“The cats are out…”

 

“But not tended to” was the notice I found on the chalk board this morning.

 

That had me really thinking – so often those poor cats are no longer “tended to”.

When my younger son and I brought them home over 6 years ago they spent the first winter in, were loved, cuddled and catered to by the then-three-sometimes-four people living in the house.

 

Over the years some have moved out, others have moved in and for one glorious period when “my” student was here they got lots of attention. In fact they never had it so good as during confinement since Covid as she willingly let them sit on her lap all day, every day.

Imagine she got her first job, went to the office for like a week then has had to work from home ever since.

 

When I broke my shoulder several years back I had to take to shutting them in the cellar for nights. Now before animal lovers get up in arms, they were in a two-room space, three if you count the laundry room where their food and toilet is; the office has a space heater underneath the wooden desk that they will happily lay on all day and night (even if it doesn’t suit me), they each have a cosy, pillow-lined basket and should they need to stretch they can race in and out of the office, the filing room, the corridor, up and down the steps and into the laundry room as well.  It was simply that they refused to understand that my broken and pinned shoulder could no longer serve as their personal cushion!

 

Since then they are let out in the morning, food supplies, water and the kitty litter changed and if it’s me a treat is given.

 

We have a chalk slate in the entry as younger son still living here and there is the odd need for a message and especially for either of us to write “in” or “out” so that the other knows who’s around.

 

I liked today’s message: I tended to the poor babies!

 

 

They've even been known to share the same basket!

 

I can’t lick my rear…

Nor do I wish to, but I daily admire the ability of my two cats to lick any part of their body!

So supple: yes some of the positions look weird, but I truly wish I had their capacity to turn my body into a pretzel. Imagine being able to bite that itch in the middle of one’s back, or

to inspect a spot on the back of one’s thigh. The only place they have to actually use a paw to reach is their head and ears and someday I fully expect to see them simply make their tongues longer!

stray cat

One for me…

And the mouse.

0 for Clea.

I have two cats and somehow with all the company, spoiling from my student and perhaps, yes, even age they seem to have reversed personalities.

If before Babette was intrepid, always wanting out, always bringing back “presents” (I try

and try to see them as that: not working) and in general being lively, she seems to have decided that the best place in the house is cuddled up next to me on the desk (underneath which is a small heater) or simply laying on my typing hand.

Clea, who never wanted to go out – unless one opened the door wide and waited for the whole house to cool down – is now the one to sneak out if the door is open. She is very good a finding “presents” and I should truly know by now that I need to check before I cave and let her in. I didn’t Sunday night. It didn’t dawn on me though that she had brought anything in with her until I heard her dashing around underneath the desk in the living room. Oh no.

Yet another “chase the mouse in hopes of rescuing it” game. And we all know how much I love those!

I ended up moving furniture, frames, footstools and the like. This time fortunately the mouse never got under the sofa (cornered in the wood box it did jump out, almost made it up a stair, did get downstairs in the cellar). I was finally able to catch it in my (long)handled dustpan and keep it there (third try) with the brush of same and got it outside, still alive. Like I said One for me and the mouse – zero for Clea. Won’t happen often if ever again, still I bask in the glow of achievement once in my life.

No Ailurophobia for me!

I grew up with birds, cats, eventually a dog, and goldfish.

I hated the canaries as cleaning their cage was not the most fun of activities; the goldfish were not a problem as quiet and much cleaner – they just kind of sat there swimming in their bowl, neither here nor there, just existing.

The dog was there on sufferance because my mother couldn’t bear to see it go to a kennel when the owners moved across the country and couldn’t take their lovely Samoyed with them (ok it was probably my dad who actually came home with it, but unlike the ducks, which my mother promptly got rid of, Cindy stayed to steal our ice-cream when we tried to hide them behind our backs. She was such fun). Cindy was not allowed in the house: that lasted about a month until she got hit in the street and ended up with a broken leg. She then became the baby of the house.

