sablonneuse

Toby's Tale

sablonneuse — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 20:27:00 +0100

We first saw Toby's photo in the window of the RSPCA office. He was being cared for in a nearby cattery following an argument with a car and had suffered injuries to his jaw.

He was looking for a new home, he's a tabby and we were hooked. We went to visit him several times until he was pronounced fit enough to come home. He settled in well but eating was a real problem. We found out subsequently that he only ate cat biscuits and, as that was obviously still painful, he was not putting on any weight. I tried freshly cooked and flaked fish, minced chicken and any other delicacies I could think of to tempt him but to no avail.

Not long after he moved in, he disappeared for a few days and we tracked him down to the local pub. When we went to fetch him they reproached us for the fact that he was so thin. They had already thought of adopting him and had named him Rocket. I asked what they had given him to eat during his 'holiday' and they claimed he had tucked into restaurant leftovers and that he liked caviar! We bought him a jar but he was not impressed.

Fortunately, as soon as his mouth healed completely, Toby began to eat heartily and regained his lost weight. He supplemented his cat biscuits with rats and rabbits but would not touch any other catfood - or 'human' food for that matter. The farmer, who lived opposite, was most impressed with Toby's hunting ability but we were concerned about his frequent forays across the road.

He was involved in at least two other 'accidents' to our knowledge and, as he disappeared for days on end on several occasions, he may have had more. One disappearance, on the other hand, had far reaching consequences.

It was a very cold Winter's night and Toby didn't come home. We called him and toured his favourite hunting grounds, shouting and listening. Eventually we went to bed, telling ourselves that he would find a warm bed for the night and come back, large as life the next morning. But he didn't.

The next day was a Saturday. No school, so I stayed in bed a bit longer. The Bear went out as soon as it was light to look for Toby. I woke up to sounds of banging and shouting and went downstairs to find the Bear on the ground outside the front door. He had slipped on the ice in the field behind our house, injured his knee, and, unable to stand up, had dragged himself on his elbows, back to the house. He reckoned it had taken him half an hour.

I managed to help him inside, put blankets under and round him and phoned Jay to come and help get him into an armchair. An ambulance came to take him to hospital - the new hospital which had only been open a couple of weeks - and we waited for hours in casualty, with the Bear on a very hard and uncomfortable trolley.

By that afternoon they had diagnosed a torn quadriceps but couldn't decide whether or not a bit of kneecap was broken. The Bear was in a lot of pain but they wouldn't give him any medication - or any food or drink - until they knew what was happening. It was around five o'clock before they told us that they would not operate until the next day but they were waiting to find a bed. At least, they brought us both a sandwich and a drink but, by this time, Bear was getting desperately uncomfortable on his trolley and his efforts to have a pee caused him agony. You'd think a chap could place a bottle on his willy and perform, whatever the position, if he were that desperate, but Bear needed to be upright and his leg wouldn't let him stand!

After the operation Bear was in plaster from his foot to his bum for six weeks - and very uncomfortable with it. His right knee has never been the same since,

And Toby? He wandered back the morning after the operation, dusty, hungry and thirsty but otherwise unscathed. He is still the Bear's favourite cat. Nowadays he is less keen on hunting and spends most of the day curled up in a warm place or chasing the 'girls'. He sleeps on our bed and wakes me up when he wants to go out in the morning. He must be about 14 but we hope he will stay in good health for a long time to come.

The Terrible Twins

sablonneuse — Sat, 21 Oct 2006 13:19:00 +0200

We saw the advert in the petshop window, "Tabby girls for sale" and I just had to make a note of the number.

We telephoned and found that the family lived in the village where I taught at the school so we knew the road and pulled up outside a pleasant bungalow.

A very nice lady greeted us and we went inside to meet the mummy cat and her kittens. There were three little ones, a grey tabby whom they had decided to keep and two 'normal coloured' tabbies with white bibs and socks. Their fur was beautifully soft and shiny and they were both lively and inquisitive.

How could we choose between them? We bought them both.

They came home and took over immediately: no sign of nervousness whatsover. They explored with their paws and noses and appeared to react favourably to their new house and family. Toby accepted them right away and allowed them to cuddle up with him and suck his fur. Kipper took a bit longer to accept the lively newcomers.

We named them Mustard and Pepper. The easiest way to tell one from the other was that Pepper had a slightly longer 'sock' on her back right leg.

The vet was most impressed with our kittens when they went for their vaccinations and when the time came for their 'operation' we were anxious all day until we could bring them home again.

"They may be a bit sleepy and not very hungry at first" we were warned, but within a very short time the pair of them were chasing each other all round the house and climbing up the curtains.

We were so pleased that we had kept both of them. They played, explored and slept together and it was as if they gave each other confidence. Toby took over as surrogate mum and even attempted to take them hunting. One day I watched as he led them through the long grass in the field behind the house, stalking birds.

