Cat Base

Three years ago, soon after I moved in here, I got the cats a big base thing, which they turned out to love.

It’s done well in that time, but obviously it’s three years old, so I made the decision to get a new one.

In recognition of the Bengal’s intolerance for change, I was lucky enough to find the same base again, and got it delivered.

It’s all installed now, and the monsters seem to be settling in to using it, even though it obviously all smells different and new and Not Catty.

But my God, the old one was vile – you don’t realise as it’s there day to day, but yeah, dismantling it I got covered in old fur and scabby stuff.

Mind you, if the new one lasts three years too, I’ll be happy.

Mau Down

Back in October 2012, I added Cleo – an Egyptian Mau – to the household. She was an adoptee, where no-one had wanted her from the litter, so I ended up with her.

Yesterday I went out to get some fuel, and while doing so I got a call from a random stranger, which turned out to be from a local vets. Cleo had been found (by the person who drives the local pet ambulance, which is lucky) by the side of the road, having been hit by a car.  She was alive at the time, but apparently died before she got to the vets.

From what I/we can tell, it was all pretty fast, so she wouldn’t have suffered. In some ways I’m sorry I wasn’t there – in others I’m quite glad I wasn’t. I’ve been present when putting a pet to sleep before, and it’s something I’d rather not repeat. (Of course I will when I have to, but still, it’s not a fun experience)  Hearing the news from a stranger over the phone (she was obviously identified from her Microchip) was unpleasant, but I have to say that I think he was more upset than I was.

I am upset by it, but I’ve also been expecting it. I’ve seen her (and the Bengal) run across the road several times, and I know they both roam like demons, so to know it’s happened isn’t a massive surprise.

There’s paperwork to do – insurance etc. – but that’ll be handled tonight. In the meantime, I’ll also have to deal with a very change-averse Bengal, which will be a challenge in and of itself.

I don’t blame the (unknown) driver – I know the speed they dash out to cross the road, I know there’d be no chance to avoid them – although I do think it’s pretty shit to drive off and not even stop. I know, it’s not reportable etc., but when near a parade of less than ten houses, I might at least stop to let the inhabitants know. From the timescales, I was at home at the time, and must’ve just missed the people finding her.

I won’t be looking at getting a replacement (I’m happy to have just the two for the moment) and I won’t be getting back the body/ashes – both of which have always struck me as pretty gruesome, to be honest.

Anyway, it’s all a bit shit, but these things happen.

Carnage – or Gift of “Love” part 2

Following on from my post the other day regarding being greeted on my return home by a pile of feathers, this morning I came downstairs to this…

Three bird corpses on a doormat

Yeah, thanks for that, cats.

The thing that pisses me off the most with this is related to the great lie about “Only humans kill things for fun”. It’s so blatantly untrue. In this case, the cats aren’t hungry, they just wanted to kill things. There was plenty of meat etc. remaining. Foxes do the same – they don’t kill one chicken because they’re hungry – they kill all of them, because it’s fun.

I know, they’re cats. Blah blah blah. But still, a totally pointless piece of killing.

Fuckers.

A Gift of “Love”

Last night, I’d been out at the cinema, and came home to what can only be described as a load of feathers in the front room.

I’m not sure which cat had brought in the bird. From the state of the feathers, it was only a young one, so I’m assuming it had fallen out of a nest somewhere and been brought home.

Far, far more worrying is that I can’t find any sign of the remains. I’ve checked through the living room (including behind the sofa, under book cases etc.) and the rest of the house, but there’s nothing.  Not even the “beak and feet” option, which I’ve seen with other cats in the past.

So it’s either a) escaped, b) been wholly eaten or c) the remains are very well hidden.  B currently seems far more likely, and I’ll only find out about c if/when it starts to smell…

Settled Cats

One thing that has been a surprise this year is how well the cats have settled in to the new house. It’s taken a bit of time to complete the process, but really they were OK with it from Week One.

The Bengal’s been hardest work – she really is surprisingly anti-change, and it takes her a while to get used to things. Bringing Cleo into the mix kind of helped, bizarrely, but also provided more change than she was happy with for a few days. Looking back, I can understand why she’s a bit twitchy, having had four houses in two years, but at least this one is a much longer-term proposition, and she’s settling with realising there’s not going to be any changes for a while.

Even better, we’ve not had any of her legendary protest actions, such as the fabled shit-in-the-bed. That’s definitely a very good thing indeed.

FatCat, the British Shorthair, has been the easiest to settle. She’s really just happy to be wherever I am. She can be a bit demanding when she wants a fuss, but for the most part she’s just quite a contented cat. So long as she gets her affection when she wants it, that’s fine.

And Cleo, well, she’s never known any different. She’s settled in, doing fine after her surgery, and generally back to normal.

Cat Recovery

Cleo, the Egyptian Mau, came back from the vets fine. She handled it all really well – far better than the Bengal did a couple of years back. Indeed, I’m not bleeding at all, which is a major improvement.

As it was, she went into the cat carrier on the first go (I’d left it out for the last couple of days, so they were used to seeing it, and it wasn’t New Thing) without a struggle, and went to the vets fine. Gobby, but fine.