Most present however were the cats. Back then we didn’t sterilize as much as now as there seemed to be an unending stream of families needing kittens. I don’t remember half of them but when my older son desperately wanted and animal and his father was totally against the idea we did end up with a small, male cat – Sethi (yep older son was in his Egyptian phase). This in turn meant that when Sethi disappeared from our lives, the younger son needed something as well. We couldn’t settle on a kitten and ended up bringing home two. I almost was divorced that afternoon – my husband disappeared for about 6 hours and I had to do some very persuasive talking in order to not only save the marriage, but keep the cats. This, of course was the same husband who when said son and I were occasionally absent, babied Smudge and Munchkin – not that he ever would have admitted it.

When Munchkin finally had to be let go (put down sounds so cruel) due to cancer, I was unable to be in the vets office, leaving my then housemate to accompany my younger son whilst my older son stayed in the waiting room with me.

The pain of that led to a two-year hiatus in having cats, but as I write this, Babette is cuddled in my arms, her head near the keyboard and one paw on my left hand as I type. Clea for once is out and about.

I definitely don’t have

ailurophobia

PRONUNCIATION:

(ai-loor-uh-FOH-bee-uh, ay-)

MEANING:

noun: A fear of cats.

ETYMOLOGY:

From Greek ailuro- (cat) + phobia (fear). Earliest documented use: 1905.

(from Wordsmith, A word a Day)

In fact it makes we wonder what the opposite of the term is?

Let's take a look

There may be a mouse back there!

You keep looking, I'll take a break

                                     

Cogitating on the papers - the message will pass

OK so I felt more like a sunbath in the light of the lamp

Always room for both of us

Well deserved rest after a hard work day!

Pretty as a picture or …

My Valentines.

I don’t know what it is, but there are “official” holidays that just leave me cold – that is if they don’t totally turn me off. Mother’s Day is the main one: I am a mother, and love being one, but was never able to convince my husband that one) he could buy the flowers the day before, hide them in a bucket in the cellar and present them through the children on the day or two) that trying to eat out that Sunday was not only double the money, but twice the trouble with restaurants brimming and the waiters and waitresses harried.

Valentine’s Day isn’t quite as bad – I can mostly ignore it.

With two cat’s in the house I have continual enjoyment – and love.

I also know that my kids love me every day of the year and not just on special occasions, but Clea here outdid herself the other day by posing in a frame.

And Babette spends mornings with her head on my hand, cuddled up as I work.

Love is where you find it – love is where you give it and to all of you, my family, my friends I am passing along the wisdom: Love exists all the time, every day, every week, every month, every year – it’s simply a matter of sharing it without needing to make a show. 

New beginnings and

The saga of the last Christmas present, 2016 that is, not an early 2017 one!

Ever since before Christmas my former housemate and I have been e-mailing back and forth about the saga of the missing Christmas present. She had seen something that she preceded to purchase for me – well in advance as she usually has her Christmas presents locked in before the new school year starts!

It didn’t arrive. After a couple of months she re-ordered and was reimbursed for the first purchase – still sending it to my Swiss address as the French one is never reliable and she is often not at her current Swiss one. Getting confused? Our lives are not your ordinary “live in one place and take holidays once a year” type.

The second one also never arrived in spite of repeated reminders from her part to the company through which she had ordered it. Finally in desperation she placed a third order and had it sent to her daughter’s house in Massachusetts: just a reminder, both my housemate and I live in Switzerland, but we travel a lot and the chances of picking something up from an USA address, or alternatively having family there send it turns out to be a lot more reliable.

Anyway, that order did finally arrive and made it back across the ocean in her suitcase just a couple of weeks ago (never mind that at that point she had returned to her home in France, there was a trip planned to Switzerland).

The upshot: drum rolls, high fives and firecrackers so acknowledge the receipt yesterday of my final 2016 Christmas present.

