Critters Know Things

In my crisis the other night I was cognizant enough to know that my three cats were all very anxious about the situation. Thumper was putting his little paw on my cheek, Cherie was watching me with his anxious, compassionate eyes and even little Kitsy was looking at me with anxiety. She knew something was not right.

People often discount cats’ compassion for their mistress and seem to think dogs are the only ones that “know” things. It isn’t so and my critters are exceptionally bright and loyal. My boys have been with me since birth (they are 15 ½ years old) and little Kitsy has been with me for three years and is so loyal and good and smart. She knows immediately when I am ready to go do my chores and I hardly have to say “let’s do the chores” when she is standing at the door waiting for me to open it up. She trots down behind me to the chicken house, roams about the area while I feed the hens and then heads back to the house with me when we are done.

In the summertime Kitsy will speed around the yard, frolicking after the chores and stays outside to do her hunting.  The boys watch her in some awe I think as she is so full of energy while they are calmer and more steady in their employment. Thumper trots off to the Lodge (the big woodpile behind the chicken house) and Cherie goes under the pergola to mouse.

It’s just routine critter behaviour but Mom and I love to watch them in their various Acts.

Cats and chickens

Naturally no story of Henrietta’s return would be completely without getting the other side of the story.

Sanne:  So Thumper and Cherie, how do you like the big birds?

Thumper:  Snort.  (Runs under the bed)

Cherie:  What have you done to us now?  (Huge pansy eyes stare at me reproachfully)

Now I am used to telling my critters what’s up.  When I prepare for vacation I pull out my suitcases and let them sniff around and even lie in them so they are part of the process.  When Uncle Erik comes to live with us I prepare them in advance.  True, when Granny arrived they were no more prepared than I was but they forgave me.  Now they have been humanized and not only share their favours with Granny and I but they even deign to accept Uncle John into the house.  They have told me that Aunt Charlotte is crossing the line when she brings Dexter and they reserve judgment on little grand nephews but over all they have been accepting of most of the things that I do in their house.

Oh yes, any owner of cats knows that I am merely lodging with Them.  Now for my defense, I have been telling them for 6 weeks now that the “big birds” were coming.  I’ve carried them over to the Chicken Palace to sniff around and get an idea that “something was up”.  Okay, so we have backed the Palais Poulet directly up against their Hunting Lodge but, really, logistics must prevail.  They don’t accept that logic.  I explained that the chicken pen was there first, well before the Hunting Lodge was ever thought of.  They will have none of it.  The Henriettas are on their turf, so what am I going to do about it?

Well, darlings, nothing.  Cherie looks at me again with those huge hazel eyes and I see disbelief, reproof, consternation.  Are we going to have a divorce over this? 

Dog House

I watched “Hugo” the other day and had such pangs of my long lost youth and the days when I could imagine everything under the sun had the potential for magic.  I have such admiration for writers like J.R. Rowlings who can imagine a whole world of adventure for her characters and keep them going into 7 volumes.  These days I struggle to write a couple of paragraphs simply to keep my juices flowing.

       It’s not all excuses that stop the creativity; it’s not just the outdoors beckoning me; I have all these frightful doubts; but most of all, I fear the imagination isn’t what it used to be.

       My friends and family will gasp in amazement because there is no one quicker to come up with a dubious scenario when an odd event occurs.  Who can forget the drama I created in my head as I stood outside a building waiting for the bus and decided that I was observing a crime “go down” when a poor innocent police officer went into the building putting on his plastic gloves (in the July heat, let it be noted)?  Yes, I had a whole plot unfold in my mind to such an extent that I had to move out of the certain line of fire as he would come out of the building, guns ablazing!  I’m very adept at coming up with scenes like that in my head, but try putting that on paper and keeping the story going.  That’s a different kettle of fish.

       Currently I have created a story involving my incredible critters when they go out each morning to their Hunting Lodge (also known as the great woodpile “a fire waiting to happen” as someone rudely described it).  While Thumper heads into the inner chamber to beat the bushes, Cherie mans the fort to ensure that no little mouse, mole or varmint escapes into the field beyond.  The leftovers are brought home to Mama and I for special admiration (and to ensure that they can come back inside for dessert).  These inventive little fellows have come up with the ultimate in good cop/bad cop and my mother is falling for it hook, line and sinker.  First she takes Thumper’s side and then she quickly rescues Cherie while Thumper hides under the bed.  They have her charmed. 

