The Cats Arrive

Oh my goodness, yesterday was quite a day. Kim arrived home late on Friday and after a long, tiring week and probably could have done with an easy morning, but no, we were up and out on the way to the RSPCA shelter at West Hatch to pick up the cats.

What a delight to be greeted on the reception desk by Louise, who lived across the road from us until quite recently, with a big smile and a heap of paperwork. Formalities done and a new paw-print blanket and other bits and bobs purchased, one of the staff came through to talk to us about the feeding regime and inoculations for the boys, followed by the Manager of the cat section carrying our crates with the furry duo.

Well, if nothing else, we found within minutes, that our cats had strong voices and powerful lungs. They started meowing in turn as I drove us all back home, but as the tempo increased, they ended up doing a rather splendid meow duet, and I was glad when we arrived and Kim unloaded the crates into the house. Poor cats, they really were frightened. They have been caged since the spring, and both of them are a decent size, one being 4.1 kilos and the other 4.65 kilos, they have not had an opportunity to stretch their legs. We closed ourselves in the kitchen, let the boys out and put down some food to go with their water bowl and sat quietly. Oh my, they were dashing around, sniffing everything, checking out every nook and cranny and finding their way around the room.



Boots after he had discovered the bed

Boots is the larger of the two cats, not only in weight, but he is fluffier and has a stillness and presence that commands attention and respect. Boots is also the soppiest thing in a fur coat and will snuggle up to you at the slightest opportunity, dribbling like mad if you give him a good neck rub! The other, smaller cat, who was originally called Smokey, then Monty but who has now settled into the name of Bertie, is a different creature altogether. Think of Hugh Laurie playing Bertie Wooster in the Jeeves and Wooster television adaptation of the PG Woodehouse books and you get a general idea of the look. I'm not sure that Bertie is capable of repose; he's a wiry, sinuous cat with more energy than is good for him. He likes to be near people, but is not a lap cat and prefers to brush past, grabbing a quick neck rub, en route to the latest object of his investigations.


Bertie playing a string game

Our house isn't huge, but it's a decent size, and after their cage, I think the boys were a bit bewildered with the size of the kitchen. We spent ages in there, drinking tea and talking quietly, so they became used to our voices, our smells and felt secure in that room. Eventually though, the tea overcame me and I had to dash upstairs... and with that came the opening of the kitchen door. Boots sauntered out and did a circuit of the sitting room (the only other open door, as we figured one room at a time would be enough for the cats), while Bertie had a nervous fit, ran into the sitting room and then hurtled back into the kitchen and his place of safety (on the chair beside where I sit). We left the kitchen door open and gradually, bit by bit, the cats ventured into the sitting room more and more. Bertie discovered the conservatory and was perched on the window sill, watching the world go by for ages, before he sank into the big squishy cushion on the wicker chair and looked calm for the first time all day. Meanwhile, Boots had discovered Kim sitting in his armchair and had draped his body over Kims's, paws either side of Kim's neck having a purr-fest and a cuddle; Boots was starting to settle.

The evening must have been rather weird for the cats; we sat in and watched a dvd, while Boots and Bertie tried to work out why things hadn't gone quiet. At the shelter, they must have become accustomed to darkness falling when it fell, rather than when an electric light went out, and it must have been a long day for them. Never fear, Boots made the most of his opportunities and when we headed upstairs, the cats followed. On leaving the bathroom I found Kim tucked up under the duvet with a stretched out Boots laying on my side of the bed, in the crook of Kim's arm and Bertie under the bed. That didn't last - Bertie leapt up and found a place by my feet and the household went to sleep.



Boots after being roused, this cat likes his sleep!

Oh goodness, two large, hungry cats didn't have much trouble waking us up today! Boots was still curled up in a furry huddle, but Bertie had started to explore and was thud, thudding as he leapt up and down from all sorts of new and exciting places. Eventually, this roused Boots and the pair of them played tag across the bed, around the upper landing and nearly got up enough speed to do a wall of death in their skitterings. Kim and I became trampolines as Bertie and Boots hurtled over the bed; we're both rather large and bouncy, so this must have seemed like a wonderful game to the boys - it certainly got our attention.


