On kittens
I like cats. I have liked cats since I was very small and the elderly Siamese that supposedly belonged (for anyone that lives with cats, they know that owning/belonging are not the correct term, but it'll suffice for now) to our neighbours came to live with us. She was territorial and vocal and the neighbours were moving to a house between two dogs and they thought she might die trying to assert her authority. Despite this territorial side, she was a sweet-natured cat, if somewhat noisy. She did love people and unlike most cats, adored being played with like a doll and would happily leap into the pram to be shuttled about. She enjoyed travelling too and would regularly attempt to sneak into the car to go for a ride. This meant that she spent at least a couple of days at work with either of my parents, as they'd got all the way there before she emerged triumphant from the hidey hole that she'd found. When my parents took her on (I think I was aged about 4 at the time) she was aged 15, so they didn't expect her to last too long. Not so, we enjoyed her company for another six years. She was definitely an integral part of the family, like a dog, she would happily greet each of us as we tumbled in the door each evening, from work or school. She gently went deaf, which meant she couldn't hear herself yowl. Now, if you've ever come across Siamese cats, they have a peculiarly penetrating wail anyhow, not very unlike a baby crying. But because she couldn't hear herself, she assumed we couldn't either and redoubled her efforts. It was easier to allow the cat to ride around on your shoulders so that she could see for herself what you were up to, than to withstand her calls. As you can probably tell, Kula was a delightful introduction to the feline world. She finally died at a ripe old age. And I missed her terribly.
At age 11, I took an examination called the eleven plus, effectively an aptitude type test, which is the basis for being accepted to selective schools. I was offered a place at one of the most prestigious grammar schools for girls in the country. My parents were delighted and told me that I could have a treat as a result, expecting me to ask for something like a stereo, or books, or jewellery. I surprised them by begging for another cat - I missed Kula so much. So we duly went to a Cat Protection League - a charity where unwanted cats were taken in order to be rehoused. My father liked a quiet shy female that cowered in the back of the cage. However, at the front of the cage, coming up to meet us, was a huge, beautifully clean black and white tom. When asked, the lovely lady explained that he had been a farm cat. But the farmer's wife had decided to breed Persian cats as a hobby, but he'd been more attentive than she wanted to her pampered Persian queens and she was fed up with little long-haired black and white kittens. So he'd been removed. The cat charities routinely neuter cats taken to them, as they've no wish to allow cats to bring more unwanted kittens into the world, since given a chance, their birth rate is prodigious, with queens regularly having six to eight kittens in a litter. So, he'd been castrated and put in a cage and he was desperate to get out. But he was big and bold and beautiful and I wanted him. My mother was happy, because even in a stressful situation caged with twenty other cats he was fastidious at grooming. My dad was a bit wary, since I may have glossed over just how huge he was. He stood about 16" high and was a lithe cat, still weighing in at 20 lb. He'd arrived at the cattery without a name, so the ladies there had dubbed him Giles, after the Tolkein story of Farmer Giles of Ham - purely a reference to his farm origins. But he also bore a striking resemblance to some of the cats that made occasional appearances in the wonderful cartoons of Carl Giles, which lampooned family life (my grandmother on my mother's side likewise, but that's another story entirely). Giles remained his name and suited him thoroughly.
We took him home, mindful of the advice which told us he had to be kept in for several days, in order to get used to our house being home. However, he had completely different ideas. He prowled round the various rooms, came back for some fuss (he was affectionate from the start too) and then promptly made a seven foot leap up to the fan light beside the back door in the utility room behind the kitchen and disappeared out. Oops. He was lightning fast and streaked down the garden and disappeared joyfully into the abandoned glasshouse and orchard complex that sat behind the garden. My father, brother and I set out to try and locate him and tempt him back. Meanwhile, my mother decided that she should get the dinner on. She peeled the potatoes, put those on to boil, got the meat out of the fridge and two minutes later, Giles reappeared through the same fan light and sat expectantly at her feet. We stopped worrying about keeping him in at that point. He never grew out of his farm origins, we estimate that he was between two and three years old when we first gained him in our lives. He would regularly go hunting and appear with mice, birds and rabbits. Yes, rabbits, I mentioned that he was a huge cat. This was distressing when it was the fledgling bluetits that had trustingly made their home near the house, but somewhat reassuring when rats were dispatched quickly. In the most case, he ate everything that he caught too - he didn't kill for sport, but as an instinct that had kept him alive when younger. I don't think we underfed him, but I think he'd probably been hungry as a kitten and didn't ever intend to be again. All the running, jumping and pouncing that he did kept him lithe and muscular, anyhow. I recall seeing a bird mistakenly fly into the house - a blackbird, iirc. It flew through the lounge and the cat did a vertical takeoff. He'd been quietly snoozing on the floor in front of the Raeburn, but turned all action on seeing the bird. As I said, vertical jump, around five feet into the air, caught the unfortunate avian in his jaws and broke its neck almost before landing. There were feathers everywhere as he proceeded to pluck and devour it smugly.