The same applied on her return – no real problems, just gobby while being driven. She’d been given one of the Collars of Shame, which the other cats (and I) found hilarious, but she really couldn’t cope with it at all, so that’s gone for the moment. If she licks the cut too much, the collar will go back on, but so far she’s been OK with it.

Weirdly, the Bengal though has gone back to hating Cleo, and growling at her like the semi-wild animal she is. I assume that it’s because of smelling different, having been to the vets, being handled by different people, and perhaps even her scent has been altered by the drugs used in surgery. I don’t know – she’ll get used to it again, though, and all will be well.

Anyway, it’s all done, so now just the recovery process. The after-care information from the vets is pretty comprehensive, and reckons she should be all sorted within the week. I’ll keep an eye on her during that time, but the initial signs are all positive.

Getting Done

To top things off after the long drive yesterday, today I’m up early in order to get Cleo (AKA “Newest Cat”) to the vets, as it’s time for her to get spayed/neutered. (I can never remember which is which – I think it’s spaying)

The worst bit is, of course, not being able to feed them for 12 hours before going to the vets. Cleo is – to be nice – a stomach on legs at the moment, so nothing for 12 hours means she’s been yelling like a towncrier since about four this morning.

She’ll be back late today, and then we’ll see where we go from there.

Booked In

A couple of months back now, I got a new addition to the cat collection, an Egyptian Mau who I’ve named Cleo.  (Obvious, but such is life)

She’s an adoption, is now about seven months old, and has settled in well with the other two monsters. Oh, and utterly gorgeous…

Anyway, it’s coming up to the time when she needs spaying/neutering (can’t remember which it is) so I booked it in today – for the start of December. Get me, Mr Organised.

The bit that isn’t going to be fun is that she can’t eat anything for 12 hours beforehand – and of course if one can’t eat, neither can the others. So that’s going to be one long night of whinging moggies…

New Addition

Over the weekend, the household gained a new occupant.

Alongside me, The Bengal, and The British Shorthair, I’ve now adopted an Egyptian Mau as well.

And that’s enough!

Gone Huntin’

Over the weekend, Cricket (the silver Bengal) escaped from the house, and went walkabout.

It was my fault – a combination of an open bathroom window, and a door that hadn’t been properly closed – but it meant the little sod was out’n’about. She’s not used to it – we live near a very busy road, so the cats don’t go out as a matter of course – which meant I was pretty worried about her all told.

Thankfully, the back of the house rolls onto field, hedgerows, trees and the like, so the odds were that she’d stay on that side – and hopefully not stray too far in the interest of finding other New Fun Things.

We went out several times to try and see/find the little bugger, but with no real joy. Lots of bird alarm calls around the place, but no sign. At night I went out with a torch, and could see her eyes reflecting from way inside some of the undergrowth, but she wasn’t coming back ’til she was good and ready.

She did eventually come back – at 1am – and all’s been well. She spent most of Sunday trying to get out again whenever possible, but that’s no surprise.

Evil little sod

Neutered

Forgot to say, Cricket came back fine, and she’s been doing OK since.

The incision’s pretty much healed up, and the fur’s growing back, so all’s good.

And she’s a lot more relaxed again now, thankfully.

Cricket and Madgit, asleep and intertwined

Neutering

Over the last week or so, Cricket (the silver Bengal) has been going through her first ‘season’, and it’s not been good for her.

She’s yowled all round the house, sprayed, yowled, had the shits, and generally been deeply unhappy. I’ve found it really upsetting to see her handling it all so badly, and it’s not something I want her (or, selfishly, us) to go through again.

So today she’s at the vets, getting ‘done’.

Of course, that involves getting her into the cat carrier. Which, with a Bengal, is a bit of a struggle.

The first time round, she escaped from M’s arms, ripped all the way round M, and disappeared.

Second time, I got her, and held her tight while we got her into the cage. Her back legs were down by my right hip, and she was held tight. Somehow, she ended up twisting round and I now have a deepish cut from her back claws in the left side of my neck, and other clawmarks all round my left shoulder-blade. Impressive.

She’s at the vets now, and I’m half expecting a call saying “Can you come and get your cat out of the ceiling tiles”. She is emphatically Not Happy. And Very Sharp.

Cat Stand

About three weeks ago, I bought a ‘play centre’ for my cat, Cricket. It’s a cool thing, about 4′ high, on three levels.

Cat Activity Centre

The layer at the top is all padded as a cat bed, but for whatever reason Cricket never used it. Bizarre. Mind you, cats are never good at doing what they’re supposed to.

Anyway, I brought the stand back into the living room this weekend (it’d been on the stairs for while I was out at work) and she’s been on the sleeping pad ever since.

Cricket on the cat stand

I don’t know why she’s suddenly realised it’s comfortable and warm on the stand, but it’s definitely suddenly flavour of the month.

Cricket Update

While things are quiet, enjoy the latest photo of Cricket, the Silver Bengal.

Cricket

She really is utterly beautiful, and beginning to like me enough to come and sit on me. With Bengals (as Fabulous Lorraine says here in a fantastic post) affection is very much on their terms, like it or lump it. Cricket’s starting to trust and accept me, and that is A Very Good Thing.

New Addition

One of the major birthday occurrences was a new addition to the house.