Bertie and string

I know there isn't a thing wrong with the cats' hearing - no sooner had Kim opened the food cupboard and grabbed the rather crackly packet of food, than two black and white missiles careered downstairs - breakfast was served. These cats have certainly changed our lives already; it's not the black fur duvet cover or the paw prints in the bath, it's not the sudden madness of two hungry cats hearing anything that rustles or clothes covered in black and white fur, no, it's that we now have to negotiate to find space in our own bed. Today, Boots is recovering after such a busy day yesterday and has not moved from the bed since eating breakfast; Bertie, after playing string games with Kim, also retired to bed for a nap. Why am I worrying that they won't be sleepy at bed time?!!

Meet Boots And Monty

MONTY
Domestic Shorthair - male - three years old (approx.). He is looking for a quiet home with his brother Boots. He is more out going than Boots (except when there's food involved and he suddenly turns into a hungry tiger).



BOOTS
Domestic Shorthair - male - three years old (approx.). He is looking for a home with his brother. They would prefer an adult only home because they are a little shy until they get to know you.

These are the boys. We bring them home on Saturday morning and I'm almost bursting with excitement! After dropping Kim off at the railway station this morning (he's off to London), I headed the West Hatch RSPCA and spent an hour in the familiarisation hut with Boots and Monty (who is currently known as Smokey, but I'm not keen on that name for him). I spent a whole hour stroking and fussing the boys and had the most wonderful time- I'm still grinning like an idiot and I have been home an hour and a half.

We have been approved by the RSPCA Home Inspector, the cat activity centre I ordered over the weekend has just arrived and all I have to do is assemble it and think of somewhere to put it and then wait. That will be the hard part. Still, it will give us a chance to slowly open the house out to the cats, let them explore one room at a time and learn to feel safe and they will hopefully get used to hearing the two of us burbling away and learn to feel at home.

While I was in the familiarisation room with B & M I found the cat toy that you fill up with cat biscuits - the one the cats are supposed to push around to dispense treats - only Boots was trying to stick his tongue all the way through to the bottom to get at the treats and Monty was far too impatient. I shook out a couple of cat treats and Boots sat at my feet, waiting politely to be given a cat biscuit; Monty climbed up my leg, claws fully extended and in a huge hurry to get at the treat - this is not a cat who understands the concept of delayed gratification!

These poor cats have been that the centre since the Spring and I just can't imagine why they didn't get snapped up sooner - they are just beautiful, funny and affectionate. I know homing pairs of cats is harder, but goodness, that's a long time for any animal to be in a cage. Don't get me wrong, the cages the RSPCA provide are super, clean, safe and designed to give the cats space to play, but it's still a cage. The staff, without exception, were just delightful and seems genuinely thrilled that the boys were coming home with us.

I suspect these two feline athletes are going to give Kim and I a bit of a shake up, with all the things I have seen them get up to in the space of an hour. They climb, they're curious and they are full of beans - and that will be a bit of a change from a very sleepy, half blind old cat who didn't move much. Once our furry friends are home, I shall take some good pictures (the ones above are from the re-homing page) and tell you all about the kitty home-coming.

After The Rain Comes The Sun

No, not the weather, that's rather the other way around and today we got rain after many dry days - it was rather nice to hear it drumming on the roof.

It's lovely when things look up after a trying time and I've had a wonderful few days. First, a customer was so happy they bought me a lovely present to thank me for everything and that was such a nice feeling. A little later Kim and I were invited to a luncheon party with one of the village worthies and someone else called round and was just so kind it left me grinning from ear to ear. My dear friend A also came round for tea and talk the other evening and that was such a delight; she's funny, sensible and compassionate, a truly marvellous combination to find in anyone and especially someone you can call friend.

I have had so many sweet emails about Tommy, about Whitewicca and a host of other thoughtful things, that I decided to put the site back up again. I was missing the lovely people and figured that, even thought the very first thing that happened was a heap of spammers registering, it was worth the trouble.

Over the past days, Kim and I have felt that the house is uncannily quiet; you would never believe how much one moth-eaten old cat could fill a place with his presence. Neither of us like this silence and the absence of animals, so we took ourselves off to the RSPCA centre at West Hatch to have a mooch around. No, that's not true! We put the cat carrier in the back of the car and set out very purposefully. Oh my! There were tiny kittens, middle-sized kittens, big kittens, older cats, one old boy who looked like he had been a brawler all his life and a pair of black and white boy cats with lovely faces. The lovely lady at the RSPCA, Anna, told us that they had been taken to the shelter when their owner was made redundant and had to move from their house to a place where they couldn't have cats. These poor boys had been in a cage since March and were always passed over. Goodness knows why, as they were pretty, affectionate and loveable in every way.