Suddenly, Mustard could stand the suspense no longer. She leapt forward and all the birds flew away. The twins watched in amazement as the objects of the chase took to the air while Toby slunk off in disgust.

It was the twins who were the first to come and live in France. The rented house where we lived had no garden, but busy roads at the front and back, so they had to stay indoors. They soon got used to it and would sit on the window sill watching the birds on the garage roof or vie for position on the radiators.

The only problem was when they decided to use the wallpaper as a scratching post. We had to repaper the hall when we left.

They are still very close, often washing each other and cuddling up together, but, at the same time they have become more independant and will go off and 'do their own thing'. Mustard often chooses to sleep in our bedroom while Pepper prefers the armchair in the living room. Mustard is more adventurous outside and will go through the fence into the neighbour's garden while Pepper is content to stay in 'her own backyard'.

They took their time in accepting the French kittens but are now willing to play with them and have even been known to sleep on the same chair or on the bed together.

However, they have always been unpleasant to Holly and there are often spitting matches if she goes near one of them. They also gang up on her at times. I've no idea why.

They will be ten this May - quite middle-aged in cat years - maybe not quite so playful as when they were kittens but just as loveable - most of the time.

Holly on 'her' armchair

sablonneuse — Wed, 30 Aug 2006 15:02:00 +0200

Holly used to belong to the Bear's grandaughter but her dad wasn't into cats. He agreed to look after a friend's dog during the Christmas holiday some years back and Holly came to stay with us. She settled in well with the others and we were sorry when she had to go home.

Some months later the family decided to get a dog of their own and we were asked if Holly could come and live with us permanently. We readily agreed but the rest of the cats were much less welcoming this time. It was almost as though they were prepared to accept her as a temporary guest - but full-time residency was another matter. The twins were particularly aggressive - and remain hostile to this day - but after some initial growling ,Toby, Kipper and Ludwig grew to tolerate her even if it wasn't with open paws.

Poor Holly developed a 'hunted' look and was always on her guard against being leapt on or chased but she, in her turn, became a bit of a bully when younger cats joined the household. Parsley and Chloe (kittens acquired in France) are very wary of her. She has a habit of lying in wait under the bushes and jumping out on them when they are innocently chewing grass.

She also likes to hide round corners ready to pounce on our legs as we walk past.

Holly will never use the same litter tray as the others and has been known to wee in the sink, on any newspaper left lying around, and even on the computer! She will only come on our laps when we sit on 'her' armchair and she will never attempt to sleep on our bed. However, given half a chance, she will dart upstairs and sleep on top of anyone who leaves their bedroom door open. Unfortunately, she dribbles . . . . .

Now that she is no longer the 'new girl' she has become less stressed and spends more time curled up comfortably indoors. She has put on weight over the last year and has a gorgeous, shiny coat. I'd like to think she is happily settled in France now.

Chloe

sablonneuse — Wed, 14 Feb 2007 14:42:00 +0100

You can read about Chloe here .

Parsley with her 'mouse'

sablonneuse — Fri, 10 Nov 2006 09:21:00 +0100

It started with an advert in the local shop which, roughly translated, read 'Tabby cat - 2 months old - to give away'.

The word tabby always draws me but we waited another month to see if she found a home. After all, we already had five cats. By August no-one had claimed her so we rang the number and found that she was in the next village. We went there straight away and were welcomed by a very pleasant retired couple. It seemed that after being rejected by her mother, the kitten had lived most of her short life in the attic.

Monsieur went to fetch her and we were hooked immediately. While I cuddled her we were offered an aperitif and the information that she liked raw meat and bread and that she had a few fleas. A few! She was covered in them. They were even crawling over her face.

We brought her home and administered Frontline and then I began picking off the doped 'beasties' and dropping them in a bowl of water. There were 119 in the first session and, although I didn't count the next time, about the same again. The poor little creature didn't fully appreciate the attention but seemed to realise that it was alleviating her itches.

We named her Parsley and she began life in her new home with the rest of the family. Toby was the first to accept the new baby, the twins took longer, Holly decided that she definitely didn't like the newcomer and Kipper, who was ill, didn't take much notice. (Poor Kipper became so ill he had to be put to sleep a few months later).

Parsley was very nervous at first and hid behind the oven whenever we had a visitor but now she is willing to come and greet people and let them stroke her. She tries very hard to 'help' when I'm cooking and has to be banished to the conservatory and it's very difficult to refuse her titbits when a little white paw appears on the edge of the table during meals.

It's true that she loves bread - to chase round the room - but she can smell meat or fish from anywhere in the house and appears at my side whenever I open a bag containing freshly minced beef from the local shop.

She is the one most likely to come on my lap of an evening but now that the heating is on all the cats vie for positions on the radiators and she often gets the best seat on the one behind the armchair.

She also loves sitting on the computer, tail dangling down over the screen.