Curled up and wary

She’s a silver bengal, and utterly beautiful.

Close-Up

Originally called Wilhemina (from Ugly Betty – beautiful, but a complete bitch) she’s now likely to be called Cricket – she bounces round the bed attacking anything, jumping like a grasshopper. Hence, Cricket. (One could also speculate she’s bats)

Fangs

Welcome Home

When you’ve been out for the day, walking on beaches like this…

Wells Beach

What you really want is to come home to a picture like this…

Welcome Home, from your happy smiling cat

And yes, that is one of Herself’s handbags that the little shit is sitting on/in.

Irritation

Following on from that hornet sting over the weekend – from which thankfully I haven’t had any unpleasant side-effects, results, or pain – I can honestly say the following from experience.

• Hornet stings hurt like fuck. It’s not agony, nor broken-bone type pain, but it’s certainly bloody unpleasant.
• Anti-histamines don’t do a great deal are bloody marvellous. (This got edited, because I didn’t think they’d done much, but on thinking more about it, the anti-histamine cream and tablet probably contributed a lot to it not being unpleasant for longer. Also, the tablets have helped with reducing the itching, a couple of days later)
• Once everything else is done, they itch like a total bastard.

I’m in the “itching” stage at the moment. Don’t know whether it signifies anything else, but Jesus God, it’s irritating.

Too Damn Hot

You know it’s too damn hot in the house when even the cat is sprawled out on the table, complaining he’s hot.

Comfortable(ish) but too hot

Mind you, he does look like an evil little git…

Glowering, evil little monster

Tired

Hound woke me up at 5am today. In fairness, she was obviously dying for a shit, because she belted out of the back door when I opened it, and copped a squat pretty much immediately.

Needless to say, I’m a) knackered, b) grouchy and c) not really with it.

Hopefully by the time I get home I’ll be slightly more awake, as I’ve got some work to do for another client.

Evil Shite

Another picture of Psycho Cat.

The Sleeping Demon

Now really, would you stroke this cat?

Targetting the camera

Sleeping Cat – again

Yet again, Psycho Cat is sleeping in very strange places.  I swear he likes being uncomfortable.

In the first instance, Herself was cleaning up in the kitchen, and put the kitchen chairs upside down on the table. Twenty minutes later…

In the framework, no padding, nothing.

Then today, outside the front of the house…

And inside the framework of a pallet.

Bizarre beast

Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie

On the theme of sleeping animals, Hound has a decidedly odd sleeping method when she’s properly asleep.

Hound, fast asleep by the back door

She sleeps on her side, legs straight out. It doesn’t look comfortable, but she seems to be OK with it. Bizarrely, she can also sleep curled up on a chair or whatever, but this is definitely her preferred sleeping posture.

Hound, sleeping on the grass

Sleeping Cat

Over the weekend, we left a quilt/throwover thing in a laundry basket in the utility room, waiting for it to be put into the washing machine the next morning.

When we got in there, this is what we found…

Cat sleeping on the quilt in the basket

A more close-up view of the little sod…

Cat closeup in the basket

We’ve lived here for three years now, and the furry little fuckpot has never slept in the utility room. Now though, he’s been in there for two nights on the trot.

I despair of these sodding animals, I swear.

Comfortable

As I’ve said before, sometimes I wonder if the new suite we bought was actually just for the animals to be comfortable.

This one was taken over the weekend, while we were watching the Eurovision results – never bother watching the songs (except maybe that last couple if we get the timing wrong) but the results are usually good for a laugh. Depressingly Grahm Norton is nowhere near as funny on them as Terry Wogan was, but still it’s an amusing hour.

*Very* relaxed

Strange Beast

Not content with being a pain in the arse in general, last night Psycho Cat decided to sleep on the kitchen table.

No idea why, and he looked totally pissed off and angry about it this morning. Bear in mind there’s a comfortable sofa-bed he could’ve slept on, or any of the furniture in the living room.  But no, the kitchen table was the location of choice.

Sleeping, on the kitchen table, right up against a rucksack. Strange Beast.

Hard Life

It’s a tough life, being a Psycho Cat…

Move from sunny spot to sunny spot, stretch and sleep

Return of Psycho Cat

While we were away, we had someone else looking after House, Psycho Cat and Chickens. She brought her own dog and Psycho Cat hated it, so it turned out that Psycho Cat stayed over at one of our neighbours.

It’s been one of the things about the road we now live in, that all the houses seem to be some kind of dormitory for cats – we regularly have visits from the neighbour’s cats, and Psycho Cat goes round there. In the run of eight houses I think there’s four that have cats, and they all seem to get on OK. (There’s at least one feral bastard around who tries to impose himself too, but in general that hasn’t been successful) So while we were away Psycho Cat has been at the neighbour’s place, and hasn’t been seen at home at all.

I went round to the neighbour’s place yesterday to let them know we’re back, and that it was fine to throw him out.

He’s returned today and is deeply deeply pissed off. He’s checking around the house to see if the other dog’s around, and generally making more noise than is usual, even for Psycho Cat. Hopefully he’ll have calmed down a bit by tonight.

Huge Egg

One of the chickens – I don’t know which one, as two of them lay eggs that look very similar – appears to have decided she’s a goose or something.