He also had a sense of humour. I know that you shouldn't anthropomorphise, but I honestly can't explain his behaviour in any other way. He regularly woke my brother by jumping (from a distance of about six feet) straight into a particular part of his anatomy and then retreating to a safe distance whilst he just sat and watched my poor brother (20lb remember?) groan his way into life. My brother developed a pavlovian response to the door opening of waking and sitting bolt upright immediately. Not for him the indolence of teenage years not waking up - the cat had mastered him. Oh, and being so huge, the cat opened the doors for himself, merely by standing on his backpaws to work the door levers. I suppose that we could have put doorknobs on everything, but I think there was always the fear that the cat would choose to just try to batter the doors down instead. My brother wasn't the only target though. In the garden was an asparagus patch. Around this time of year, the fresh shoots are delicious, but a little later into the year and you have to allow some of the shoots to develop into lovely big ferny plants to photosynthesise and store energy for the following growing season. Giles used to hide in these and wait for my mother or I to walk down the garden carrying something, upon which he would dart out, rear up, put a paw on each hip, bite a buttock and then run off to about six feet away where he would sit and just look at us. If you tried to catch him for chastisement, he'd initiate a mad chase, in which he darted in, whacked your ankles and shot off again. He was way too fast for us and, as I said, seemed to thoroughly enjoy winding us up.
My fate was sealed - two cats that were a huge part of my childhood, with enormous charisma and charm. I've had cats ever since, on and off - Cami was another Siamese but a rescue cat - she'd been bought as a status symbol, rather than a living companion. She was sadly neurotic and agoraphobic as a result, but would consent to cuddle up to me. Sadly she only lasted around three years with me. Gizmo was another character cat, utterly unafraid of anything, but he stayed with the boyfriend that I split up from. Following that, I had two kittens from a friend and colleague (whose cat was the daughter of another friend and colleague's cat) The elder of those two died in a sad incident when she ate a poisoned rat, but her sister lasted a similar length to my marriage (15 years). Akasha passed away before I moved out. We rescued another kitten after Ayesha's death. Scruffy came with me when Drew and I split, but I lost her around this time last year. I'm missing feline companionship, as ever and have now started taking steps towards remedying that. thisispoki is indifferent to cats, he will happily fuss and cuddle them, but doesn't feel the keen need that I do for feline companionship. However, A dear friend has a Burmese, who has been her companion through breast cancer surgery and I took thisispoki with me when I last visited her. He was very taken with the Burmese temperament and short fur (he's a bit fastidious and one of his objections is fur). Whilst we were visiting, the Burmese in question spent most of his time either on my lap if I was sitting, or riding my shoulder when I was walking - objecting quite vociferously if I dared to put him on the floor. So, in deference to thisispoki having less strenous objections, I've got in touch with a breeder of Burmese kittens. She e-mailed me yesterday to let me know that she has blue and brown kittens who will be ready by the end of June. I'll be visiting her soon, to pick out a couple of kittens - more news then. I'm excited and looking forward to having felines back in my life.
At age 11, I took an examination called the eleven plus, effectively an aptitude type test, which is the basis for being accepted to selective schools. I was offered a place at one of the most prestigious grammar schools for girls in the country. My parents were delighted and told me that I could have a treat as a result, expecting me to ask for something like a stereo, or books, or jewellery. I surprised them by begging for another cat - I missed Kula so much. So we duly went to a Cat Protection League - a charity where unwanted cats were taken in order to be rehoused. My father liked a quiet shy female that cowered in the back of the cage. However, at the front of the cage, coming up to meet us, was a huge, beautifully clean black and white tom. When asked, the lovely lady explained that he had been a farm cat. But the farmer's wife had decided to breed Persian cats as a hobby, but he'd been more attentive than she wanted to her pampered Persian queens and she was fed up with little long-haired black and white kittens. So he'd been removed. The cat charities routinely neuter cats taken to them, as they've no wish to allow cats to bring more unwanted kittens into the world, since given a chance, their birth rate is prodigious, with queens regularly having six to eight kittens in a litter. So, he'd been castrated and put in a cage and he was desperate to get out. But he was big and bold and beautiful and I wanted him. My mother was happy, because even in a stressful situation caged with twenty other cats he was fastidious at grooming. My dad was a bit wary, since I may have glossed over just how huge he was. He stood about 16" high and was a lithe cat, still weighing in at 20 lb. He'd arrived at the cattery without a name, so the ladies there had dubbed him Giles, after the Tolkein story of Farmer Giles of Ham - purely a reference to his farm origins. But he also bore a striking resemblance to some of the cats that made occasional appearances in the wonderful cartoons of Carl Giles, which lampooned family life (my grandmother on my mother's side likewise, but that's another story entirely). Giles remained his name and suited him thoroughly.