Anna took is to the 'familiarisation room', a large garden shed decked out to look like a sitting room, so that people and cats could interact and see how they got along in something more comfortable than a cage. The boys are called Boots and Smokey and we were told that Smokey was very timid, Boots less so. Within minutes Smokey was on my lap and Boots in Kim's arms - timid, huh? Not when the chance of a stroke and some love was on offer! Boots is a dribbler and as soon as you start to stroke or fuss him, he's drooling like Homer Simpson dreaming of donuts; Smokey is smaller, more lithe and very sweet.

Yes, you guessed it, we fell under the spell of these furry brothers and after filling out the paperwork, we now await a home visit from the RSPCA inspector to approve us and our home before we can call the boys our cats. Help us out here Freya, please. I know our house is a good, safe place for cats and we already have a letter from our vet to say we are responsible and caring animal owners, so I can't help getting my hopes up. If all goes to plan, we could have two furry house-mates living with us by next weekend. Oh, please let it be so!

Yes, Things Do Come In Threes

Well, I asked the question and the universe threw me back an answer sooner than I anticipated. Yes, things do come in threes, even if it's not quite what I had expected. There was I worrying about someone else falling off their perch, and what happened was the death of a friendship.

Last summer, someone I know became very cranky and stroppy towards me. They raged and ranted but I managed to keep pretty calm and didn't react to what was happening, despite being baited. I figured that the person was having a really rotten time and that they were taking things out on me, because there wasn't anyone else to take it out on. A couple of months later, everything had calmed down and it was all sweetness and light again.

Here we are, at the same time of year, and yet again, they have gone really "funny" on me. Not funny ha-ha either. Now, you don't mind that sort of thing happening once - well, actually, I did mind, but let it go - but for it to happen again just isn't on. So, I think this is another sort of death - the end of an association. It's a sad thing as I know they are just angry and looking for ways to lash out, but inventing things as an excuse to pick fights isn't constructive. Keep on doing that and it's easy to turn into a toxic person.

So now I have another thing to mourn. I'm at a huge crossroads and I know that many things are changing and that there is a lot of upheaval in the short term. My life seems to go through major changes every seven years or so, and I'm at that point now. Perhaps it's time for people to fall away, things that have been close to me to recede into mere memory and new chapters to open. Whatever is happening, it isn't a comfortable process.

Do Things Come In Threes?

I don't know if I'm the only person who seems to think that things come in threes, whether it's weddings, births or deaths. I do hope I'm wrong.

On top of parting from Mr Smelly, my dear old cat on Saturday, my mother has been admitted to hospital. She took a fall two weeks ago and broke a rib, but this time, she became dizzy, fell and was taken in by ambulance. The hospital don't know what's wrong with her, but she isn't conscious much of the time, can barely talk and is desperately weak. Talking to the ward staff, I got the impression they were trying to prepare me for the worst. I haven't been able to see my mother, as she is over five hours drive from me, and my hip prevents me from travelling for more than half an hour without severe pain and hospital precautions say I shouldn't either.

My sister has flown in from Paris and has spent the weekend visiting my mother, and making all the arrangements she can to prepare for every eventuality. We have spoken at length, but it feels awful not being there organising things, as I was always the one who did that - still, my sister is doing a sterling job and I'm proud of her. It seems that my mother isn't really coherent for more than a moment and my sister struggled to communicate with her, so it's all a bit worrying.

And the threes? Well, if my mother doesn't make it and she is added to Mr Smelly, and she's in her 80s and not the healthiest by a mile, that's still only two and I figure stomping on an ant won't count for the third... then again, maybe I'll go and stomp, just in case. I do hope Hecate tires of walking by my side soon, this has been a tough week.

RIP Mr Smelly

We took Tom to the vet this morning. We were both up into the early hours, worrying and fretting about the decision. I don't think either of us wanted to go to bed without being so weary that we'd immediately pass out with exhaustion, and that's how it was for me - poor Kim lay awake in the early hours worrying.

It's funny how you get into little routines, and this morning followed the usual pattern of Kim heading down, feeding Tom, giving him his arthritis medicine. He cleaned out the litter box and filled it with clean litter, he put down a large bowl of fresh biscuits as if we'd all come back from the vet and Tom could just pick up from where he left off.

I felt strangely calm this morning; knowing I would have to drive there and back possibly helped, but as I opened my eyes, I knew it was the right decision. The only thing I regret is that Kim didn't have that much time with Tom after getting home so late on Friday night.

