People who say animals are just that - animals - don't know what they are talking about. Every animal I have ever had or looked after for someone else has had one characteristic which they share with humans. They have personality.
I now have three cats. Regular bloggers will remember that one of my moggies, the lovely Phantom, had to be put to sleep a while back as she was very sick. So now I have three - all moggies, all officially domestic shorthairs, and all different.
Smudge is now boss cat. She is the oldest, the biggest and the most aggressive. She uses her size and sheer bulk to intimidate the others and take the lion's share of the food (partly why she is such a porker) and the best cushion. She is a Daddy's girl, and will only sit on The Hubby's lap unless he is out and she is desperate. She is incredibly greedy and will move like greased lightening when she hears a tin of tuna being opened or the cat treat bag being rustled. She is more trouble than all the others put together, and always has been. On the plus side, she can be very affectionate and defends her territory with vigour. A few months ago next door's Dalmation, the most incredibly stupid dog I have ever come across, got into our garden and Smudge was out there, squaring up to it with a tail like a loo brush and lashing out with front paws, claws distended, until it retreated with its tail between its legs.
Daisy is the beauty queen of the bunch, and boy, does she know it! Although officially a shorthair, she has long tortoiseshell hair and the most beautiful face of any cat I have ever known. As a kitten, she was the sort of animal that appears in photos on the front of chocolate boxes. She is incredibly affectionate and the Mummy's girl of the bunch, not deigning to sit on anyone else even if I am absent. But beauty, as they say, is only skin deep and the lovely Daisy has some dirty habits. If the weather is inclement, she will pee up anything left incautiously at floor level in the back lobby (a sort of outside storage area) rather than go outside and she is a nasty bully, always wanting what one of the others has and persisting until she triumphs. Daisy suffers from the double vices of avarice and vanity!
Hermione is the cutie. The smallest, she is totally black and was so named as a witch's cat after Hermione Grainger in the Harry Potter films. Ill as a kitten, we thought she wasn't growing properly and although eventually she did, she is tiny compared to the other two. She is never greedy, never pushy and the most affectionate of the bunch with no hidden motive or agenda. She is adorable and sweet with huge green eyes which see into your soul.
These three animals, and also poor Phantom who was like a twitchy maiden aunt, are individuals and it is a mistake to not recognise them as such. They are members of my family with all the quirks and foibles that our children also have. That's why we love them, and they add a dimension to our lives which makes us richer and more rounded people. To dismiss them as 'just animals' is a mistake we should never make.
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats. Show all posts
Thursday, 19 April 2012
Monday, 20 February 2012
Pets - why do we love them?
I have a very good friend who has just sadly lost a treasured family pet after nineteen years of love and affection. I haven't yet managed to have a chat with her, but I know she will be devastated.
This lovely little cat was a gentle creature which always, when I went there, cuddled up to me and gave me attention. Possibly she could sense I was a complete sucker for cats, I don't know, but she never failed to appear and say hello.
The bond we form with our animals is a very special thing. I have four cats and I will be inconsolable when I lose one of them for whatever reason. In the past, I had two other cats and lived near a busy road. Despite the fact that I was well aware of the risks and high likelihood of at least one of them getting run over and killed, I cried buckets when (both) of them did.
Why is it that us Brits have this anthropomorphic attitude towards animals? They don't have it in mainland Europe, by and large, where animals are only kept if they are useful for food or manual labour. There are a few pets, and then mostly in the cities, but not many. In some parts of Europe they see animals that they cannot eat or make to work - and that includes dogs and cats - as a pest, and put down poison.
I don't have a single female friend who doesn't go 'Ahhh' when confronted by a small kitten, a puppy, a baby rabbit, a field full of woolley lambs, a pony or a bunch of piglets. Most men try to maintain a masculine indifference, but even they usually melt eventually. The French, Germans, Greeks and Italians would reach for the recipe book, but we reach for Pets at Home's phone number.
And doesn't it cost us? You can't walk through the door of the vets without spending about fifty quid, and a large bag of Iams cat food costs £45 (admittedly that does last my four moggies about a month, but its just a load of crunchy biscuits, for goodness sake!). We buy them cradles and hammocks to go next to the radiator, toys to stop them getting bored which they promptly push under the sofa so you end up moving the whole room around to find the thing, and treats for being good. Mine get their own Christmas stocking. We must be complete idiots, and those lovely little faces sure know how to manipulate us!
I think that one of the reasons I have always loved my cats is that despite their independent natures, they give love unconditionally back. They don't care what you have done, the fact that you look like shit in the morning, that you have put on weight or just yelled at them for puking a hairball on the new carpet. They don't sulk or keep harking back to past disagreements or problems. They never have to have the last word. They just love you. Sometimes it's cupboard love, but most often they just love you for who you are and for looking after them. Instinctively, they know. And that appeals to something very deep in our psyche.