We took him home, mindful of the advice which told us he had to be kept in for several days, in order to get used to our house being home. However, he had completely different ideas. He prowled round the various rooms, came back for some fuss (he was affectionate from the start too) and then promptly made a seven foot leap up to the fan light beside the back door in the utility room behind the kitchen and disappeared out. Oops. He was lightning fast and streaked down the garden and disappeared joyfully into the abandoned glasshouse and orchard complex that sat behind the garden. My father, brother and I set out to try and locate him and tempt him back. Meanwhile, my mother decided that she should get the dinner on. She peeled the potatoes, put those on to boil, got the meat out of the fridge and two minutes later, Giles reappeared through the same fan light and sat expectantly at her feet. We stopped worrying about keeping him in at that point. He never grew out of his farm origins, we estimate that he was between two and three years old when we first gained him in our lives. He would regularly go hunting and appear with mice, birds and rabbits. Yes, rabbits, I mentioned that he was a huge cat. This was distressing when it was the fledgling bluetits that had trustingly made their home near the house, but somewhat reassuring when rats were dispatched quickly. In the most case, he ate everything that he caught too - he didn't kill for sport, but as an instinct that had kept him alive when younger. I don't think we underfed him, but I think he'd probably been hungry as a kitten and didn't ever intend to be again. All the running, jumping and pouncing that he did kept him lithe and muscular, anyhow. I recall seeing a bird mistakenly fly into the house - a blackbird, iirc. It flew through the lounge and the cat did a vertical takeoff. He'd been quietly snoozing on the floor in front of the Raeburn, but turned all action on seeing the bird. As I said, vertical jump, around five feet into the air, caught the unfortunate avian in his jaws and broke its neck almost before landing. There were feathers everywhere as he proceeded to pluck and devour it smugly.
He also had a sense of humour. I know that you shouldn't anthropomorphise, but I honestly can't explain his behaviour in any other way. He regularly woke my brother by jumping (from a distance of about six feet) straight into a particular part of his anatomy and then retreating to a safe distance whilst he just sat and watched my poor brother (20lb remember?) groan his way into life. My brother developed a pavlovian response to the door opening of waking and sitting bolt upright immediately. Not for him the indolence of teenage years not waking up - the cat had mastered him. Oh, and being so huge, the cat opened the doors for himself, merely by standing on his backpaws to work the door levers. I suppose that we could have put doorknobs on everything, but I think there was always the fear that the cat would choose to just try to batter the doors down instead. My brother wasn't the only target though. In the garden was an asparagus patch. Around this time of year, the fresh shoots are delicious, but a little later into the year and you have to allow some of the shoots to develop into lovely big ferny plants to photosynthesise and store energy for the following growing season. Giles used to hide in these and wait for my mother or I to walk down the garden carrying something, upon which he would dart out, rear up, put a paw on each hip, bite a buttock and then run off to about six feet away where he would sit and just look at us. If you tried to catch him for chastisement, he'd initiate a mad chase, in which he darted in, whacked your ankles and shot off again. He was way too fast for us and, as I said, seemed to thoroughly enjoy winding us up.
My fate was sealed - two cats that were a huge part of my childhood, with enormous charisma and charm. I've had cats ever since, on and off - Cami was another Siamese but a rescue cat - she'd been bought as a status symbol, rather than a living companion. She was sadly neurotic and agoraphobic as a result, but would consent to cuddle up to me. Sadly she only lasted around three years with me. Gizmo was another character cat, utterly unafraid of anything, but he stayed with the boyfriend that I split up from. Following that, I had two kittens from a friend and colleague (whose cat was the daughter of another friend and colleague's cat) The elder of those two died in a sad incident when she ate a poisoned rat, but her sister lasted a similar length to my marriage (15 years). Akasha passed away before I moved out. We rescued another kitten after Ayesha's death. Scruffy came with me when Drew and I split, but I lost her around this time last year. I'm missing feline companionship, as ever and have now started taking steps towards remedying that. thisispoki is indifferent to cats, he will happily fuss and cuddle them, but doesn't feel the keen need that I do for feline companionship. However, A dear friend has a Burmese, who has been her companion through breast cancer surgery and I took thisispoki with me when I last visited her. He was very taken with the Burmese temperament and short fur (he's a bit fastidious and one of his objections is fur). Whilst we were visiting, the Burmese in question spent most of his time either on my lap if I was sitting, or riding my shoulder when I was walking - objecting quite vociferously if I dared to put him on the floor. So, in deference to thisispoki having less strenous objections, I've got in touch with a breeder of Burmese kittens. She e-mailed me yesterday to let me know that she has blue and brown kittens who will be ready by the end of June. I'll be visiting her soon, to pick out a couple of kittens - more news then. I'm excited and looking forward to having felines back in my life.