If I had instant access to emojis I would add that one here. Imagine it, OK ?
I have given the small creature the wrong name.
How could I ?!
Well, I did.
Line drawn under.
Now for the new name !
Australia’s marsupials are, by and large, extremely appealing animals; and the bettong is definitely amongst ’em.
So my new small friend and companion –
– who is NOT spoiled already, has, with our entry into Eastern Daylight Saving Time, become Mr B. Bettong. Or, if you prefer, B. Bettong, Esq., NFP. *
However, seeing as how we never use our moggies’ formal names, he is forever to be known as
and don’t you forget it !
(Don’t you just love it ?!)
* Neatly Folded Paws
… sitting in my recliner chair with my laptop on my lap (strangely), and Someone decides it’s HIS laptop:
Dunno how long he would’ve sat there, but I feared what keys were being pressed under his furry little (_|_). And I was right:
for although it was easy to shut down all the windows he’d opened and get out of aeroplane mode, I found I could no longer type and had to re-start the PC. Ah, life with A Very Young Cat ! :)
Then he simply got onto my lap (sans laptop) and looked at me. So I picked him up in my arms, and after about two seconds’ stiffening, he relaxed completely, curled up and went to sleep. I sat there holding him for 1½ hours !, during which time he did change position, but only to burrow his little face into the crook of my right elbow.
Gosh, life’s tough with A Very Young Cat. :)
Eventually I woke him up, telling him that I was hungry; and we both had some breakfast. He managed to leap from the laptop
onto the dining-room table and sniffed at my toasted pita with butter and marmalade, wanting of course !) to lick the butter off; but I selfishly didn’t let him. Pfuh !
So it was obviously time to play:
and now we’re both exhausted. Sort of.
How can a wee moggy be so GAME ?
I have four photos for you: the first two taken out at the ever-so-pretty house in which Kaye and Scott live with their … ahh … tribe of animals.
They have three dogs of their own and a cat – a long-haired tortie; and for the last while this number has been augmented by five foster cats: Annie (the only female), Tabby, Scotty, Giorgio and Wobbles.
You see what I mean !
You should SEE how these moggies are looked after ! If I could believe that all the cat fosterers in the country looked after their charges as well as this, I would be a very contented old fart. I need scarcely add that Kaye and Scott’s own animals are … hmm … doted on ? Spoiled ? Members of the family ? All of those. :)
My very kind and generous-with-her-time-and-car friend J was able to sit on the floor à la Japanese as does Kaye whenever she’s in their room (the toys ! – the tunnels ! – the rugs she’s made for each ! – the stick-on window platforms and the climber towers !), but I can’t do that because there weren’t two large men to heave me back onto my feet. We spent an hour and a quarter in there with them all while I dithered and became anxious about various aspects of future cat-care. And then I decided: the youngest and the most feisty, as well as he who’d been there the least time, is “Wobbles”.
Is he good-looking or is he good-looking ? How would YOU like to be held onto by a huge old broad, right up there off the floor, eh ?
So J drove us home, after Kaye insisted that I take some of the food he’s used to eating, in case he needs the continuity for a while. Oh – plus a blanket she’d made for him, and a toy tail on a stick. Kaye was in fact distressed at being parted from him, horrible woman that she is; but happy that the poor little bugger is going to be clutched and kissed and loved on for the rest of his days.
So. We got here and I carried him inside. He leaped out of his carrier and went instantly into EXPLORE ! mode. He walked everywhere within the unit, not fazed by anything; and during this Excellent Adventure he went into the bathroom and used the kitty-litter and came out again, as if he’d been here for a week ! Then he sat in the sun for a bit by the door out into the side yard:
and then, having discovered the thrill of the bottom of the vertical blinds in my front window and played there for a short while, he decided it was time for a nap. So he jumped up on the couch, briefly inspected the soft cat-couch sitting on one end of it, and opted for my tunisian entrelac throw:
But as of 15′ ago, he has been curled up and sound asleep ! And I can’t get another shot because (1) I’d wake him if I got nearer, and (2) I can’t shoot across the big band of light coming in from the side door.
There will be Other Occasions. [grin]
And this I hope very much indeed will not cause Kaye any unhappiness, but I am changing his name. It is now Cam.