As is always the case with Tom, he was contrary to the last. He woke up this morning looking better than he had for ages, ate like a horse and even managed to walk around the garden for a few minutes - none of which made Kim feel any better. We agreed, though, that it would be better for Tom to go like this than in a state where he couldn't stand and was 'doing an exorcist' from both ends, as he has so often lately.

I think we have the best vet in the whole of Somerset. Janet Byrne, at The Oakapple Surgery in Ilminster, has known Tom for ages now and I think we're collectively responsible for any excess pounds the delightful lady carries (though if she does, it doesn't show); Tom has never taken kindly to having his claws trimmed and would always try to slash Janet with his long claws or bite if he could get at any flesh and generally be a very cantankerous old geezer. Kim and I would regularly ply Janet and her staff with chocolates, for their patience and gentle handling of Tom, when other less capable vets wanted to anaesthetise him just to do his claws. Today, she excelled herself and treated us all with huge compassion.

I can now remember my last sight of Tom as him gently sinking into a sleeping pose, with his head on his paw, looking so peaceful and out of pain that it was a beautiful sight. I shall always be grateful for that. Mr Smelly is no more. My best friend and companion of 18 years has slid peacefully to the Summerlands. I shall miss him dreadfully, but I'm glad he went when he was feeling well enough to give his customary greeting hiss to the vet and after a very fine breakfast.

I had meant to go and get fish and chips for supper last night; I was going to eat the chips and Tom was going to get the fish, only I was in such a tizzy about today that I forgot until I got home... so he got pate instead. The house feels empty without Tom, and I suspect it will feel worse when Kim goes away on Sunday and there's just me here.


Tom and Kim doing the Feline Mind Meld, i.e. "I head butt you, you feed me human!"

Hecate Walks By My Side

Well, the appointment is made to take Mr Smelly to the vet tomorrow. I cried a lot last night.

I also heard from my sister to let me know that my mother had taken a fall and that's she's in hospital. I called up as I can't manage more than 30 minutes in a car and the journey to my mother's part of the world is about five hours and it's not looking good. I got through to the ward and my mother isn't managing to stay conscious long or talk - she keeps floating off and although they are not allowed to give too much information on the telephone, it didn't sound very optimistic. The hospital are running tests to try to work out what's wrong, but with an incoherent patient, it's difficult. All they have been able to find out is that she felt dizzy, took some tables and then fell.

I guess this isn't going to be the best weekend. Tomorrow is going to be so difficult, but it is for the best, as poor Tom isn't having the best time of it. As for my mother, she has creaked on for a lot longer than any of us thought likely, so she may yet surprise us, but my sister and I are preparing for the worst. If I'm not about much in the coming days, you'll know why.

A Hard Decision

I think the time is coming where I will have to take Mr Smelly to the vet on a one-way trip. He has become increasingly frail and is painfully thin, despite eating three to four pouches/foils of food a day, plus biscuits. Mr Smelly, formerly known as Tom, before he became occasionally incontinent, turned 18 in June, so he's no young whipper-snapper; and as much as I love him and wish he could live for years more, I don't think it's going to happen.

Over the past month he has become completely incontinent which, apart from being horrible for him, isn't very nice in hot weather (or any weather). He has also lost his centre of balance since becoming so thin, so something as simple as looking up will cause him to tip over backwards, and that must hurt with his arthritis. Kim and I have now taken to walking very carefully and not holding plates of meat (his sense of smell does not seem to have diminished) to save him from "doing a penguin" - I don't know if the story of penguins on the Falkland Islands toppling over backwards while looking at low flying planes is true, but the myth has stuck.

The poor old boy seems to be losing his sight too, as he will often not see treats unless you bump him on the nose with them. The worst part is that he tries so hard to still be part of the family. Tom has always had his own chair at the kitchen table, and will curl up on a cushion beside us on a Sunday morning while we drink tea and do the crossword. He is now struggling to even climb on to a chair and the other day fell off, landed on his side and seemed badly shaken for a while.

In all other respects, he's ok - I don't believe he's in pain, except when he falls over, but I'm beginning to think that he's not really enjoying life any more. Tommy has been with me, through thick and thin for 18 years, and I can't imagine what life without the grumpy old bugger will be like, but it feels wrong and selfish to keep him lurching along when he doesn't seem to be content any longer. I have talked to Kim about this, and I know he cares about Mr Smelly so much that I don't think he really wants to face the one way journey, so I shall make this decision on my own - I can't let Kim feel in any way responsible - he's such a worrier and that would be unfair.