This is what we got yesterday. Apologies for the ropy photo, it was done quickly on the mobile rather than using a proper camera.

Goliath Egg

I’m sure it’s a double-yolker, but all the same, that’s one impressive egg…

[Updated 13/4/10 : Forgot to say, it was a double-yolker, and we haven’t had any more since. I’m hoping it was a rarity rather than the death-knell mentioned by a couple of commenters]

Another Cat

No, we haven’t got another cat – but it does look like another one has been added to the neighbourhood’s collection of cats.

The evidence? This, outside the back door today…

Psycho Cat facing off the new cat

That’s Psycho Cat facing off the new addition, having already kicked him out of the cat flap.

The noise that was being made was unholy – and mainly from Psycho Cat – and the altercation ended up with Psycho Cat chasing Ginger Bastard off and up the nearest fence.

I suspect it won’t be the last time this happens, there’ll be more time for more catfights before the proper pack structure (or whatever cats use in place of a pack, I dunno) is established.

Unbelievable

Hard to believe that these two normally appear to hate each other, isn’t it?

Studiously ignoring each other

It’s a bit of a ropy image – I may have a play and see if I can get a better copy, but it came off Herself’s iPhone, so it’s not great in low light anyway.

Yuck

Few things say “Good Morning” like putting your foot into a still-warm pool of dog vomit in the dark.

Mind you, I suppose it can only improve from here.  It’d fucking better improve from here, anyway. If it gets any worse I’m going to give up completely.

Beach Aftermath

After yesterday’s visit to the beach, this is how Hound spent her evening…

Sleeping on the sofa, knackered from her run on the beach

She’s getting old, knackered after only an hours running about.

Changing Behaviour

Yet again, the animals have proved this weekend that they are very very weird.

In at least the last six years, Psycho Cat has never come into the living room – he’s always been a solitary little bastard, only really coming in to the bedroom for a fuss or a stroke at night. In Bracknell his domain was always upstairs, and here he’s got one room where the dog never goes, and free run of the rest. But he’s still never come in to the living room.

This weekend though, that’s all changed. With the new living-room furniture, he’s been in to sit on both of us at one time or another. Hound isn’t really happy about this – she’s used to having dominion over Herself’s time in particular, so there’s been some serious jealousy going on.

As I type this, Hound’s lying in her basket in one corner of the room, and Psycho Cat is asleep (and purring) down by the side of my leg. This is, frankly, unheard of.

I’ve no idea what’s changed Psycho Cat’s mind about this state of affairs. It’s  not necessarily the new furniture, because we’ve done that before and he didn’t change his behaviour.  I’m not complaining though – it’s just very very weird.

Cat Shaving

Recently we had the annual shaving of the cat.

He’s a Turkish Van, and we find that with the season change his winter coat starts coming out, only to clag up with the new fur underneath, leading to lumps of fur like dreadlocks. So every year, off he goes to the vets to get all the lumps cut out. And this is what he looks like today…

Yes, he is as furious as he looks

Longer Days, Shorter Nights

One of the things that’s been good about the end of January has been seeing the days lengthening again. I know, it’s something that happens every year, and every year I appreciate it.

Over the weekend I was able to go out and give corn to the chickens at 4.30. A couple of weeks previously it was already dark by then, and they were getting locked up for the night at that time. In the mornings when I go up to let them out before I leave for work I now don’t need to take the torch up with me in order to do so.

It’s now dark at about 5.30 or so, and getting better every day. Soon I’ll be able to see the house in daylight when I leave and when I come back. (Currently it’s OK when I leave, pitch-black when I get home)

This is A Very Good Thing.

Flat Cap

One of the jobs this weekend involved replacing the cat-flap in the back door.

During the cold-spell, the plastic of the cat-flap itself got brittle, and one part of it snapped off. Wedging it back in was fine until one of the cats went through it, at which point the sodding thing fell to the floor.

In the end we covered the gap with cardboard, just to stop the draught and preventing all the heat in the house escaping. This obviously caused some annoyance in Psycho Cat, which he demonstrated in his normal charming fashion.

We had tried a flap from another manufacturer, but that didn’t work at all. So on Saturday I went down to the local pet store, and found that they have flaps made by CatMate. They didn’t have just the spare doors (and even the online stores appear to be out of stock) so I ended up getting a complete new catflap, although we only needed the door itself.

It’s all sorted now, and the job’s complete – it’d just be nice for these things to not be such a complete faff all the time. Oh, and that flap is supposed to be unbreakable, too – so we’ll try sending it off to the manufacturers, and see what happens.

Sleeping Hound

This is a perfect example of why sometimes it can be really funny to have Hound around, despite how fucking annoying she can be on other occasions…

At this point she was fast asleep...

Yes, fast asleep, leaning out of the basket. No good reason.

And despite the reflection of the camera flash from her eye, she was asleep. Bizarre beast.

Fireworks Done

Another year of firework displays is now over, thank god.

We had a couple of nearby displays this year – compared to none last year – but thankfully Hound seemed to handle them fine this time, for just about the first time ever. Compared to five years ago when she had a nervous breakdown during fireworks weekend, that’s pretty fucking miraculous.