Two linked reasons:
- my very favourite author of all times is Peter Temple, who wrote the totally sublime Jack Irish books from which the dreadful TV series was made;
- my very favourite actor for now is Aaron Pedersen, who played the character of Cameron Delray in all the Jack Irish books. And he was known as ? – yes, Cam.
Cam has already stolen a chunk of my heart. I wonder how long it will take before the rest is gone ?
Because, you know, I MUST have a cat companion. I can’t exist without one, I now know that.
There was a time, after Chic died, when I thought I could: although I’d attempted to follow his subtle instructions for how to manage without him and had two Russian Blues, one after the other, they were disasters (as I wrote). And after on-selling the second one I was convinced I was OK without.
Then Leanne-up-the-corridor gave me a small ginger kitty and that was that. I’d got to a point where I could tolerate the movement about me and not give a rat’s arse about the untidiness created. And not only that, but the ineffable comfort ! – oh, the comfort of that little body …
So here’s where I’m at.
A really delightful couple who are fosterers for Project Meow (remember ?) came by yesterday with regard to my wish to adopt (cough !) Darling Scotty.
He looks incredibly like a tabby I once had, with his anxious eyes, whose name was Dr McCoy ! – and I’d also had Captain Kirk and Mr Spock, so this one could be the missing member of the quartet.
I’m off to see him on Tuesday.
And there remains in the mix, still, this feller:
whose name is Odin. He doesn’t look all that fearsome, does he ?! To me, he looks as if he needs to be clutched and kissed on – much as does Scotty. Well, in truth, I would probably do that to any cat as nice-looking as these two.
Although Odin is via a different fostering-out organisation, he too is a Project Meow moggy, I’m happy to say. But the potential problem here is that I have NO IDEA where he is currently living: he could be in Eltham, or bloody Frankston !, for all I know. And if he is on the other side of Melbourne, I shan’t be going to look at him. Why not ? – because I will not cart him all the way from there to Geelong: he would end up in emotional tatters.
So. That’s where I am. I have some hope for a life better than mine has been for the last two weeks.
Odin is out of the equation. His fosterer, a sweet Canadian lass called Stephanie, tells me there are a couple of issues that I, reluctantly having to admit to this alarming number of years and concomitant lack of fitness/ability to be a physical carer, would not be able to surmount. Goodbye, Odin, you beautiful cuddly moggy … But Stephanie has bonded with him, and thinks she will change from being a fosterer to being an owner. :)
It’s looking very like the anxious-eyed one will become the h’object of my h’affections, then, eh ? This will depend entirely upon his reaction to me. But I don’t see how ANY cat could resist this large, warm, affectionate cat-platform that is your author …
Yes: what would Nev do ?
As I believe the sun shines from her fundament, I needed to find this out. So, yesterday I took a taxi over there, and found to my delight that there wasn’t a single client+animal combo in sight. I had arrived with my Visa card to pay for the little memorial I’m having made to hold some of Lui’s ashes, and then Chic and he can be side by side.
There was a moment when the two girls who were manning the desk kind of looked at me in polite disbelief. This was when (yet another confession coming up) Bec told me the total amount due and I fell back, alarmed: “But”, I cried, “I didn’t want an individual cremation – just a bit of his ashes, you know ?” Then the look. Short pause. Bec went into the surgery area to speak to Nev, while Ella looked a bit embarrassed. The penny dropped. The revelation hit me: “Nothing of him could be obtained without an individual cremation !” An expression of intense relief came over Ella’s face, and at the same moment Bec came back with My Heroine.
Having repaired (to an extent) my reputation as a human being with a brain, I was then able to put my question to her: do I—“Yes !” she interrupted me: “you do. I know Lui is irreplaceable, but you must replace him !” – with which wondrous conundrum the decision was made.