This lovely little cat was a gentle creature which always, when I went there, cuddled up to me and gave me attention. Possibly she could sense I was a complete sucker for cats, I don't know, but she never failed to appear and say hello.
The bond we form with our animals is a very special thing. I have four cats and I will be inconsolable when I lose one of them for whatever reason. In the past, I had two other cats and lived near a busy road. Despite the fact that I was well aware of the risks and high likelihood of at least one of them getting run over and killed, I cried buckets when (both) of them did.
Why is it that us Brits have this anthropomorphic attitude towards animals? They don't have it in mainland Europe, by and large, where animals are only kept if they are useful for food or manual labour. There are a few pets, and then mostly in the cities, but not many. In some parts of Europe they see animals that they cannot eat or make to work - and that includes dogs and cats - as a pest, and put down poison.
I don't have a single female friend who doesn't go 'Ahhh' when confronted by a small kitten, a puppy, a baby rabbit, a field full of woolley lambs, a pony or a bunch of piglets. Most men try to maintain a masculine indifference, but even they usually melt eventually. The French, Germans, Greeks and Italians would reach for the recipe book, but we reach for Pets at Home's phone number.
And doesn't it cost us? You can't walk through the door of the vets without spending about fifty quid, and a large bag of Iams cat food costs £45 (admittedly that does last my four moggies about a month, but its just a load of crunchy biscuits, for goodness sake!). We buy them cradles and hammocks to go next to the radiator, toys to stop them getting bored which they promptly push under the sofa so you end up moving the whole room around to find the thing, and treats for being good. Mine get their own Christmas stocking. We must be complete idiots, and those lovely little faces sure know how to manipulate us!
I think that one of the reasons I have always loved my cats is that despite their independent natures, they give love unconditionally back. They don't care what you have done, the fact that you look like shit in the morning, that you have put on weight or just yelled at them for puking a hairball on the new carpet. They don't sulk or keep harking back to past disagreements or problems. They never have to have the last word. They just love you. Sometimes it's cupboard love, but most often they just love you for who you are and for looking after them. Instinctively, they know. And that appeals to something very deep in our psyche.
Saturday, 11 February 2012
After the dentist, the vets!
It's an expensive month. As well as me probably having to go to the dentist, my four cats have to go to the vet this week.
Their annual jabs are due, and so I have to subject them to the torture of the basket, car, veterinary surgery and car again. Each and every one, they hate it!
They have learnt that as soon as they see that wicker basket come out of the loft hatch, something is going to happen to them which they won’t like. I have resorted to hiding the basket upstairs, shutting all the doors so they can’t get into the bedrooms to hide and locking their cat flap so they can’t leg it into the garden just to get them into it in the first place. I also book the appointment first thing in the morning, when they are almost always indoors and I can guarantee to catch them.
I always feel bad about doing this, even though I know it’s good for them and if I didn’t do it and they got ill not only would I feel incredibly guilty but it would cost me considerably more into the bargain. Two of them in particular cry like babies from the minute I put them into the car until we get to the vets, when they are struck dumb in sheer terror at the smell of dogs and other animals as well as that nasty sickly smell you always seem to get in veterinary surgeries (I’m spelling it in full each time just so as you know I can!). I think it must be the disinfectant, but it’s horrible. Then they endure the indignity of the needle, a thermometer stuck up their bum and a worming tablet stuck down their throat. I'm not surprised they don't like it!
For quite a while afterwards I am sent to Coventry. Each cat skulks off to its favourite chair or corner and regards me with baleful yellow eyes for the rest of the day, as though its life has been blighted for ever. I’m sure they only do it because they know that if I feel guilty enough, not only will they get Felix for tea but also a packet of cat treats instead of their usual Iams. Who says cats don’t know how to manipulate you?
My oldest girl is getting on a bit now, reaching the grand old age of 14 this April. She was bought as a tenth birthday present for my oldest daughter but resides with me. The next oldest is 12, whilst the youngsters are both ten. They all rub along together, although the 12 year old is a bit of a bully and can be treated as a pariah by the others when she has tried to rule the roost and been put firmly in her place by the oldest.
Not only does the oldest cat rule the others, they all rule us. They will sit and stare when you are sitting in their favourite place so intensely that I have been known to move because I felt so uncomfortable with their eyes on me. They demand their meals with monotonous regularity, and create loads of mess with their dirty paws and fur on a level that you wouldn’t tolerate from your children.
I love my cats to bits, and have always been a cat person ever since I was a small child. They have their little personalities and habits, and are a source of fun and enjoyment. They’re not as clever as dogs, being purely decorative, but those cute little furry faces make your heart melt when they rub up to you.
All in all, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Thursday, 5 January 2012
It's a blustery day!