Of course, she’s now on more types of pills than I can think of – compared to none five years ago – which certainly also make a big difference.  She’s also been on a new one over the last month called Zylkene, which seems to be having a good effect on her.

Anyway, it’s over now ’til New Years Eve, so we might get some peace.

Wanted?

Sometimes I wonder whether the animals at home actually want to get rid of me.

In the last twelve hours, for example, I’ve dealt with Psycho Cat puking at 4am, Hound puking at 7am, and Hound trying to deal me a nip for no good reason at all this morning.

All told, it really makes you wonder whether they actually want to see me back at all.

Be Afraid

Currently, Psycho Cat is Not Amused with us – and we don’t know why. He’s just in an utterly foul mood, not even sleeping on the bed at the moment. As a result, this is the kind of thing we’re living with at the moment…

You want to try moving him?

And if he sleeps outside, it’ll be on one of our cars, like this…

Asleep on the wipers

Aren’t we lucky?

Missing Moggy

Currently, Psycho Cat is missing – he had a bad day yesterday, which involved being stuck halfway up a neighbour’s tree for most of the afternoon.  He got down with a bit of assistance in the end, but we haven’t seen him since.

I’m fairly sure he’s just in a grouch about it all, particularly in conjunction with his vet visit last week, but all the same, it’s a bit of a concern.

UPDATED : OK, found the little sod now. No idea where he’d been, but he was up annoying the chickens.  So all’s OK, I’m pleased to say.

Vet Results

Psycho Cat came back fine in the end – although the General Anaesthetic leaves him a twitchy, drooling wreck for the remainder of the day.

The lumps turned out to be serious clumps of fur, from the look of it – Psycho Cat hasn’t let us near him yet to check it out properly. Whatever, they haven’t needed surgical removal or anything. No bad thing, as I suspect Psycho Cat would never forgive us in that circumstance.

So all’s back to normal – or at least as close to it as we ever get.

And tomorrow is another long drive, down to Oxfordshire for my father’s 65th birthday, and then back home in the evening. Joy of  joys.

Vet Visit

Today, Psycho Cat is at the vets again.

Primarily it’s another de-matt (AKA “getting shaved”) as he’s ended up totally gunked up again down his belly and left-hand-side. We don’t know where he’s been going, or what he’s been doing to get in such a state, but it’s been pretty annoying for him.

Also, for whatever reason, while he’s quite happy to let us brush out his right-hand side, attempting to do the same on the left results in a full-on attack with claws and teeth. I know, as the scratches on my right hand have only just healed. There’s a couple of lumps in the fur that seem to cause him pain – we don’t yet know if these lumps are just really tightly-packed matts of fur, or if they’re something under the skin, so that’s something that’ll be checked out at the vets at the same time.

Because the cat is such a fucking Psycho, he needs to have a general anaesthetic while he’s being done – the last time someone tried doing it without the GA, they ended up needing a visit to the doctors themselves to get stitches and a tetanus shot.

However, having the GA means that the fuzzy little bastard isn’t supposed to eat after 9pm the previous evening. And you just try telling a cat that.

So come 4am this morning, all we had was whining and whinging from Psycho Cat that he was hungry. And boy, does he make a production job of it. There’s no way to sleep through it – it’s the full-on yowls of “Hungry. Feed Me!” coupled with scratching on the wicker chair in the bedroom (conveniently also guaranteed to wake Hound up) and jumping on the bed in order to yell closer to us.

In short, he’s a little shit. It’s not even like he’s actually hungry – he just wants to have a couple of mouthfuls of food when He wants, rather than when we say he can. And if he can’t have the food, he’ll make a complete pain in the arse of himself ’til he can.

Still, he’s at the vets now, so I guess that’s punishment enough for being a little fucker last night…

New Visitors

This week, we appear to have some new regular visitors to the house/garden…

• A pair of mallard ducks, who seem to like the front garden. The drake appears to have one leg shorter than the other (he limps) so he’s already been christened “Stumpy“
• A pair of pheasants, who also seem to like the front garden
• The two black-and-white cats from down the road seem to be becoming more friendly with Psycho Cat, and they’ve been found inside the house a few times. (The ‘benefit’ of a cat-flap)  These two have been named “Ninja Bob” and “Scaredy Bob”, for reasons I can’t be arsed to go into right now.
• A new black-and-white from somewhere else has also been seen today. He’s been christened “Not Bob” (or, in my techie notation “!Bob”)

I don’t know how these new visitors will all shape up. I suspect that Stumpy and his mate are looking for somewhere to nest, as are the pheasants. They’ve all certainly found the supply of bird food etc. on the front grass (Calling it a “lawn” would be too fancy) which is probably a factor.  Of course, how that’ll factor in with the influx of moggies at the moment, gawd only knows…

Cat Shaving

Today’s the day of the annual cat-shaving farce.

As per last year’s comedy, I suspect he’s going to come back looking like a poodle – and well-deserved it is too.

The entire thing is caused by his long hair. Once spring comes, the winter fur starts to come out to be replaced with the shorter summer fur – but it all gets badly tangled up into existing fur, and he ends up simply disgusting, with clumps and matted fur, almost like dreadlocks.

