Christmas at the Ark

Yes, we hang stockings.  We hang stockings for the 'kids' who are still with us over the fireplace, and we hang stockings for those who have passed away, on the entertainment unit.  Each stocking on the fireplace gets a gift suited to their personality.  We stopped buying the little fuzzy mice for the cats because the dog skins them, leaves the little hard bodies lying around the house (looking like wingless, legless, headless bats), and later the fur turns up... elsewhere.  Instead I give out other catnip toys, balls, or non-fuzzy mice.  I also get them treats, and at least one new toy all of them can play with.  The dog gets cookies because dog toys scare him.  That's a whole other story.

Dartmouth gets a Kinder Surprise (although I make sure I have enough catnip toys for him too).  We eat the chocolate and Betty collects the toys.  Darty likes to play with the top of the plastic 'egg' and bat it up & down the stairwell.  He used to pack them around with the egg covering his nose.  When he was little he sometimes packed plastic Easter egg halves this way, which made it impossible for him to see.  It was very cute.

Josie didn't play with catnip toys.  Being brain damaged, she didn't know what they were.  However she had a favourite plastic ball that had a rattle inside.  Every year I would try to find another of these for her to bat around.

Christmas Day can get crazy.  We daren't fill the stockings the night before.  Nothing would be left by morning.  Positive proof of this was the Christmas that Betty worked, and I filled the stockings early.  I had the bag of toys with me as I answered the phone. At first I didn't quite twig as to why I had such a big audience.  Then Martin started leaping at me.  Or to put it correctly, at the catnip filled tomato I had in my hand.  The phone conversation got a little tense as I found myself having to run around the house ducking a flying orange tabby at every turn while the others followed.  In desperation I fired the tomato towards the stairwell.  It went bouncing down the stairs with Marty in hot pursuit.  I then turfed the rest of the toys into the bathroom.  I now wait til the last moment to fill the stockings.

Once the stockings are filled, and pictures are taken, I hand out the gifts.



What follows next is a little unnerving, and sometimes a bit uncomfortable.  Cats writhing around everywhere.  It feels like you're in the middle of a blue movie.  Occasionally a fight breaks out as two vie for the same toy.  After about half an hour they all start to mellow and we swear they're all relaxing with a smoke.

  

Indignities

One's pride goes out the window when one is owned by a cat. One's dignity goes there too when one is owned by a house full of the critters. Nothing can wake one up faster at 3 am than a cold wet hairball oozing between one's toes as one is heading for the bathroom. Particularly when one vaguely remembers hearing the hairball come up at 1am but was too tired to do anything about it.

Having a cat bounce off your back & nearly send you face first into a litter pan as you're scooping can be scary. However, the day I decided to get a closer look at the stuff I was cleaning off the carpet was unnerving. As I leaned in for a sniff, I lost my balance and went nose first into the blob. Fortunately it was a hairball.

You could say I should just have picked it up. That would have been smart I suppose. However, right around that time I'd got up one morning, and found a toy mouse in my path. As I bent to pick up I noticed it didn't have a tail. The toy was not a toy at all, but a headless, wingless, legless, bat, so I learned to look closer before touching. This, by the way, explained Martin's fever the previous week, and why the vet couldn't find any puncture marks.


We're used to discussing serious subjects with a cat perched on a shoulder staring intently off to one side.  Washing dishes just wouldn't be the same without a tail sliding under one's nose as the critter wanders by.  Movies are often viewed between cat ears, or around a cat sihlouette.

It's not uncommon to suddenly notice that we've gone out in public so covered in fur that we're not sure what design was originally on our t-shirt.  It can be embarrasing to admit to the vet that the smell he thinks is coming from your sick cat is actually emanating from yourself.   Having a cat make 'the face' after sniffing your breath first thing in the morning is .... well .... informing.  They are so helpful.

Dinners are often spent with a cat either trying to pad your chicken, or edging around your neck towards the plate, while purring sweetly.  Then there are those who keep hitting you because see no need for you to eat when they need attention.

As for the critters, they don't see what the problem is.  In fact, their version of indignity is when we get all bent out of shape over the things they do.  You can see it in their eyes: Why are those stupid humans dancing around and making so much noise?

At least Drew didn't throw up in my hair in the middle of the night. He saved that gem for Betty. Frasier did pee on my back though. I am officially his.

$30,000.00 cat

During the great forest fire, we evacuated to a friend's farm. Our friend kindly provided us with a whole room for the 11 cats we had at the time. Joining our group was a small black & white kitten named Oreo. Betty was concerned he wasn't getting enough food, so we brought him to the kitchen to feed him away from the others. He found his way to the dog food bowl, and I caught him standing on the edge of it looking like something from the Lion King.  The pose said it all.