What, you might wonder, was so special that she went through all the effort? Ah… not only one of my favorite activities (and having finally finished my taxes I can now enjoy a bit of leisure so its arrival was well timed) – a puzzle, but such a cute one – a cat that greatly resembles Cléa, wound around books on a book shelf. It is also only 750 pieces so I have already been able to put a dent in the frame and start it. It may have been the last present, but it was definitely one worth the time and effort on her part!

My work impediments

We all know procrastinators; we ourselves all have a tendency to put things off when the weather outside is bad (the urge to simply sit and read, watch the fire or catch up on a movie or TV series takes precedence over say – paying bills, putting together documents for the taxes, filing, etc.); when we have too many interruptions; when we just don’t seem to get the push or our minds are contemplating the upcoming weekend.

I however often have an even better excuse: lack of mobility at the keyboard.

Think she's hidden something interesting under here?

Sleep on her hand and keep a paw there as well just to make sure!

I'm so cute and cuddly that she won't move me, I know.

Sometimes we are amenable to leaving her get something done.

From one keyboard to the other..

D-L posted the following to Facebook April 14th

« Babette wants to cowrite my next novel. However I can't come up with too many variation, of purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Down two floors to my office and on most days:

Babette : « Come on, this is my lap »

Me : « yes, but this is also my work space »

Babette : « But I need that hand to rest my chin on. »

Me : « And I need it to type »

Babette : grudginly – and with a push from me « o.k., o.k, I’ll step on the keyboard instead »

Hmmm… that worked out well, she labelled one of my e-mails « later ». Who knew that one could

Label one’s e-mails ?

Babette is great for my having to come up with creative ways of getting access to my work. She even signs

her work...

…………. Hga<<

Sometimes what we are so eager to do…

Turns out to not be such a good idea.

This is the time of year where I start gearing up mentally for my six-month rental in the mountains and of particular worry is who is going to take care of the cats?

I had thought of taking them with me, but on top of needing rabies shots to go across the border through France, I couldn’t really figure out where I was going to put the kitty litter: not in my bedroom; not in the living room where we’d be putting a foot in it no matter where it was located (never mind the possible odors); definitely not in the kitchen; the bathroom is too small, which left either the balcony off the kitchen or the small storage room off the bathroom. Both of those are not ideal either as it would involve leaving a door open and one would have to be netted, the other has a hole through which they could escape.  Upshot of that: no cats in the mountains so we’ll have to organize here. A few obvious stumbling blocks: both housemate and younger son will be gone most of the summer so no easy solution. Hmmm… perhaps adjust their lives so that they live outside during the day, only returning to the house at night as we did with their feline predecessors. That way someone would only have to come once a day – and probably kitty litter duty wouldn’t be as onerous as well.

OK so let’s get them used to the great outside: let them out, which they had been begging to do for several months now and at first all went well. They’d stay in the immediate vicinity and returned with no problem. Then one day Cléa inadvertently got out and had so spend several hours there before I returned home – she was no longer willing to do more than step out onto the front mat and the door needed to be wide open so that she could retreat.

Babette was still adventuresome – heading straight for the neighbors. However, Friday just before I left for several hours I realized that I hadn’t seen her (library book sale). Didn’t have time to do more than open up the usual spots where she gets caught, i.e. the bomb shelter, my cupboard, the entry-way toilet, the winter garden: no Babette. Upon our return vaguely checked all the other possibilities – no Babette. The cleaning lady also missed her so took the search wider afield before she left – no Babette.  Around 20:00 I decided to do a round again outside (meanwhile three of us had checked every possible nook and cranny at home where she could have been stuck0) along with the bell that I have used for every cat we ever had. Down to the lake, back around, up to the next street and back all the while ringing my bell: let’s hope that not too many neighbors are currently avoiding my path and wondering when I need to be carted off! Nothing.

Stood in the driveway and rang the bell yet again, then stopped to listen – miao. There she stood right by the usual tree. We’ll probably never know where she had been nor how frightened: one thing is sure, when the neighbor’s grandson came over to finally meet them today, neither would go anywhere near the front door. Hmmm… house sitter? Cat sitter? I may actually have to pay someone to come in twice a day whilst I am gone, as I don’t think they’re going to be ready to go out anytime soon.