So off he goes to the vets for the day, to go under General Anaesthetic (the only way to safely do this job without getting bitten/scratched/assaulted) get shaved/trimmed, and then we’ll get back a significantly trimmed-down cat this evening. He’ll be in an utterly foul mood – more so than usual – and starving hungry due to not having had any food since midnight. He’s already been foul today – when he wants food and it’s not down, he just yells, and yells, and yells. That’s been from 5.30 this morning.

He knows something’s happening, but doesn’t quite know what. Well, he will now, as Herself will have delivered him to the vets for 9am.

Depending on the level of trim he receives, there will likely be photos tomorrow…

Vomitorious

At 4.30 this morning, I got woken up by the notable vibrations of the cat being sick on the bed.

And then at 5.30.

And at 6.30.

I suspect that this is not an auspicious start to the week – although in some ways whatever else happens can only be an improvement.

There’s something quite spectacular about the method a cat uses for puking though – it’s pretty much a whole-body effort, with the entire torso of the cat heaving backwards and forwards before the stomach contents are expelled. Those efforts are enough to wake me up.

I don’t know what’s caused the cat to be so ill. On previous form, he’ll now sleep through the day (not that that’s any different to usual) and be back to normal tonight.

On the other hand, I’ll be shambling around for most of the day, having had a disturbed night and clearing up (all-told) six piles of stinking cat-puke.

Animals – Further Information

Following on from the comments on my post below about Animals vs. Sleep, I feel that I should explain a bit further.

No, Hound is most definitely not the master of the house. She knows her place, knows when she’s gone too far, and gets told off when she’s been naughty. The scratching at night isn’t done to prove who’s in charge, it’s her fixating on trying to get comfortable to go to sleep.

Psycho Cat, on the other hand, is a wilful piece of crap who is well known for not stopping scratching until he gets where he wants to be. He’s also well-known as a master of the Vindictive Shit®, where if he has been barred from the room he wants to get in to and long-term scratching has been unsuccessful, he’ll take a shit outside the door (or on some favoured item of furniture/clothing/technology – I’ve even had to clear cat shit off the camera bag before now) as revenge. As options go, I’d rather get up and let the little fucker in, rather than walk out in the morning into a pile of stinking cat turd. Go figure.

With Hound, there’s a lot of underlying stuff. At the start of December, the vet finally diagnosed her with a canine form of OCD, alongside her anxiety issues and general barminess. This diagnosis came about when he observed her method of “handling” stressful situations, which involves her standing with her head facing a corner, staring at the walls, and ignoring everything else that goes on around her. It’s the equivalent of “head in the sand”, also known as “Lalalalalalalala, I can’t hear you”. The vet’s never seen anything like it, but he feels certain enough about the diagnosis that he’s put it in her records (having been seeing her now for four years) and confirming to the pet insurance people that this is a defined condition, rather than a behavioural issue.

While apparently she’s always been a determined, focussed idiot (Herself tells the story of when she and the now-ex went to choose a dog, the garden they were all in had a large railway-sleeper border in the lawn. All the other pups went round the barrier, but Hound insisted on trying to get over it, and wouldn’t stop until she did so) the anxiety issues also come about because of mis-treatment by a vet while they were diagnosing her Megaoesophagus. I won’t go into details – but suffice it to say that if I’d been around at that time, they’d have been sued, and reported to the RSPCA / RCVS.

Couple that with the fact that (although I didn’t write about it here) back in November 2004, she had the next best thing to a total mental breakdown due to fireworks (and a badly handled situation) and that in early 2005 we seriously considered giving up on her, and taking her to the Dogs Trust or wherever, and you get an impression of how bad she could be.

Overall, while Hound does have her foibles, she’s generally well-trained, well-disciplined, and knows her place in the pack structure at home. And that place is not at the top, much as she’d like it to be. At the same time, she does have significant issues, and for the most part those are tolerated and understood – even when they make her into a total pain in the arse at the same time. Yes, we could have given her up – but at the same time, that’s running away from a situation, which is something neither Herself or I are overly good at. The additional knowledge that there’s no way that anyone else would take her on, let alone in her ideal situation (which would be to be on a farm somewhere, sleeping in a barn – that’s where a lot of the scratching behaviours come from, I suspect) means that we know we’re really the last-resort. She’d have no other valid alternatives except being put to sleep.

So yes, some of her obsessions are perhaps tolerated – but with eight years of experience with Hound, we know that there are some battles that just won’t be won. We’ve got through a lot with her – and she’s now three years past the usual life expectancy for a dog with Megaoesophagus – and the anxieties and obsessions are mainly tempered by the homeopathic pills she’s on twice-daily, there are some things that now just won’t be broken.

O’Neill Coat (Again)

Back in February I wrote about my fantastically warm O’Neill coat, which only gets worn a couple of times a year, because it’s so damn warm. I’ve had it nearly ten years (I worked out while walking Hound this evening) and worn it less than 50 times all told. But when it’s time to wear it, I know it’s time to wear it – usually because it’s below zero by 4pm, and I’ve had to scrape the ice off the car windows in order to drive home from work.

Tonight was the first time of wearing it this winter – and I suspect there’ll be a few more nights like it over the next week if the BBC Weather report below is anything to go by…

Hens – One Year On

It’s amazing to think that it’s already a year since we got our hens – and I still haven’t actually put up any photos of them, as promised in that linked post. And in fact, it’s a year today that we got the first eggs from them – and since then, we’ve averaged at least two eggs a day for the entire time.