Oreo came with us after we returned home, and we soon learned he was ... different. Other kittens didn't like to play with him.  It seems he didn't know the difference between playing, and fighting claws out to the death. They'd run from him as he approached, but instead of chasing them, he'd stalk on over to them at his own speed.  They'd run from him again, and he'd simply turn and stalk in their direction once more. 

As we continued fostering, we learned that Oreo had another little twist in his personality.  He liked kittens.  Not in a good way.  I caught him trying to drag Dartmouth out the cat door one day, and later, with a glint in his eye, packing Brighton across the dining room table.  Both times a bellow from me made him spit the kitten out.  We've always thought if he were human, he'd be a serial killer.

Oreo had a big medical issue. He had diarrhea and could barely control it. Whenever the feeling hit, he'd "go". Rather than finding things around the house in the morning, I started taking him to bed with me. His tummy rumbling would wake me and the race to the litter pan would be on. I could never decide if I should hold him close to me, then change clothes, or away from me, and clean carpets.

Multiple visits to various vets who each tried different medications, proved fruitless. As he grew his control was better, but he still had the problem, and was horribly underweight. When an episode hit, the pain was so great that he'd try to kill anything within 10 feet. Worse, his tummy and back end became so sensitive that vets attempting to take his temperature risked losing a limb. During one visit, a vet left the room to check on something. Oreo climbed on top of his crate and before I could do anything (not that I could do anything), he let fly.  "Need a sample?" I asked when the vet ground to a halt at the door.

Our main vet suggested a diet of yams mixed with tuna, with some raw meat on the side. For the next couple of years I dutifully cooked and froze yams. I mixed this with a can of tuna and oreo was fed on the kitchen counter to prevent the others from bothering him. He also went through a steak a day.  When I'd hit the sales at the grocery store, the cashiers would shake their heads at the stack of two for one steaks for the cat, and the loaf of bread for the humans.

Oreo developed severe gingivitis, and had all but his K9s removed. He was then put on steroid shots every three months, which at last solved his painful diarrhea problems. I was later able to move him onto a regular cat food diet. Because steroids can lead to other problems, it was suggested I switch him to a Prednisone cream which was applied to the inside of his ear daily. The cream was specially made at a pharmacy 2 Provinces away, and shipped to us under Oreo's name. I thought this was kind of cool, but I'm sure the Postal workers wondered.

With his medical issues now under control, Oreo became a very happy cat.  Well, at least in his world.  While he was quite loving with us, his serial killer attitude would occasionally rise if one of the other cats was occupying a spot he considered 'his'.

I had been setting aside money in my Will for the care of the critters, and attempted to calculate how much each cat would cost if they lived to 20.  With his meds replacing the price of his steaks, I figured Oreo would cost about $30,000.   Good job he was cute.  

Fritzie

After we'd agreed not to foster, or adopt any further cats, Fritzie came into our lives.  He was an old man who looked like hell.  His fur was matted and sticking out everywhere.  He looked like he had mange, but he didn't.  He had scabs on his face and nose that would come and go.  He'd definitely seen better days.

 Shelter staff would let him out of the Adult cat room in the morning.  He'd eat his breakfast in the office, then walk back to Adult cat where he'd sit by the door until someone let him back in.  The staff grew quite fond of him.  Unfortunately he wasn't adoptable.  Apart from his age and appearance, two different vets had diagnosed him as going into organ failure, and had given him 3 months.  He wasn't showing any signs of failing, and the staff didn't have the heart to put him down, so Betty brought him home for a 2 week visit.

Fritz decided he liked the dining room, then hissed and growled at any cat that came near him.  Obviously he wasn't into being anybody's buddy.  He found the kitchen and a litter pan, but spent his days napping under the dining room table.

He would jump on the kitchen chair and eat his food at the table - the only thing missing was the table cloth and a napkin around his neck.  Sometimes he required a kiss on the forehead to get him started.  There was something endearing about this grumpy old man, so at the end of two weeks I looked at Betty & told her I didn't have the heart to send him back.  He only had 3 months, why not let him live them out in a nice house.  She agreed.

Two years later, Fritz, the "dying" cat, was still with us.  I don't know what we did, but it seemed to have given him a new lease on life.  He eventually ventured out from the dining room, learned the merits of a winter fireplace, and the joys of a sunbeam on the porch.  He claimed Betty's lawn chair for that.  He still looked like hell.  We did try to brush him out, but warning growls told us to make our attempts short. 

