On Land or Water

This is the post I wanted to put up last night when the media part of WordPress was throwing me blanks when I tried to upload photographs. It’s not quite right today either, but I think I have succeeded this time.

Some of you may recall that when Cat died, and I tried to register with various charities agaisnst the day when I should be ready to welcome a new feline into my home, a prominent cat rescue organisation turned me down when I explained that my cat came with me to das Boot.

I was told there was no way any of their cats could be rehomed with me; that such behaviour on my part rendered me completely unsuitable to be in charge of a cat. It was just two weeks after Cat’s sudden death. I felt like a murderess, a cat abuser, someone who committed acts of unspeakable cruelty against her pet.

I knew Cat had been happy afloat. The vet was very proud to having a boating cat on her books and told people about him.



Still, the words stung, and sowed a seed of doubt. Was I being unfair? How could a cat enjoy being confined to a smallish boat when he was used to enjoying the freedoms of a largish garden? Though another charity was ready to confine any adoption by me to that of an indoor cat as I live on the second floor, and there is no catflap.

I may be kidding myself, but I think MasterB, like Cat before him, is fine on das Boot. He wouldn’t like to live aboard always, but then neither should I. However, there are compensations. Just like Cat, he enjoys watching the fish, fowl and fauna from the boat’s windows, and sometimes from the gunwale.

On Thursday evening, I sat in the dark so he could enjoy the view.

Looking into the night

Looking into the night

Continue reading

First Anniversary

Remember this?


The above picture is of Not Cat at Mother’s just four days after I adopted him, and one of his first days flea-free. He’s taken up a position under the desk. But he looks pretty relaxed. In fact, looking back on those pictures from the first weeks, I am amazed at how relaxed he appears. But maybe it was resignation. Or bewilderment combined with a sunny side up character that is ready to adapt and make the best of things. Or relief that he was no longer playing host to generations of fleas.
He seemed to accept me as his new human, and if not particularly affectionate, not stand-offish either. Maybe his experiences in his short life led him to expect to be passed from one human being to another. I don’t know.
His adoption came earlier than I had anticipated. Let me rephrase that. It was a month after Cat’s death that Not Cat came to live here. I was thinking the end of May, maybe June, maybe later, might be the right time. But I was missing Cat so much. Looking at photographs online of cats needing homes became a type of therapy. Of course, what I really wanted was for Cat to come back, miraculously, to life. I set out to register with animal shelters so that when the time was right, I could adopt. Harder than it sounds.
I was designated as Not a Fit Person to Have a Cat by a couple of charities due to my location, flat-dwelling and the travelling requirements to be made of the cat. That made me start to look at adverts for cats needing homes. The cats the rehoming centres were too full to take because people like me were being told they couldn’t have them. I could write reams about this. The vet shakes her head when we talk about it. The cattery makes some pretty scathing remarks about charities who think the only people fit to rehome a cat need to live in isolated mansions and be at home all the time.
So. Continue reading

Onwards and Upwards

Mother has been transferred to the rehabilitation ward of the hospital; I have been accepted by a local Cat Protection League group as a fit person to adopt one of their cats.

So onwards and upwards.

What a difference a few days makes.

Only on Monday I was wondering if Mother would ever leave the medical ward, and on Tuesday I was turned down by a cat rehoming charity because of Cat’s travels east to Mother’s and das Boot.

I was back to thinking about funerals and expecting my name under some lurid headline in the Daily Mail about animal abusers.

Now the sun is shining. Continue reading