When Cookie found our garden she was a skinny little thing. Compassion stirred in several hearts and was translated into cat biscuits and food sachets. Cookie blossomed, grew sleek. We began to think about monitoring her food intake. Emails were circulated asking people to tell her foster owners if and when they fed her so she did not grow too big. Not everyone was on the same page. Piles of biscuits would still be left in the garden; mounds of wet food that she had not eaten lying temptingly in MasterB’s path, distracting him from the benefits of his special diet to keep him crystal free, and the target weight he had in his sights.
But she seemed to suddenly get rounder. Chubby Chops, I called her the other day, then Little Butter Ball. Rebecca compared her to a sausage roll. It was a visitor who described her accurately; pregnant. The vet confirmed her condition this afternoon. Three or four kittens; probably conceived at Christmas time.
On my watch. Continue reading
My life seems divided between work and cats at the moment. Heaven knows, when I was fifteen this is not how I imagined my prime; wondering about the reproductive status of cats and if a litter of kittens was going to be born in my garden.
And yet this is how it is. Plus worrying about how MasterB fits in with the latest feline dynamic, and hoping he is not being sidelined in his own garden. I’d hate him to feel left out.
It is today. I woke up early, well short of my eight hours. MasterB tucked at the t-shirt I slept in, miaowed, demanded out.
The milk was off, though well short of its use by date. I didn’t fancy black coffee. I shall have to wait. I read a poem by Rebecca Goss called Birth. It is in the review section of last Saturday’s Guardian. I cried. Then I made a list: eggs, bread, milk, cottage cheese. Another: washing, take magazines to GP, send card, write invoice.
Maybe later I can have a nap. Continue reading
MasterB has had a trying time. He has twice tried to say hello to the mother cat this evening. She is half his size. They have touched noses, and I didn’t hear what passed between them, but MasterB looked as though he had received a small electric shock. His ears went back and he moved away.
OK. I can understand she wants to protect her kittens, but if this were Cat she’d be chased right away, so I should like to see some evidence of her intelligence in understanding that MasterB is a gentle hearted soul who could be a friend.
I fed her. She plainly isn’t worried by me. MasterB alternately watched her and played with the recycling bag.
She disappeared round the corner. A few minutes later, MasterB followed. I continued to drink my wine and listened for sounds of a scuffle. I admit I rather expected the Ginger Ninja to come running back to me.
Nothing. Continue reading
Marple and Fido are still small cats but they are over six months old now. They are no longer frightened by Westie Boy, and the three of them rub heads and hang out together in the garden. I should have some photos to share soon.
I left London in sunshine, and as we descended towards Belfast the clouds were pierced by blue sky. But as we headed west, the clouds above us grew grey and beneath us cars had their headlights on as they moved along wet roads. In the distance a curtain of heavy rain shielded the view. We landed and the spray flew up from the plane’s wheels. I was impressed by the foresight shown by many of the passengers who produced stout waterproofs from their hand luggage. But by the time I got off the plane, there was just drizzle and the sky was split between clouds and blue.
This picture will have to be a greeting card. He is so pretty and the colours were just a lucky match.
There are two new kittens at Cousin’s. Pretty and sociable, but hard to photograph as they hurtle by at speed or climb into your hands, the dangling camera strap a potential toy.
At some point in the night, MasterB left the darkness of the drawer and joined me on the bed. I woke to feel his weight against me. Then we both slept. At six, no doubt feeling rather empty, he woke me for food. He’s on Sensitive Control for the next day or so until I am completely sure he is well. Unlike Cat, he likes the Sensitive Control sachets, and even tucks into the biscuits happily. My thanks to everyone here who expressed their concern.
Bright Eyed and Bushy Tailed
Hasan wants some help for his friend naming a litter of kittens. Sounds like a nice thing to do on a Saturday. I am going to be working outside on this cold cold day, so I shall hope it will help distract me from frozen fingers and toes. My one suggestion so far is Owl for one of the ginger boys. They are so young and tiny they look like baby birds.
A little bit of clarification after Sophie wondered if the photo I put up yesterday might be a hamster.
So, here are some other photos from the same day.
There are more, so if your kitten fix is still not sated, let me know.