He passed away on a warm summer day in late August.  He spent the day on the porch, and then I carried him to his current favourite napping spot.  He never did make friends with any of the other cats.

Mouse Out Of House!

One night a few weeks back, as I was setting up the mouse food, I couldn't help but wonder why everything was so quiet in the cages. Usually Solly comes out & runs around waiting for his cheese treat, followed by Stew a minute or so later. Since it was quiet, I refilled their hanging water bottle quickly and replaced it. Still nothing. This always bothers me because at this time of year they've started to fluff all their bedding and I can't tell where they are. I also don't know if they're alive or not. Or....... have escaped.

After a few more minutes I knew something was up, and decided to check the cages for chew areas. It didn't take me long to discover that one of the tubes had come off the main cage. Crap! I'd broken a part of the connecting piece the last time I cleaned the cage, but it had clicked into place at the time & I figured as long as nobody bumped things, all would be fine. Well, it got bumped, and now both mice were gone, somewhere in the basement. Either that or they'd made it upstairs & we hadn't found the bodies yet. I called Betty. After examining things, we decided the best we could do was block the main door to upstairs with towels, and leave the cage doors open so that they had access to food and water.

In the morning I bought some live mouse traps & set them up around the basement. During the next 24 hours we diligently checked the traps - nothing. I decided to leave some cheese on the counter near one of the traps in hopes of enticing one or both to go into it. The next morning, the cheese was gone. Encouraging news!!! So I left some seeds out, which went untouched til evening. So at least one of them was still alive.

Meanwhile things around the house had come to a stand still. Doors could only be kept open briefly. Groceries were transported to the back door of the carport then hastily turfed inside in case a mouse saw freedom and ran for it. Winter wood was brought into the house in small amounts, and the storage area couldn't be tidied until we knew what happened to the critters. We were scared to touch anything in case it crushed a mouse hidng behind it. Going to and coming from the basement always entailed making sure one of the towels on either side of the door was stuffed up to and if possible under the door itself. The towel on the other side of the basement door got peed on, but we left it hoping the odour acted as a deterrent.

After two days of setting the live traps with peanut butter, cheese, and seed, we still had nothing. The seeds I'd left out were being eaten though, and the level of water in the bottle I'd hooked up to the outside of the cage was dropping, so at least one was getting some sustinence. I was resetting one of the traps in the room when I heard the familiar sound of scampering through the tunnels. I looked up to see movement inside the cage, and as quickly as I could, slammed all the doors shut! I had one! I figured it had to be Stew because he was the one less likely to explore the basement. However, it soon became clear that I had Solly, Alpha mouse. So where was Stew?

That evening I came downstairs to check the traps at about 10pm. The seeds I'd left out were gone, which meant Stew was still around. After I fed Solly, I stayed to watch for a minute, and saw movement around the back of one of the cages - Stew! I stood stock still, and he came out, took a seed, had a drink, and ran behind the cage. I got a piece of dried banana treat and slowly held it out for him. He came over and tugged it, but when I didn't let go, he ran off. I lost track of where he went, but if he was still on the counter, things were looking up!

I didn't see him again, so I figured I'd come back later for another try. Grabbing him would be difficult because of all the tubing. I'd need a clear area because I'd only have one chance. If I missed he might not trust me again. So around midnight I set up the seeds and stayed stock still with my hand over top of the pile, and waited. Sure enough, Stew came out. He ran around the outside of the cages and touched noses with his brother. This is the first time they've been separated for any length of time since birth, and it was obvious they missed each other's company. My heart tore in two - I had to get Stewie back! However, he wasn't ready.

As I stood still, I watched Stew run around the cages, over the tubing, stopping every once in awhile to stare at me. He was within inches of me, but I couldn't move. He ran around the other side of the cage and took the seeds from under the trap, but wouldn't come out to the free area where I was lying in wait. Every once in awhile he'd leave the area and vanish. After 15 minutes or so of this I discovered he was actually going under the counter & hiding in some of our stored items. At one point I made the mistake of shifting my weight, and heard him scatter off the jigsaw puzzle boxes. He didn't make any further appearances that night.

Our live traps were obviously not working. I had to figure something else out. Stew was beginning to tug stuffing out of one of the cages which meant he was probably building a new nest. This wasn't good. He seemed to trust my presence, and I knew he was familiar with the tubing, so I came up with a plan. The next day I put together some of the extra tunnels and blocked one end. I put some seeds in the blocked end, and a few leading to it. I then set it down on the existing tunnels, leaving the open end in an area I could easily cover. My theory was to let him run into the tunnel, then quickly cover the other end with my palm, not my fingers. But first I had to get him to trust the trap.