Pretty soon I will be completely out of the limelight – I see it all now.  I’m going to have to do something about that.

Oh, did I forget to start the story with the truth – I’m in the dog house because I forgot to give Mom the key when she went out.  Ooops.

Whimsical Cats

I was in my favourite art shop yesterday and admired a picture of a cat lounging on a library shelf where the books had titles like “Holy Cats”, and “Tale of Two Kittens”.  It was by Charles Wysocki and the title was Frederick the Literate.  The picture just captures the whimsy of the lazy cat dozing away and has the charm of the classic books turned into feline literature. 

As I write this Thumper is lounging on my desk and occasionally he puts his paw down on the keyboard, not to type but to get my attention.  Cats are independent creatures who generally don’t listen to their mistress preferring that we are at their beck and call not the other way around.  However all of my cats, past and present have been very clingy cats.  They have all vied for my attention as I have almost always had more than one cat at a time.  Which is a story in itself.

The spring after I bought my home I decided to have a barbeque and invited all my family over to enjoy my new place.  Three little kittens came cautiously up to the house and my nephews, aged 2 and 4 were feeding them bits of hamburger at the instigation of my mother, no less.  The next day the three kittens were back again.  What could I do? I left them a bowl of milk.  They were back the next day and before I knew it I had been adopted by Patchy, Silky and Blackie (named by said nephews).  In the beginning I was quite firm about them staying only outside but one day in the fall my father came to visit and discovered the kittens shivering in a cardboard box on the back porch.

            “Sanne, you can’t let them freeze out there.”

Right, in they came, along with their little cousin Tigger who had been born in the next litter.  You can see where this is going.  My neighbour had a female cat that dropped kittens like rabbits.  For a long time I limited myself to the 4 cats but then one day a mini Patchy arrived on my doorstep looking so pathetic we had to let her in.  We called her LP (Little Patchy of course).  LP unfortunately was pregnant and low and behold I suddenly had little grey twins, Arrow and PomPom (the boys were still naming the cats with participation by their sister Kathleen).  By this time poor Blackie had passed away due to a urinary tract infection but I was now up to 5 cats.  Then along came Teddy, another grey male.  And lastly came Trouble, grey as well.  I am happy to say that I maxed out at 7 and most of the time they were outdoor cats.

The winter after Trouble arrived Teddy ran away, never to be seen again.  Then tragedy struck one terrible summer when first PomPom and then Arrow were attacked by cougars.  That same summer Patchy lay dead in the backyard, feet up in the air and her eyes wide opened in fright.   I’m convinced the neighbour’s dog terrified her and she ran away only to die of a heart attack (she was quite fat by this time).  That same day Silky went missing.  Then Trouble disappeared.  I was down to only Tigger from my original four.  Tigger passed away at the age of 20.

            The tale of Jericho mother of Thumper and Cherie will wait for another day.

Cats and Dogs

As I sat down to write Cherie came in and leaned against my chair, looking up at me with puppy eyes. Puppy eyes, you ask, knowing Cherie to be a cat? Yes, it’s those eyes that look at you with complete adoration and trust and a little beseeching goes in the mix as well. So what could I do but put him up on my lap while I sat thinking about what to write.

Loyalty and animal trust.

We humans take our pets for granted much too often when what we should be doing is appreciating their trusting nature every day of their lives. The loyalty an animal can show is so incredible that it should shame us as the poor humans that we are. The character of a pet is an admonition to us when we are behaving poorly because they forgive us unconditionally when we scold them or spank them or ignore them. They will still come creeping up to you and gave a wag of the tail or a twitch of the nose to tell you you are loved by them. Even a silly chicken will show faithfulness.

So as you start your day today remember to tell you pet that you love them. They understand the sound of that word because you cannot say it without tenderness. Love, love, love. See, you can’t say it with irritability or irony. It’s a tender little word and their ears perk up and their eyes go all silly and bashful. Shucks, me? Yes, even a cat can be silly.

