Adopted – a follow up

A few weeks ago we decided we take The Cat, aka Puss, to the vet for a health check. Although she seemed to be in good health, there was the question of whether or not she had been spayed, and whether she needed vaccinations and flea and worm treatment. So we hired a cat transport cage and took a very indignant cat off to the vets.

We came back with Frankie, and he is a desexed three year old purebred Chinchilla born in the Wairarapa, several hours drive from Feilding. No we didn’t swap felines. It turns out that Puss, is Frankie, micro-chipped and he lives lived at the opposite end of our street. He was on the vet’s books and was last seen only three months previously for flea and worm treatment. So the vet contacted the guardians of Frankie (they don’t use the term “owner” for companion animals, and besides, does anyone really own a cat?).

Within ten minutes, Frankie’s official guardian was in the veterinary consulting rooms. She was a very nice woman and she and her family had been quite concerned for Frankie’s wellbeing. Since they obtained him as a kitten he has been spending more and more away from home, and over the last year or so he’d return perhaps once or twice a week to sample his food and then disappear again. Once she learnt that Frankie spent most of his time at our place, she agreed that it was probably in Frankie’s best interest if we took over guardianship,

We’ve noticed that Frankie likes quiet (a trait quite common with the chinchilla breed), and after learning what his previous domestic life was like, it’s hardly surprising he sought out an alternative home. His previous home consisted of two adults, three pre-teenage children, two dogs, and another cat who thoroughly disliked Frankie and make that very clear at every available moment, plus an assortment of poultry and goats.

So we became the official guardian of Frankie, and after he received his annual vaccination and quarterly flea and worm treatment, we brought Frankie home with us. And here he remains. Occasionally he might disappear for an hour or so, so perhaps he might visit his old home on some of those occasions, but now he’s well and truly settled in having laid claim three spots as his own: the deck chair on the main front balcony where he can observe the street below, an armchair in the lounge, when the weather makes the desk chair less than ideal, and on top of a pile of duvets and quilts on a spare bed in an upstairs bedroom, the dormer windows from which he can purvey his kingdom and watch birds cavorting on the roof outside.

The bedroom is one I frequently use so as not to disturb the Wife – I’m a restless sleeper at the best of times but restless leg syndrome (Willis-Ekbom Disease – a condition I inherited from my mother and which has progressively intensified over the last fifty years) keeps not only me awake, but also the Wife. On such occasions I move to the other bedroom and Frankie moves from his pile of duvets and snuggles up against my chest and/or neck keeping well away from my constantly moving legs.

Frankie may have a pedigree, but his fur has “cosmetic faults” that make him “pet quality” rather than “show quality” or “breeder quality”. He has a long and luxurious coat, which he manages to keep well groomed all by himself apart his chest area between his front legs, and his lower neck, which I discovered is prone to matting and tangles, big time. Now that most of the matting has been removed, Frankie has learnt to guide my hand to that area with his paws as I brush him. We now spend ten to fifteen minutes, several times every day carefully grooming his chest and throat, even though it obviously hurts at times.

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Adopted

But who adopted who?

Let’s step back to last winter. Often when we opened the home office curtains in the morning we’d notice a fluffy cat asleep on one of the seats on the balcony. If it heard the curtains open it would wake and run away. I began to be careful opening the curtains so as not to disturb the cat.

As the weather warmed, we’d see it more often, either in it’s favourite seat on the balcony or taking advantage of a sunny spot in our garden. At first it would keep its distance from me, but I’d gently talk to it as I went about chores outside. It’s an extremely vocal cat and would let me know it was nearby. By mid Spring she (I think it’s a she) would flop down right in front of me (even when I was walking) roll on her back and demand a tummy rub and a head scratch. How could I refuse?

At first, I assumed she was a friendly neighbourhood pet that had decided our section (property/lot) was part of her territory, but as spring turned into summer and our exterior doors were open for much of the day, the cat decided that the interior of our home belonged to her as well. I had no objection, but the Wife disagreed, and would chase the cat away whenever it approached the house. However the cat persisted.

By midsummer, the cat seemed to be spending nearly all her time near our house and irrespective of the weather and we’d often see her on one of the front balconies or in the back porch depending of the prevailing wind, and she’d often meow for up to an hour pleading to be let in. The wife still wouldn’t let the cat inside, but ceased chasing it away.

