At the very beginning of the year, a stray white and black cat pitched up in our garden. Thin, and with nasty wounds on his front paws, he was taken in by Hamilton’s Cat Fund, fed, treated by the vet, named Trevor, and given lots of attention. Some of you very generously contributed to the cost of his treatment and food. You may recall how he grew healthy and happy; alert to the sound of the back door of the house opening and the possibility of another meal. In the summer, he was given the run of the garden, where he swiftly disillusioned another cat who thought he might be a bit of a pushover. He gave us a scare when he disappeared for two weeks in August. Hunting, the charity thought, and hopefully not something bigger and stronger than himself. But bears and wolves have been extinct for quite a while now in Dulwich. Continue reading
I am about to dash off to Octavia’s for some chat and to see her her mother, who is visiting. However, I had to post this first. Just look at how healthy and handsome Trevor is now.What a warm and fuzzy moment just looking at his picture.
I have just had an email from Chris at the Cattery. She titled it Trevor, which I really hope isn’t going to be the cat’s name, but maybe it was just to signal his gender. I’ve been on tenterhooks all day wondering how the cat had got on at the vet’s.
Anyway, this is what she says: Continue reading
So here s/he is. His/her gender now in question, but we didn’t want to do too much invasive peering at his/her nether regions.
When I say we, I mean Chris at the Cattery. Breathe again. The white and back stray is now in safe hands, and literally in a warm bed. The sleeping rough episode is ended.
When I took breakfast out she scrambled from her hidey hole at once. I had thought she had a sore on her leg when I saw her in the gloom. In daylight it was clear she has sores on both front legs and one is making her limp. I resisted her demands for seconds and thirds and instead we had a bit of a love fest. When I went in I was a bit worried she might try to follow me, and maybe that is what happened, because having talked to Chris on the ‘phone and got the go ahead to bring her in, I couldn’t find her. I looked inside the binshed and there she was, crouching in the corner, and fortunately where I could pick her up. Which I did. She didn’t resist though she was obviously worried when I closed the door and it made a noise. The car was already open and the cat basket in place. She lifted her nose to mine and I told her she would now be properly looked after. Continue reading
Do I only write about cats these days? It seems like it.
Just over a year ago my neighbour Carol and I rescued Izzy, a young kitten full of vim and mischief. That raised my awareness of the number of animals unceremoniously abandoned over the Christmas period. As I walked backwards and forwards from visiting Fang, I wondered if I might stumble across another needy kitten.
But it wasn’t a kitten, and it was much closer to home. In our garden, sheltering in an upturned pallet wedged between the binshed and the wall, I found an adult white and black cat.
She hissed at me.
I had found the explanation for MasterB’s reluctance to use the garden and his worried glances towards this corner in particular.
Nothing for it, I thought. I shall have to make friends with her and then move her on. That was yesterday.
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
So there I was, a hurried lunch eaten and washed up, settling to my list of chores while I waited for the arrival of the wonderful washing machine. I checked my emails. The first, which I shall keep for the moment made me smile rather mistily. I shall come back to it. The second was from the supplier of the washing machine to tell me delivery was cancelled.
My credit card people had queried the sale. I knew this already. They had checked with me. They had alerted the supplier. The supplier, despite the fact that I placed my order by ‘phone, says an email was sent to me a week ago asking for confirmation of my order. That email did not arrive. Had notice of the cancellation been received earlier I might have been able to still get my machine today.
I was not happy. I called the supplier. I have to reorder. On my order, which has to wait until tomorrow as I am told I can ask for forty-eight hour express delivery and I can’t avail myself of it until Friday, in bold capital letters, will be instructions to call me, not email me, if there is any further query.
What really annoys me is that I could have been nicer to the man on the ‘phone. Anyway.
The first email was from the cattery and contained a short message and two pictures. Behold here Odysseus, now renamed George, getting to grips with his new environment.
I took the cage back tonight and had about ten minutes with Ginger. He was very zen. The best news, he has settled so well today that the cattery reckon he could go to a normal home. That should increase his chances quite a bit.
Also, being ginger and beautiful may work for him.
He was rubbing his head against Ann, despite the fact that yesterday he saw her as The Enemy, an evil human who put him in a basket and took him to the surgery.
He is eating everything put in front of him. He probably doesn’t much like being in a pen, but he is enjoying the meals service. Continue reading
If you read this blog at all regularly, you’ll know that the last couple of weeks catching a local stray who has been making a nuisance of himself, and looking a sorry state, has been high on my agenda.
So you’ll understand that last night I rewarded myself with a large glass of red wine. Ginger (his screen name) was safely delivered to the cattery where they run a small cat rescue charity on the side.
Just before eight this morning I got a call from Chris. Ginger had slept well, eaten a hearty meal, and was set for a visit to the vet. She promised I would be called later.