And they so wanted to explore, were always begging to be let out to chase those birds, see that imaginary freedom – it’s not always what we think and the grass isn’t always greener on the other side. Lesson learned for the cats, but we as humans often make the same mistakes.

So will I too be able to learn from their experience?

 

exploring

safe

The picture of innocence and

Sisterly love – angels they are not always.

My lovely rescue cats, Cléa and Babette are currently NOT in my good graces.

Although they look the picture of innocence, believe me, Saturday night through Sunday

Morning was not when they were at their best.

I love my Saturday nights: even as a young adult I rarely had a date so learned early to enjoy Saturday nights for what they were – a lovely time to eat, drink, watch, read or do what I wanted as long as I wanted, knowing that the next morning I could sleep in (o.k. the number of times that actually happened can fit on two hands, still the possibility is there).

This past one started out just fine: one episode (taped) of my favorite game program: “The Chase”, followed by half of the current French edition of “The Voice” and I was tired.  I had decided to shut the bedroom door as the night before Cléa had wanted to get up way too early. So far, so good: fell asleep around midnight. First excursion: a trip to the restroom around 4. During that small amount of time, they sensed the open door and were in. I managed to get back to sleep even with Cléa’s kneading. Around 5 – or in the middle of a sleep cycle – Babette must have noticed that Cléa had disappeared so up she came. She is a burrower, but once in lies companionably still: this works great in the winter, but will be less attractive come summer and warm nights.  Of course, her sister Cléa can’t stand to see her enjoying anything without obliging her to share so she was back up, kneading around my head and neck. No amount of pushing had her getting the message: it was more

Me: “Cléa, anywhere but my head”,

Cléa: “But why, that’s where I prefer”

Me: “Cléa, down by my feet”

Cléa: “Not interesting”…

Drool, drool, drool, knead, knead,  knead: have I met more stubborn than myself?

No amount of repetition, nor pushing had her catching on so finally I got up and put them both back out and shut the door.

Woe is me, twenty minutes later the scratching started then at 6 a.m. they decided that since that wasn’t getting my attention perhaps having a sisterly fight would: crash, bang, roll followed by more crashing and banging.  You’d never know that there was carpet outside the door or did the otherwise peaceful quiet exacerbate their noise?

My peaceful sleep in was not meant to be. Round one: the cats. Round two: the cats. Round three: the cats.

Last night they were banished to the cellar. This morning they were again curled up together in the basket - a perfect picture of innocence and sisterly love.

Sisters or…

I wouldn’t exactly call them “dumb” animals.

If one is lucky – and I am more than blessed – one has a sister with whom to share life, all those memories going back to well-I-can’t-remember or do-you-remember times.

I was even luckier as I got two blood sisters and several more that although we may not be directly linked by blood, surely we were at some point in the past – how else to explain our connection?

Humans are simply animals (I know, I know, we would prefer to think that we are some higher level of animal, but as far as I can see we are perhaps being egotistical to think so) and I would swear that most animals of the supposedly lower order have memories, have emotions and are even capable of planning.

How else can I explain the fact that although most of the time my two cats live separate lives – each with her preference for sleeping place, staring-out-the-window space and it’s my side of the bowl – occasionally they communicate: mainly by cleaning each other, but around 19:00 every evening they both go crazy dashing after imaginary insects, their own tails, each other and anything else that moves. What is the reason? Where is the link? I haven’t a clue.

That’s interesting enough, but imagine my surprise the other day when I came into the office where I have two identical baskets, one for each, to find them entwined in one. Was one or the other sad? Lonely?  If only I could read their minds I would dearly love to know why they felt that they needed to be together.

I only know that sisters often do.

keeping one eye on the world - don't bother my sister!

togetherness

I'll watch - you sleep.