There’s a totally admirable woman here in Geelong who has set up Project Meow, and a large effort of the project is run by participating vet practices. Ella’s best friend works at one of these, and she gave her a call right away; then came back to say that they actually have a 2-y-o available right now. Alas ! – it’s a female. I’ve had/known nothing but male cats all my life, and I’m used to them; but it was a conversation-continuer, that little mog. In the end the decision is that I am to obtain through this vet practice, a cat that is
- a kitten or not older than 12 months
- a ginger tabby
If you are thinking “Oh, she believes she’ll simply have Lui 2.0”, you’re not absolutely correct. Remember WWND ? – Nev really likes marmalade tabbies (of whom at least 75% are male – did you know ?), and can see no reason at all why I shouldn’t continue the trend started more than 12½ years ago (Lui would have turned 13 in about three weeks’ time): “they’re almost always lovely cats, with great personalities and nice natures”. So that’s it.
There’s the little creature who brought me nothing but joy for all those years – over there in the side column …
I have lost what I’ve loved most in this world since I lost Chic.
Here’s an SMS exchange between me and Nev, starting last evening (Saturday !) at around 7:15 pm.
I lied. I MUST ask you: the underneath of Lui’s paw he can’t leave alone and it’s bloody now. He’s fine except for that, but I don’t think he’ll stop. What should I do, please, Nev ?
Hi I’m sorry I just got your message. Can you bandage at all? Or could we get a plastic cone for him but that doesn’t seems fair.
That came in at ten to 11, but I was out cold by then.
I apologize, Nev. I’m projecting my emotional response to this awful wound onto Lui, who isn’t really fussed about it. Could I take him in tomorrow for someone to clip the two claws and clean and bandage his paw ?
7:40 am that was, but I knew she’d still be asleep. Just wanted the question asked.
Absolutely. So he’s eating and happy enough otherwise ?
8:50 on a Sunday morning !
He is. It’s extraordinary. I can’t look at his paw though, but I’ll have to in case it’s actually bleeding. Thanks for being there to help with … being there.
Not a problem. I’m actually coming into Geelong for lunch today. I could meet you at the clinic this afternoon if you think it needs attention today ?
Hang on – I’ll check …
No, dear Nev – it seems to’ve stopped oozing ! You are the best of women. (hug emoji)
Ok. Well we’ll see where it’s at tomorrow. But let me know if any different today. (hug emoji)
Indeed. Why should you have a day off ?!
Such a pity this already grossly-overworked veterinarian is so selfish, eh ?
Oh, hang on: that’d be me.
The BikerChick may not see this until she gets back from her totally undeserved holiday; but it was her post today that recalled to mind the following list of instructions:
How To Give A CAT A Pill
- Pick up cat and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
- Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
- Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.
- Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
- Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
- Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth Drop pill down ruler and rub cat’s throat vigorously.
- Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
- Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
- Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans, drink 1 beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse’s forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
- Retrieve cat from neighbour’s shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door on to neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
- Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whisky compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw away T-shirt and fetch new one from bedroom.
- Call fire department to retrieve the damn cat from across the road. Apologize to neighbour who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.
- Tie the little bastard’s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour 2 pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
- Consume remainder of scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.
- Arrange for RSPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.
How To Give A DOG A Pill
- Wrap it in bacon.
- Toss it in the air.
I believe I ought add a couple of lines here re my own cat, yes ?
Lui is doing OK. Just fine, actually, considering. His levels of affection have risen noticeably, so that I get all manner of additional cuddling, lucky me !
He does have a worrying tendency to nadge away at the paw with the tumour, and I can’t stop him. It’s even a bit bloody at the tip, under the sole remaining unclipped claw – which I suppose they left because they thought it would hurt him if they tried to clip it. We have an appointment next Thursday evening; and frankly I don’t think they could do anything about this … or shall I be brave and try to clip the claw off myself ?
Nev wasn’t happy with last week’s attempt at a chest X-ray and had another done before performing the biopsy.
She was right: a large dark mass is there on a lung.
No point doing the biopsy: so he won’t have a much more sore paw – for a while, anyway.
The diagnosis is in and the prognosis is obvious.
As always, it’s just a matter of time: it was the same with Chic. And I must couple the two together: each one I have loved with all my heart and then some, regardless of one’s being my husband and lover and the other my cat.
It was Chic who made me understand (eventually) that I should get a cat after he’d gone.
Pain management from now on.
Lung cancer has taken and will take the two beings most deeply imprinted, late, on me.