When I came back around midnight, the seeds were gone - success!!! So I reset the trap, and waited. I was beginning to give up hope when a little face appeared around the side of a cage. He ran around all the cages & took a leftover seed from one area after touching noses with Solly. I waited. He ran around for what seemed an eternity, then came to the entrance of my trap. He stopped and stared at me. I couldn't breathe, and was sure he could hear my heart trying to pound through my chest. My palms started to drip. He just sat there staring at me..... then ran inside & to the seed! I clamped my palm over the other end and Presto! Trapped mouse! But now what?

I yelled for Betty, who barely heard my muffled cry. She came down the stairs and to my rescue. I told her to distract Solly in one cage and open the door to the other. I'd drop Stew in. It worked! I removed the tunnel from the cage and slammed the door shut as Solly came charging back through. But where was Stew? I looked in my trap - Dear God! He was still inside!!!! I clamped my palm over the end quickly. He nibbled on it. We tried again, but Stew refused to drop out of the tunnel, and Betty couldn't distract Solly for more than a few seconds. Then she got a really big banana chip. Solly grabbed one end, and she held onto the other. As the two played tug of war, I shook the tubing with everything I could, to dump poor little Stew out. Finally, I saw him drop into the cage. Betty let go of the chip, and Solly ran to greet his brother.

It was wonderful to see the two together again. Solly was very happy. He bounced all over his brother and then proceeded to run very happily on his wheel. Stew found the stored food in the upper compartment and proceeded to eat like there was no tomorrow. After checking all parts of the cages and connectors, we finally relaxed.

Our boys were back, safe & sound. It took us another day or so to remove the towels (just in case). Things returned to nomal, and I gave the boys a few different tasty treats. I don't know what kind of memories they have, but hopefully they learned that freedom may have been fun, but their home is inside the cage.

Bats in the Belfry

To a cat, a bat is a really big bug, or a mouse that flies. Either way, it must be caught, even if it risks life & limb. Or your grandmother's best antique china. So when a bat drops down our chimney and escapes past our fireplace insert into the living room, it's an event.

The first thing that happens is all ceiling fans get switched off.  A few years back we discovered bats don't navigate well around the moving blades, but that BG will immediately let go of what she's carrying if you yell "DROP IT" loud enough.

Next the cats get sent to another room. Then, we get the butterfly nets out.  These have been very handy for this kind of job.  Essentially one has to scoop the bat as it flies by, and bring it quickly to the ground. A board under the net, fingers at a distance, a trip to the nearest door, and out goes the little black butterfly to catch all those nasty mosquitoes in the night. Simple. Except for the scooping part.

Last week, a bat made it into the house. Unfortunately he found a quiet place to hide for the night before we could catch him. The next morning we spotted him clinging to the library ceiling. We had no trouble netting him and packing him outside. The second bat who got in wasn't so lucky. We're not sure how he met his fate, but Betty found him dead on her chair just before she sat down. 

The next night the cats were hovering around the fireplace insert.  A sure sign that another little creature was attempting to scratch its way out.  It was late, I was tired, so hoping it would either still be there in the morning, or find a hiding spot for the night, I went to bed. A few minutes later I heard a strange chirping sound in the dark, followed by a lot of commotion. Yup. Bat in the bedroom. Lights on, Betty up, cats shoo'd, nets ready.

We missed him when he landed on the top of the door, and chased him out to the dining room. Then the living room.  Then back in the dining room, where we lost him. We watched the cats to see which direction held their interest.  We spotted the little fellow on some shelving before Frasier did, but he got away again. Now very tired he only managed to get half way up a curtain. Betty caught him and I whipped open the sliding door before she could say a word.

I called the Chimney Sweep in the morning because it was obvious something wasn't right. We needed the chimney done anyway, and luckily the Sweep was available.  When he finished cleaning and resealing everything, he advised me that 2 bats had flown off when he opened things up, but he wasn't sure if any had fallen down the chimney.

Oh, some had.

Shortly after the Sweep left, Little Vlad made his entrance and escaping everyone's clutches, hid in the curtains. I decided to wait til he came out in the evening. Sure enough, at dusk he circled the living room. We dutifully shut off the fans and attempted the net capture. A few minutes later he was left outside to recover and fly away.