Yesterday morning while I was reading my book in bed Thumper was cuddled on my tummy and Cherie came in, trying to squeeze up between me and my book. Thumper let out an angry hiss, Cherie leaped backwards so that coffee cup and dish went flying about. I scolded them as I leaped out of bed, running for a cloth to wipe up the coffee. They lurked at the bedroom door, sure that I wasn’t Really mad, nothing had broken after all! I let them go out to play after that and sure enough Thumper was again tardy coming home last night. I thought for sure he hadn’t forgiven me for calling him a big lump who was mean to his brother. But he came in, twirled around my legs and looked up asking for supper. Just like a puppy.

How can you stay mad at that kind of trust?

Thumper Rescued

I was still in my pajamas when I was trying to rescue Thumper but after I got dressed I went down and woke up Erik to see if he could take the wall down after work. He swung out of bed saying "You can't leave the critter there all day." As we went upstairs and out the door who came flying in? Thumper. Sure, just get the household in an uproar then he will squeeze out of the hole and coming looking for breakfast.
He is soooo grounded.

Names – like Trouble, Biff, and Seven Ways from Sundown

My family has a way with names. Dad named his boyhood cat Stalin. Later in life when they had the barn cats he named the big tom, Lowenstauf. My brother John named the latest tom cat Lazarus due to the tatters his long fur would get into during the winter. I love unusual names and so my critters have had names like Trouble, Biff, PomPom and Streak. No Tom and Jerry for me.

When I got my first kittens they were called rather ordinary names, Blackie, Patchy, Silkie and Tigger, named by my nephews. We got more creative with the next one, L.P. for Little Patchy since she was similar in colouring to the older calico Patchy. L.P. gave birth to the twins, PomPom and Arrow. PomPom was a real princess, soft grey fur like a Persian and beautiful aqua eyes. Arrow was grey but straight haired and his eyes were more hazel. Arrow was my real baby and I have noticed that neutered males are the most affectionate cats. The females are more snobby and only come to one on their own terms where the boys come when you call them. Blackie was my first boy and he would come even as a tiny kitten to sleep on my chest. He died tragically of that urinary tract infection which I first learned about with his sudden death.

After the twins we had a lull in the menageries’ growth and then along came Teddy. He was another grey cat but much more stocky than arrow with a face like a teddy bear, hence the name. A year later we got another grey boy which we named Trouble because he seemed to survive every disaster he encountered. Trouble was a more solid grey where the others had white hairs mingling gently in the grey. Trouble also had brilliant green eyes and a white splash across his nose. His was a very funny personality and he would get into all sorts of antics that had us laughing.

But despite having named the cats good names they also got themselves some nicknames. Arrow was Keester, PomPom was Patchouli, Teddy was Buddy, Cherie is Tarzan and so on.

My favorite name is Seven Ways from Sundown which is from a movie of that name. The character with this title name told the story near the beginning of the movie about how his father could not be bothered naming his children so he called them One, Two and so on. But the mother was not happy enough with that so she added One for the Money, Two for the Show and down the line he became Seven Ways from Sundown. I saw that movie when I was eight or nine, quite little, but I still remember that part of the movie though I do not recall anything else other than Seven was looking for the man who killed Two!

Another time I will talk about my sister Charlotte and her nicknames for all of us. Hardly like to go there!

Cherie struts his stuff

Cats Fair Share

I am one of those people who enjoy both cats and dogs. I would have to say that it is true that there is nothing on this planet more loyal than a dog but when it comes to affection cats can be just as adoring as dogs. My cat Cherie (a male by the way) will hug me just like a little child and flops on me in the most adorable way imaginable. Thumper and Cherie both share my bed, at the foot, and when I say “bed time” they march off to bed with me just like my dog Betsy used to do.

Here in Ecuador we don’t see as many cats as dogs but they are around. They seem to have the same sort of laissez faire attitude with humans as the dogs. They are not quite pets but they are not feral either. When we had dinner one night in Bahia we had 3 cats sitting politely under our table waiting for little tidbits of food. We resisted for quite some time but finally one of us (not me) caved and I was right there with my little treats! Later that evening we went for a stroll along the esplanade and one of the little critters trotted along beside us, obviously optimistic that we had something else good in store for her.