In fact, the only reason we haven’t averaged three eggs a day is because Gladys has gone broody three times this year. We knew when we bought them that the Light Sussex was prone to going broody, so it’s not really been an issue anyway, but it’s just impressive (to me, anyway) that the main thing that has stopped any of the hens from laying has been a natural biological imperative.

All the books we got when we first started thinking about chickens warned that the birds would moult every year (and thus not lay for anywhere from 1 to 4 weeks) so we were expecting that, and it’s never happened. We actually expected far less egg-laying than has actually happened, what with expectations of moults, all hens going broody, laying seasons and the like.

We’ve been really pleased with having the hens – and as we’re now looking at upgrading the hen house, it looks like we’ll be getting more hens in the new year. That should be fun – so long as we can sell the increased numbers of eggs somewhere, we’ll be fine.

Quiet, Washing-Machine At Work

Following on from its demise over the weekend, we got the new washing-machine delivered on Tuesday, along with them taking away the old one for disposal. (a whole £5 extra on the delivery charge)

Wow, what a difference. We’ve used it a couple of times (there having been a bit of a laundry backlog) and it’s impressively quiet. Even at full-speed spin Hound isn’t throwing a paddy, which is a massive improvement on the previous state of affairs.

A lot of the time, we have to look at the damn thing to even be sure it’s still running – we’ve got so used to the noise of the old machine, this one might as well be silent. Somehow even the water-fill is quieter than the previous machine.

So far, so good. I just hope it lasts a similar amount of time to the previous machine.

Mission Successful

For the first time in five years, Hound is lying asleep in the living room with audible fireworks from the next village along.

For the first time ever she’s utterly unfussed by the bangs – and with no additional pills, sedatives or tranquilisers.

Although Hound is also definitely getting older – 90 minutes on the beach has been enough to knacker her out, but I’m just so pleased that we’re finally at the stage where the fireworks don’t seem to bother her. It’s taken long enough to get here, so let’s hope it lasts a while now.

Devious Bitch

I meant to write about this a while ago, and completely forgot. (Well, I think I did – I don’t remember writing about it, so *shrug*) But anyway, the other week, Hound finally confirmed my suspicions that she’s a devious cow. Let me explain…

At home, Psycho Cat has his food in one particular room, which Hound is kept out of by means of a stairgate. (like people have to prevent children from going up stairs) When she was younger, she used to jump the stairgate, but since we’ve moved to Norfolk she doesn’t even attempt that any more.

If for any reason the stairgate is left open and the cat’s food is down, Hound will go in and scoff as much of it as possible. At that point, because of Hound’s megaoesophagus, she’ll then spend the next 30 – 60 mins puking it back up and re-eating it. This will continue until either a) it stops of its own accord or b) she pukes it up, one of us gets her into her cage, and then clears up the (now warm, and eaten several times puke.

Herself always says that this thieving of Psycho Cat’s food is just because she’s a dog, and thus a scavenger at heart who can’t resist stealing food. Which is fair – but when we were in Bracknell, I often wondered why Hound wouldn’t jump the stairgate to steal the food when we weren’t in the house.

Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I came home and Hound was fast asleep. I went in to the kitchen, and could suddenly hear her scoffing away in the room with the cat’s food in. Hound had gone in there – the stairgate was open – and hoovered up the entire of the cat’s tuna.

But she’s shown her hand now. Because I know I didn’t open that stairgate. So the devious cow can resist stealing the food while we’re out, because she knows she won’t be able to go and puke in the garden. Therefore, she also knows that stealing the food will make her puke it up. She understands cause and effect – she knows that if she scoffs that food, she’ll be ill, so she waits until someone is around to feel sorry for her before she does it.

And in my book, that makes her a devious conniving bitch. And no longer will she have my sympathy when she’s stolen the cat’s food, and is now looking all mournful and “I couldn’t help it, it was just there” while she’s puking it all over the back garden.

Alien Dog

I don’t quite know what’s happened with Hound today. We’ve got the men in digging a poxy big trench down the front drive for the replacement water supply pipe. The mini-digger is fairly noisy, and of course it means we’ve got people at the front and side of the house.

Normally, Hound will bark if anyone even sets foot on the driveway, yet with all this going on, she’s actually laying at my feet, ignoring everything. It’s most bizarre, and I think it’s quite possible that aliens have come down, abducted Hound, and left us with a milder copy.

Sleeping Places

I swear, Psycho Cat has the cushiest life sometimes. This morning, after a hard night out going in and out all the time, we found him sleeping like this…

It’s a hard life, isn’t it?

Oh, and yes, that is my manky foot at the top of the first photo. Shows the poxy creature’s brave, as well as a lazy little git.

Weekend

Hound woke us both up this morning by repeatedly jumping on the bed.

Now, an hour later, I’m still awake (and writing rubbish like this) and Hound is fast asleep in her basket.

And it’s still only 8am. It must be a weekend.

Canine Destructo

Over the weekend, Hound had a spectacular time. On Saturday night someone had fireworks, so she went orbital. Somehow she managed to get her leg tangled in the cable to my phone charger (which was connected to the phone at the time) and in her panic at fireworks just hauled the cable out of the charger. So charger = kaput.