Having it all…

Both cats and birds…

Several weeks ago now, my younger son and I went to the local animal shelter and after two hours of petting

them all (the people there said that most of them wouldn’t let us – we were the exception that proved the rule as they all followed us around making the decision very difficult), of weighing the pros and cons, we finally chose two sisters (wonder if we were influenced by the fact that originally we had had two sisters?).

It is lovely to have cats back in the house (remind me of that when I complain about changing kitty litter twice, if not more, times a day!). At first I had to keep them in the basement with their food and water and kitty litter and they were very skittish.  Now they have settled in and have access to all the house except the two attic rooms as both sons are allergic and need a place without cat hairs.

They each have their own personality: Cléa is the bossy one, the one most likely to come running at any noise (hey it might be food you know – never mind that the dry cat-food bowl is always full. She also thinks that basically she is a human baby, crawling into my lap and turning over to be cradled. Babette is shyer and puts up with Cléa’s cleaning her, pushing her off my lap, grabbing the biggest bowl of food and the like. But when Babette can have my lap she likes to curl up head tucked into my elbow or sprawl out over my lap with her head draped over my arm (typing can be a challenge).

Cléa

Babette

One of Babette's favorite positions

In the two years where we had no cats I had put up a bird feeder and this summer in preparation for cats had no longer filled it.  However, as it turns out, these cats were raised in an apartment so I re-positioned the bird feeder in front of my office window and am enjoying the rare privilege of having both (Cléa kind of wonders when she sees them flittering out the window, but Babette takes it in her stride).

Full house

Sometimes the birds are joined by the resident squirrel as well: work is never boring.

King of the bird feeder

Shelling and dropping - the pigeons appreciate the crumbs

 The photos of birds and squirrels were taken through the window so the quality is not of the best, but one gets the idea.

Cats – not the musical as

My younger son posted to his Facebook wall.

The first few days, weeks, months after we had to put down our last cat, for me there was no question of ever acquiring another (the fact that it happened very shortly after my sister died didn’t help, nor did the fact that my brother and sister-in-law also had to put down their dog then as well).

The second year it was nice to not have to organize someone to come in and see to cats as I traveled. This state of affairs lasted until the middle of this summer, then all of a sudden I couldn’t imagine spending the winter without a cat in the house.  I patiently waited until I finished renting in the mountains for the year, then checked out the web-site for the local animal shelter: http://www.sgpa.ch/

They were open for adoptions three afternoons a week and as my younger son was interested in going along with me we were finally able to do so two days ago.  I went thinking that I would take a cat that had been there some time, would let the cat pick me and would even be willing to have two as I was sure that it isn’t easy to place pairs.

Well, it seems that all the cats that we looked at and touched were more than happy to be our friends – even the ones that the girl thought were difficult! So that wasn’t helping.  After two hours (poor son, he is allergic and his eyes were red and he was coughing) we did finally decide to take the pair of sisters: Gougou and Kitty.

Now it won’t matter what language you translate this into, Gougou as a name just wasn’t going to happen and Kitty in our eyes wasn’t much better.  It was a very long drive home (traffic hour) and when S mentioned that one looked almost like she had eyeliner, I said Cleopatra – promptly shortened to Cléa.  Gougou took a wee bit longer but with her white bib – in France a “bavette” it just seemed to come out of nowhere – Babette.

First night was spent in the laundry room, both hiding behind the furniture under the pipes, 24 hours later Cléa was already acclimated but Babette is a bit more stand-offish.  Both don’t like sudden movements and prefer people coming down to their level, but are (very) quickly adjusting. They are four years old but have retained their youthfulness and absolutely love being petted and rubbed.

My winter will be much warmer with them in the house and I can only plead for anyone else needing a cat or dog to head for their local animal shelter – there are so many needing good homes.

Just a word for those of you wanting pictures right away - have you ever tried to take a picture of a cat that doesn't even really want to see you at the moment? It took until last night to get anything slightly o.k. but here they are!

Babette who looks like she got into the chocolate

Cléa, who contrary to appearances here, comes readily and loves being petted.