At the market in Bahia we also saw a mother with some very large kittens nursing on her. Usually kittens this size would be off on their own; I would say they were at least 6 months old. It was surprising. I have known cats to share in their nursing and babysitting duties. Way back when my house was THE place for cats I had 2 mothers with their brood living on my deck. Sometimes one Mom would go out for an excursion and the other cat took all the kittens under her “wing” so to speak. Then Mom #1 would return, take her place and Mom#2 went off for a little reprieve. It was amazing to watch. Appears that Ecuadorian Momma Cats are just as affectionate.

By the way, to give you a flavour of my vacation, I am writing this while sitting on the balcony in my bathing suit. (Not nature’s bathing suit! LOL)

Cats and Dogs

When I was a little girl I used to think kittens were girls and puppies were boys and of course, girls should have kittens while the boys had a pup. Probably culled from the first grade reader where Jane had Puff and Dick had Spot.

I was 10 when we got our first pet, a kitten we named “Meese” (kitten in Danish). I came home one noon hour, after Meese had been missing overnight, to find him dead, poisoned by some neighbor. I was terribly upset and cried myself sick after we buried him in the back yard. We didn’t get another pet until I was 19, at which point my brother Ole got a German shepherd pup named Busser. We only had Busser for about 8 months as we weren’t able to train him to go outside when nature called. Mom couldn’t handle the mess and was adamant about not being the caregiver.

We had better success when I was about 27 and Charlotte got her pup Tara. I stole her by the subtle means of saying that as I took Tara for her walks and was the one she preferred sleeping with Tara was really mine. Tara was a pup from the first Jack Russell litter in Alberta (or so we were told anyway) and we just loved her to death. This time the whole family was agreed on keeping her, even Mom, and we had her for 16 years. She was raped by a border collie when she was about 3 years old and that was a lot more traumatic on her owners than on her.

I should tell the story of Tara’s impregnation. A few relevant points, I am extremely near sighted to start with, I had never been near a farm nor had I ever seen critters copulating. Added to this handicap was my father’s admonition every time Tara went into heat, “Don’t let her out as dogs will smell her from miles around and even jump fences to get at a dog in heat.” Alright, I got that very well. What I didn’t realize was that the female dog was just as eager to get the action as the male dog. So one morning I let Tara out into our very large back yard and after waiting some time I went out to look for her. It was a half acre lot so it was a bit of a walk. There was Tara, hanging behind a gigantic border collie and I was so shocked and upset that I commenced to scream. Naturally the rapist was alarmed enough to walk away, with poor Tara dragged along in the very compromising position she was in. A neighbor came running from across the street to see what the commotion was all about and left laughing his fool head off. Meanwhile I was in a quandary as to what to do, did I pull Tara off? I didn’t know if she would get injured and as I was wondering the wretched beast was moving further along into the field and my poor baby was going with her, looking extremely foolish I might add, knowing she was in deep kaka with me. At this point the rest of the family was out in the back yard and as though I wasn’t in enough distress I was now in deep kaka with my dear old dad. How was I to know that Tara was a wanton hussy who had her boyfriend hidden behind the fence and was just panting to rendezvous? I never dreamt she could be so sneaky! I thought they would be wild and crazy, not lurking around like a teenager!

The result was that I got Betsy who was definitely my dog. Betsy was with me for 14 years.

Once I got my own place I was THE place for stray cats, and that is actually a story for another time. But suffice to say that my heart is big enough to adore both cats and dogs. Both have their own winning personalities. The two cats who are my companions now are 7 year old neutered males that were born in my bed. They are complete babies and behave like clinging vines when I come home from work. They hang over my shoulder, grasping me around the neck just like a little kid and my heart melts. Their understanding isn’t as sharp as Bob’s (mom’s Jack Russell) but they certainly have a vocabulary that they respond to, such as “breakfast” “out to play” and “who has the toy”.

For me there is no choice, I’d take both in a heartbeat.