As Winnie the Pooh would have said, it's a blustery day! When my kids were little that was the WTP episode they loved the most, with Pooh flying off on a balloon and Eyeore chasing him, Tigger bounding after them with enthusiasm.
Not much damage here. A few twiggy branches down and the winter cover blown off the vegetable beds. And one piece of glass blown loose, but not broken, in the greenhouse. We probably ought to count ourselves lucky - it was blowing a gale all night as well. (Of course, now I've typed that, it'll be sods law that a tree will go over or some tiles come off the roof or something).
The Hubby had trouble getting to work this morning as the Dartford Bridge was closed and the traffic was tailing back for miles. In the end he came home and tried to sit it out, it didn't improve and so he went to work by train - let's hope they were running OK. Personally, I'd have rung in, said I was marooned (in Surrey mind you, not exactly a backwater) and worked at home, but then he is a martyr to the cause of local government. God knows why, it's a thankless profession.
The cats don't want to go out. They're standing at the cat flap, obviously desperate for a pee and almost crossing their legs, trying to time it between the gusts of wind. So far, their timing has been rubbish; I saw one of them almost get blown up the garden, tail aloft, in mid stream! Very amusing, but poor creature obviously got very stressed and came dashing back in without finishing off what she was doing. It's my pretty Tortoiseshell long hair, who hates bad weather of any kind. She's probably pee'd up the rubbish in the lobby out the back as revenge for my laughter.
There have been some tragedies; I saw an interview at lunch time on the news with a poor man whose van had been crushed by a falling tree and the guy sitting next to him was killed. The only reason he escaped was because at that very moment, he had bent down to retrieve his cigarette lighter from the floor of the van where he had dropped it and was in the footwell, not sitting upright. He hasn't even got any bruises, but he'll live with the mental scar of seeing his mate die for the rest of his life.
Supposedly it's all going to calm down tonight, but get cold and frosty. That's fine. I just can't help thinking that it's panto soon and we haven't really been hit yet by any bad weather to affect rehearsals or performances. I bet Mother Nature has something up her sleeve! I won't be really happy about that until we get to the last night; rain, winds, frost is all OK, just no snow please.
Another cat has just ventured out! I'm now off to watch her out of the window, and am prepared to chuckle as the wind blows her fur up the wrong way and she tries to find somewhere out of the wind to do whatever she needs to do. They really do resemble people on the beach at Brighton trying to shelter and pretend it's a lovely day to be beside the seaside, struggling to put up their wind break. Now there's a thought - a wind break for cats! Not sure it'd catch on though; those paws are useless for holding a mallet!
Not much damage here. A few twiggy branches down and the winter cover blown off the vegetable beds. And one piece of glass blown loose, but not broken, in the greenhouse. We probably ought to count ourselves lucky - it was blowing a gale all night as well. (Of course, now I've typed that, it'll be sods law that a tree will go over or some tiles come off the roof or something).
The Hubby had trouble getting to work this morning as the Dartford Bridge was closed and the traffic was tailing back for miles. In the end he came home and tried to sit it out, it didn't improve and so he went to work by train - let's hope they were running OK. Personally, I'd have rung in, said I was marooned (in Surrey mind you, not exactly a backwater) and worked at home, but then he is a martyr to the cause of local government. God knows why, it's a thankless profession.
The cats don't want to go out. They're standing at the cat flap, obviously desperate for a pee and almost crossing their legs, trying to time it between the gusts of wind. So far, their timing has been rubbish; I saw one of them almost get blown up the garden, tail aloft, in mid stream! Very amusing, but poor creature obviously got very stressed and came dashing back in without finishing off what she was doing. It's my pretty Tortoiseshell long hair, who hates bad weather of any kind. She's probably pee'd up the rubbish in the lobby out the back as revenge for my laughter.
There have been some tragedies; I saw an interview at lunch time on the news with a poor man whose van had been crushed by a falling tree and the guy sitting next to him was killed. The only reason he escaped was because at that very moment, he had bent down to retrieve his cigarette lighter from the floor of the van where he had dropped it and was in the footwell, not sitting upright. He hasn't even got any bruises, but he'll live with the mental scar of seeing his mate die for the rest of his life.
Supposedly it's all going to calm down tonight, but get cold and frosty. That's fine. I just can't help thinking that it's panto soon and we haven't really been hit yet by any bad weather to affect rehearsals or performances. I bet Mother Nature has something up her sleeve! I won't be really happy about that until we get to the last night; rain, winds, frost is all OK, just no snow please.
Another cat has just ventured out! I'm now off to watch her out of the window, and am prepared to chuckle as the wind blows her fur up the wrong way and she tries to find somewhere out of the wind to do whatever she needs to do. They really do resemble people on the beach at Brighton trying to shelter and pretend it's a lovely day to be beside the seaside, struggling to put up their wind break. Now there's a thought - a wind break for cats! Not sure it'd catch on though; those paws are useless for holding a mallet!
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