My son is visiting at the end of the month, and I had hoped Tommy would last until then, as Tom came to live with us just before Nick's third birthday; I don't think that will happen now. Still, it's probably better that Nick remembers Tom as the tough, bad-assed cat who beat up dogs and ruled the roost, than seeing this frail, skinny shadow of his former self. This is such a hard decision to make, and I have so many things swirling about in my head, but in my heart I know it's time to give Tom the easy way out. Every time I have come close to this situation before, Mr Smelly has made a miraculous recovery and perked up a bit; I shall give him tomorrow and if things aren't looking any better, I shall talk to the vet.

Finally Weariness Prevails

It has been a busy few months, with work seemingly never-ending; while I'm not complaining, as it pays the bills, it has forced me to look at how I spend my time and what I could do better. I'm not talking about efficiencies in coding - goodness only knows that I could be better at that, though I'm managing to keep pace with work and continue learning new technologies at the same time. No, I'm talking about life in general.

Seven years ago, in August 2002, I opened the Whitewicca website. It had been a project dear to my heart and began as an intended six or seven page site, to pull together information that I had found difficult to source. A friend suggested that it would be a good idea to have a forum, and so one was added and I sat with baited breath, wondering if anyone would meander in. Those were heady days, when each new post created a thrill and the membership hadn't reached double figures.

In the intervening seven years, the site has grown to over 200 pages of information and a massive forum, with one forum already archived for searches, a new CMS in 2005 and close to 6,000 members as I type. The sad thing is, it's not the same - people seem (and it may be my perception) to have become rather apathetic, not to post and the whole thing feels... tired.

It may be that I'm tired, or just jaded, as I have had very little time away from the website that has become my master in these seven years. I have wearied before, but there are only so many times you can try to whip up enthusiasm and a sense of community before it feels like you have a dead horse under the lash. I woke up at 3 a.m. this morning and it all seemed blindingly obvious - doesn't it always at that time?!!

When I woke this morning, I remembered my epiphany and decided that I'd act on it. I shut the site down. It felt very strange, as Whitewicca had come to permeate my life, but it also felt like the albatros had gone. I don't know how I shall finish this situation - I may yet reopen the site or I may just walk away and remember it with great affection. I have met some amazing and lovely people through Whitewicca, but I'm tired, so very tired, just now.

Butterfly Boom

How glorious it is this morning, with warm sunshine and a blue sky after so many weeks of rain and leaden skies. All I can say is: thank goodness Somerset floats, or we'd all be up to our necks in floodwater.

I suspect that the relative coldness and miserable weather discouraged butterflies from moving out of chrysalis stage, as they really wouldn't have any chance to dry their beautiful wings out. This morning has been a riot of colour and butterflies. There are more butterflies than I have seen for years; painted ladies, red admirals and cabbage whites among the few I'm able to recognise.

We grew a buddleia next to our wall; I had dug it up from the main bed as a weed and then didn't have the heart to kill it, so it went into a bare, scraggy corner to provide a bit of privacy. That buddleia has now turned into a rampant triffid and hangs over the wall to shade my parking spot. Approaching the car this morning, I counted 15 butterflies before the need to rush off to work overtook me. Nature is so wonderful and beautiful. My buddleia has repaid me for it's life and the butterflies are making my little patio area feel summery and exotic. What a perfect day.

Still Alive

A cheery wave to the lovely Leanne - sorry I've not been about much lately, work has been mad and I just don't seem to have a moment of quiet when I can sit and think of something to write in my blog. Having said that let me tell you about my morning.

I was off feeding a friend's cats one of which is wild and lives in an outbuilding. I took her dish of food down and placed it at the door and then backed off so she would feel safe coming out to eat. Bingo! Me and the kitty communed happily and I was so absorbed with her that I didn't notice I was standing in an ant's nest... not until one bit me on the inner thigh. At this point, all communion with said kitty stopped and she stood looking rather bemused as this odd four legged (two of mine and two sticks) human started jumping about, waving it's skirt hither and thither and slapping it's legs in best Bavarian style. One of the ants had got as far as my waistband, and there were plenty of the little buggers.

I now believe my friend's wild cat feels perfectly safe with me, as she didn't run away, though if cats could talk I think she'd declare me barking mad. Having a voluminous skirt didn't help - I had ants sheltering between the lining and the outer skirt and then emerging later - I didn't think it would be a good idea to whip my lower clothing off and shake it out in pubic, so it was an interesting trip home.

There - that's sort of how things are at the moment, but better busy than bored, though I will try to write more often.