My migraines can put me into a kind of dissociative state. At such times the presence of an animal can help me keep a grip on reality. Sitting outside where I can feel a breeze can also help. When that type of migraine started, I would sit outside, and the cat would come close and knead whatever part part of my anatomy it could reach – usually an arm or a leg. No demand to be rubbed and scratched as it usually did. That was the clincher!

The Wife recognised the therapeutic effect the cat had on me and relented – so long as the cat kept out of the kitchen and the master bedroom. We’re still working on the kitchen, but the cat now knows the bedroom is a no go area. Up until this point we had not fed her, but I kept clean water available for her outside as I noticed she’d drink from any source available, even from an abandoned algae filled flower pot I discovered hidden in an overgrown corner the garden.

By early March she had taken an armchair in the lounge as her own, and as the days where a door could be left open for her became fewer, I found myself becoming her personal doorman, at her beck and call as she made her very vocal demands to be let in or out. And I mean very vocal. The solution? I installed a cat flap in the back door. It took just a few days for her to learn how to use it. Now she comes and goes as she pleases.

The cat has taken to bringing us thank you presents for making her welcome – in the form of mice. Usually one or two every day, but often more. She sits outside with her gift and meows until either I go out and praise her or until she gives up waiting and brings the mouse inside to present personally. I’ve learnt not to keep her waiting.

At least she’s not wasteful, consuming the rodent in its entirely. We haven’t had a cat for more than than 30 years, but previous cats tended to leave the tails. Not this cat.

If the cat does belong to a household in the neighbourhood, it’s not from one nearby. I suspect that if it has had an owner, they have moved and abandoned it or the cat has found its way back to familiar territory. Either way there seems to be an adoption in progress. Our next move will be to take her to the vet and find out if she’s been microchipped, vaccinated and spayed. And if she belongs to a nearby family. In the meantime, we have started feeding her. Not that she eats much. It depends on the number of mice she’s caught. On a good hunting day, she doesn’t ask for food at all.

We haven’t given her a name. She’s referred to as The Cat or Puss. That seems to be sufficient in my view and it appears she’s not bothered, but some family members are demanding she be given a “proper” name. I’ve suggested neko or ngeru (the word for cat in Japanese and Māori respectively), but for some reason neither name has met with approval.

I give you The Cat:

The newest addition to the family – The Cat

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A post over on Mindful Digressions prompted me to write this article about a character who enchanted me as a child. So thank you Doobster for the prompt.

I was about ten when there was a new addition to the household. It came in the form of a little black bundle of fur which was quickly named Blackie. He was a little kitten that my father had brought home to replace Smokey who had to be put down after coming off second best with a gin trap (not illegal back then, but prohibited in residential areas).

Smokey had adopted us when I was five, and was a very gentle, affectionate tabby, but was not much into play. We adored him immensely and he was sadly missed. There had been two attempts at replacing him, but for reasons I can no longer recall, both died after being with us just a few months. At first were were reluctant to become too attached to Blackie in case he was destined to a similar fate. But there was no denying his charm and intelligence.

Brother M, who was a little over a year younger than I, enjoyed tormenting his siblings (there seems to be one in every family). Usually it was his younger siblings, but I was also fair game. His favourite trick was to do something that would get another child in trouble. For example he would sit on the sofa beside me, hit me hard and yell “Ouch! Stop hitting me”. Our mother was fairly tolerant of sibling rivalry, but eventually M’s loud complaints at being bullied would result in her intervening. Of course I would be blamed as I was bigger than him.

Blackie was as much a victim of M’s tormenting as the rest of us. While I would never be so devious as to cause M to take the blame for something I did, Blackie had no such scruples. One in particular is still memorable.

M and sister B were sitting together on the couch, and I was quietly reading a book on the opposite side of the room when I heard B tell M to stop annoying her. M denied doing anything, but that was to be expected. This continued to occur at about one minute intervals, with the voices of both B and M slowly becoming louder. On the fourth or fifth occasion, I happened to look up just in time to see Blackie disappear behind the back of the sofa. Curious, I watched and waited. A minute later, Blackie’s head appeared above the back of the sofa, followed a moment later by one of his paws. The cat slowly stretched out the paw, gently patted B’s ear, then promptly disappeared from view. Of course, B again protested at being annoyed, and naturally M denied all responsibility. I was part way though telling them that Blackie was to blame when I changed my mind. I mumbled the rest of the sentence to an inconclusive ending and we all went back to minding our own business.

