirl around my legs in hopes of getting fed ahead of the queue and try all sorts of cunning trick and antics. Affie is built like a lion, and though he's now an old chap, caught a squirrel a few weeks back from up a tree in the church yard; he has the inner calmness of a creature who knows he's top of the pecking order. Affie's shadow and friend Alv will do anything for a cuddle - if you start to stroke him, he'll wheedle and paw for more, even at the expense of his stomach. The third 'pensioner', though she'd be mortified if she thought anyone called her that, is Victoria. Very much like Mrs Beckham, the lovely Victoria is a Diva of the first order and will bat the two old chaps if they get between her and a stroking hand. Victoria has attitude and spent the time I was there teasing the new breeding female by dancing about on the roof of her 'house' and it looked like it was just for the pure pleasure of it! Victoria has won many awards for Best In Show and knows just how pretty she is; she's a poser.

Last, but certainly not least, is the old lady of the group, Mousie. Mousie is 18 years old and a bit senile; she is also going blind and has lost her sense of self preservation. Yesterday, we discovered that she's slim enough to walk through the bars of the front gate; this was with some horror, as we have often had to stop the car, pick her up and put her back in the garden as she roams, blinking and confused, around the road in the path of traffic. I was warned that Mousie was a danger to herself and that I should keep the gate between the main garden and the swimming pool closed and yesterday, after much effort, left the gate firmly shut so dear old Mousie couldn't hurl herself into the swimming pool by accident.

When I got there today, there was no sign of Mousie. I called and called and headed out towards the orchard cats to feed them, passing through the closed gate to get there. Horror of horrors, Mousie was padding about on top of the pool cover, meowing pathetically and unable to get off. As she neared the edges, the pool liner would start to collapse and she would retreat towards the centre. Thank goodness for the cover, or the poor old girl would have been a goner. I threw down the food and managed to coax her close enough to the edge to grab her without having to climb into the pool. Clutching Mousie to me, I dashed into the house and called Kim to help. He appeared in minutes with large fluffy towel and a dry T-shirt for me.

I don't know how long Mousie had been walking on water, but she was soaked right through her thick fur coat and was very cold. I gave her some food to warm her system up and then gathered her up in the towel and hugged her dry. After about 30 minutes of shifting the towel around, she started to feel less water-logged and though still clamped as close to my body for warmth as it was possible to get, without being inside my clothes, she started purring and perking up. It was only then that my heart started to subside from my mouth back into my chest.

How had Mousie got to the swimming pool? My dear breeder had left another door open that let Mousie amble from the garden, past the summer house, through the vegetable garden and into the swimming pool area. I was just relieved it hadn't been anything I had done, though I'm sure it was no consolation to Mousie! After lots of cuddles, I carted the old girl into the house, parked her in a cat basket beside the Aga and left her to groom her freshly washed leg fur!

Lawks! What a day. I had so many plans - I was going to go off and buy things for the house, do work and all sorts, but by the time we went home, I felt like I had been through the mill and collapsed in a crumpled heap while Kim ministered tea and hot, buttered toast. I have to say that Kim was a complete hero - he dashed around with towels, he finished feeding the rest of the gang while I looked after Mousie and then carted wet T-shirts and soggy towels home, all the while declaring how great it was that he got to see the cats again. He's as enchanted with the gang as I am. I feel like a wrung out dish-cloth - I do hope the rest of the week is a bit less exciting!

Mousie, just after she had had a severe haircut of the hind quarters because her fur had got a bit tangly:

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Normally these days, her tongue is poking out and she looks as daft as a brush!

One of the orchard cats lookng less than inpressed at chicken for lunch... again!

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And here's Victoria, Diva kitty:

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And here's Affie, my favourite, the great, gentle lion:

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Affie's partner in crime, Alv the snudger:

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Is it any wonder I'm so smitten...?