The cats were still hovering by the fireplace though, and a little while later bat number 5 appeared. He was followed by bat number 6! We'd never had two at once, and soon discovered that they were much harder to catch. It must have been quite the sight for our neighbours who had a clear view thanks to our picture windows. Two middle aged women running from room to room, ducking, weaving, waving butterfly nets at the ceiling.  We got them one at a time, but it sure wasn't easy.

And still the cats stared at the fireplace. I was typing an email when Squeak, who was next to me, suddenly expressed an interest in the dining room. Sure enough.... Number 7 had arrived.  He wasn't quite as bright as the others, and found himself trapped flying back and forth in the hallway. We soon caught him and gently deposited him outside.

After that, the cats stopped being interested in the fireplace.  We kept the nets upstairs for a few more days just in case.

Drew's Salon

Drew didn't always stick to jumping on furniture. My back has always been fair game, particularly whenever I cleaned litter pans. In the kitchen, I was a stepping stone to the counter. He would wait til I was in the middle of things, bound onto the kitchen table, cross to the microwave on the baker's rack, and bounce off my back to the counter. The first time he did it he nearly sent me face first into the pan.

When I cleaned the downstairs pan, Drew would wait on the stairs for the perfect moment, leap onto my back and happily purr as I scooped.  Occasionally his jumps were mistimed and I would have to react quickly or have him dangling by his claws from my shoulder blades. On one occasion I stood up, only to have my world go completely black. It was only when it registered that I had something soft & furry against me that I realised it was Drew. When I was finished scooping, I would then climb (read that "crawl") up the stairs with him still attached to me. Almost always gentle, with one paw around each side of my neck, he would rub my cheek with his.

Drew also had another little habit. Every night he would jump on my pillow to nuzzle and knead my head for hours as I slept. I'd awaken in the morning with the most amazing hairstyles. We called them "Drew Do's". I always knew when I had a particularly frightening one because Brighton's gaze would focus above my head. Usually with fear in his eyes. I swear cat drool is better than hair gel.

He doesn't give me the "Do's" as often as he used to, but he still likes to nuzzle in my hair in the evening when we watch tv, and occasionally supervises the scooping from my back.

The Perils of Bags with Handles

Bags with handles, and cats do not go together. Squeaky found this out the day she checked out a bag of dog cookies I'd brought home. The bag crinkled and my big girl took off down the hall, her new cape swinging side to side, flinging cookies against each wall as she went.

Martin also discovered the perils of plastic. I'm not sure where the bag came from, but I arrived in the living room, lunch in hand, just in time to witness the chaos unfold.

Starting out in front of me, Marty ran clockwise around the living room, loudly crinkling as he went. Those he ran past followed him, while those who heard him coming, ran ahead of him. The giant conga stampede of terrified felines, lept over furniture and headed in my direction. I felt the wind rush past me as they made a left into the dining room, taking out a tall hallogen lamp, which in turn, took out Betty's favourite pot pourri bowl before leaving a large dent in the wall.

Something else to fix....

Brighton

Of all the cats in the house, Brighton has the largest amount of character. Betty started calling him Ducky because he followed her everywhere. We're not sure why, particularly since she accidentally slammed him in the front door on Halloween shortly after we got him. Ducky would run just ahead of Betty as she climbed the stairs, watching her as he ran, which unnerved her. He would also like to flop and roll on the bed as she changed the bedding, a practice he continues to this day.

He has an odd habit of running in front of you as you go down the stairs too. This can be a bit scary, but he tries to get a few steps in front of you, then he lies down, does his flop, and slides off that step and down onto the other.

He has big beautiful expressive eyes, and a determination that just won't quit. We have a saying "Everybody loves Brighton". He insists. Unfortunately, not all the ladies in the house want to love Brighton. Both Darlin' and Scooter have literally run screaming from the room to get away from him. His response is to lope after them, doing his best Pepe Le Pew impression.

He won over Squeak, won over Sugar, worked really hard, and won over Lucky, then amazingly enough, won over Belle, who won't have anything to do with anyone. He simply walks over to them and flops under their faces. They smack him, but his fur is so thick he doesn't feel it. He keeps pestering them until they simply give in.

The other night as I busied myself in the house, Ducky came by, as usual, and insisted I pay attention to him. After a few minutes he left, and I noticed him hanging out with Squeak. A short time later he was lying next to Belle. Like a true Casanova, he was roaming back & forth, spending a few minutes of time with each of his ladies, making sure they were happy. As I watched, the penny dropped. He visits me just as he visits them.

I'm one of his harem.