Another minute went by until Blackie performed the same trick again. This continued for about ten minutes and the complaining and denial had degenerated into an argument. I was beginning to think the better of my silence when our mother intervened. M was of course blamed as he was bigger than his sister, and was sent out of the room to “rethink his attitude”. I kept my mouth shut. Blackie appeared as if from nowhere, curled up on B’s lap and started his very loud purr.

That incident was the only one where I saw M being punished for something Blackie did. But until Blackie’s death, M was occasionally blamed for things I knew he couldn’t be responsible for. I kept my mouth shut. Yes, I admit it. I do have a (slightly) mean streak.

In those days we owned a dozen fowl, which kept us well supplied with eggs. They had an enclosed house and a yard of about 20 feet square to scratch around in. Every few days, the birds were allowed out to exercise on the adjacent lawn. The lawn was bounded on three sides by buildings and fences and by a garden on the fourth. The children were assigned the task of keeping the fowls off the garden and from escaping through the openings between the buildings. It kept us children quite busy.

While we had allowed Smokey to be outside during these “bird outings” as he shown no interest in them, our mother had though it prudent to lock Blackie inside while the birds were out. One day Blackie managed to escape. and he was discovered hiding behind a small bush, his tail swishing excitedly as watched the fowls intently. Our mother, in her wisdom, decided not to force the cat inside, and told me to keep a close eye on the cat and to intervene “only if necessary”. How I was supposed to do that I’m not quite sure as a cat in pursuit mode moves very fast.

As one bird approached the edge of the lawn near where Blackie was hiding, the cat got into position ready to pounce. I got up to grab the cat, but it was too late. Blackie sprang out just as the bird put its foot on the garden. The bird let out a loud squawk, did a quick u-turn and ran for its life towards the open gate to its yard with the cat in close pursuit. Blackie was so close that he could have easily brought the bird down by extending his paw, but he made no attempt to do so. He stayed right behind the bird until it passed though the gateway, whereupon he sat down nonchalantly licked a paw, then wandered back to his hiding place.

This continued for the rest of the afternoon. Blackie would remain on the garden, either hidden from view, or quietly stalking a bird if it approached the garden. He never made his presence known to the fowls unless one of them actually stepped onto the garden or attempted to go through one of the openings. At that point he would chase the bird all the way back to the gate to the yard, then walk back to the garden. Finally, it was time to return the fowls to their enclosure. This was a task that required the combined efforts of several people as the dozen fowl found ways of avoiding going through the gate. The moment Blackie understood out intent, he had the reluctant birds rounded up and inside the yard within seconds.

We continued to keep an eye on Blackie for a few weeks whenever the fowls were let out, but we never had to intervene. Finally, Mum felt it was safe enough for Blackie to mind the fowls on his own. For the rest of his life, he could be relied on to keep the fowls off the garden and from escaping. When it came time to return the birds to their enclosure, all we had to do was step onto the lawn and clap our hands. Within seconds all the birds would rounded up and in their yard. If he was able to he would probably have closed the gate as well. He had already worked out how to open doors inside our home. At school, farm kids sometimes boasted about the talents of their sheep dogs. Now we we able to boast about the skills of our “chicken cat”.

Blackie, like most cats, had a dislike of dogs. The only exception was an elderly cross-bred terrier that lived next door. He was too feeble to jump the low fence in the front of the section, (for non-NZers, a section is a residential property or lot). We didn’t have a front fence, so Bib, as the dog was affectionately named, would push through the hedge separating the two sections whenever he wanted to go for a walk. Blackie and Bib could be often seen lying together as if they were the closest of friends.

Blackie’s dislike of dogs turned to irrational hatred (Bib excepted) when he was about nine months old. One day a cocker spaniel managed to corner Blackie and he was unable to escape. Before he could be rescued, Blackie took matters into his own hands (paws?) and struck at the dog’s nose. The dog gave a loud yelp, turned tail and ran for the safety of his home several sections up on the other side of the road. I recall seeing the dog disappear behind the house with Blackie still in hot pursuit. A little latter Blackie reappeared, his tail standing up as if in pride as he trotted back home.

We didn’t see dogs on the street so often after that. Blackie made sure of it. If he saw any dog within half a block of our section, he would be off after it instantly. I never saw a dog stand up to our cat, and there were some large dogs in the neighbourhood. Unfortunately his hatred of dogs lead to his demise when he was a little over two years old. He was hit by a car in one of his mad dashes across the road in pursuit of the cocker spaniel.

He was sadly missed and will forever have a fond place in my memories.