Yesterday, she managed to catch the charger cable for Herself’s phone, and pulled the phone on to the (hard, ceramic-tiled) floor. So phone = kaput.

The overall lesson is obviously that we need to be more careful with the position of cables for phone chargers. Then again, in eight years of having the bloody moronic creature, she’s never done this before. So I don’t know – but we will be more careful with the cables, anyway.

Other than that, it looks like Herself will be getting a new phone, due to Hound-induced damage. We’ll see – it might work again, but right now it’s looking pretty knackered.

Spectacular Sleep

Last week, Hound wasn’t well – a matter of having aspirated some food, coughed on it, breathed it back in, coughed on it (and so on and so on) – which is a fairly regular occurrence with her megaoesophagus. It happens at least once a year, and we just get her some antibiotics from the vet to knock the infection on the head.

However, those antibiotics do tend to hit her like a hammer. In this case, she went to sleep like this…

Truly the sleep of the nearly dead.

Thundrous and Orbital

Last night, we got woken up by Hound at about half three. She was totally orbital and pretty distressed although initially we couldn’t work out why. Usually she’s only like that when she’s been ill, and puked in the house. And she was certainly stinking – although that was (I figured out later) just her frightened/terrified smell – when she’s in that state, she gets evil farts, and they pollute the entire atmosphere of the house.

Anyway, I let her out into the garden just to let her vent out whatever was bugging her – and that was a mistake. Because the actual reason she was orbital was because there was a thunderstorm coming. Cue Hound barking insanely at the sky until she eventually came back in.

And at that point we still had to deal with a Hound in orbit. She eventually calmed down a bit, and came to lie under the bed (along with trying to burrow her way through the wall) but for the first half hour or so she was just mental.

I don’t think we’re ever going to break her out of her terror of thunderstorms. We might be able to lessen it a bit over time – although personally I doubt even that – so we’ll end up just figuring ways of managing her during the storms. When we bought a new bed last year we looked completely mad by checking whether there’d be enough room for Hound to creep under it – but there was a reason for doing so, as last night showed. Now we just need to figure out how to make sure she doesn’t do the burrowing-through-the-wall thing while she’s under there…

Mind you, the storm was fantastic – not that Hound thought so, of course.

Namesake

When we got the chickens back in November, we decided to name them after our grandmothers. (With the exception of one grandmother, who happened to have the same name as Herself – obviously that was a no-no)

One of the grandmothers- Gladys- was renowned as a dragon of epic proportions, and capable of having a right temper on her.

The chicken named after Gladys is turning into a similar creature – it’s very spooky. At the moment she’s all broody (again) and is pecking out at me whenever I try to move her. (The eggs aren’t fertile, she’s just sitting on them, and not getting up for food/water, which is a bit of an issue in the current temperatures) She’s even taken to pecking me when I put her on her perch at night – that’s a new development, only started this week.

All told though, it’s looking like we really should’ve thought more about the names before applying them to the girls. Ah well, live and learn.

*Splut*

Yesterday, I mowed the grass for the first time this year. It really should’ve been done a couple of weeks ago, but the weather at the weekends has been so wet that it just wasn’t feasible to do it.

Which, of course, meant that the grass was high enough it was almost obscuring the dog. It certainly obscured a lot of her toys – and some other “presents” she’d been leaving in the garden. You can see where this is going, can’t you?

At least the mower started up first time (well OK, on about the third or fourth pull of the starter) which I really wasn’t expecting – I know my technical abilities all too well.

But it worked, and once I knew it was working, I went round the garden on poo-patrol (or shit-shovelling, as it’s also known) so that I didn’t hit anything too sludgy. I even picked up most of the dog toys that were visible – they have a nasty habit of buggering mower blades, among other things. (They also cause the dog to get all stressy – she’s not a fan of losing toys) Fairly successfully, I thought – a full bag of poo, for one thing.

And yet still, while doing the grass there was that *thunk* noise of a dog toy (this time a rubber ball) as well as the far-too-familiar *splut* sound, as freshly-laid dog-egg hit the spinning mower blades.

Snoring Cat

I know I’ve said before that Psycho Cat snores like a trooper – enough to wake me up, in fact. However, I think that most people don’t really believe that. Currenty I’m sitting in the living room, and can hear him snoring away in the bedroom.

So I recorded him. I have to emphasise, this has not been amplified, or tweaked in any way – all I did was cut off the “start of recording” beep at (funnily enough) the start of the recording.

If you click this link, you’ll download the file to hear the little git in all his glory.

Enjoy.

Broody (Again)

Gladys, one of our hens, has gone broody again. She did this back in January as well so it’s no big shocker to see her doing it again.

It’s just one of the things with owning chickens, they will go broody on occasion and sit in the nestbox. What’s amusing is that this time round Gladys is being remarkably grumpy, and doesn’t want to be shifted off the nestbox at all. I don’t mind – again, it’s part of just being chickens, and having chickens, but she’s extremely grouchy and really doesn’t want to be moved at all. I’ve been pecked a couple of times

We do have to move her, of course – partly to get the eggs from under her, but also to make sure that she’s getting food and water.

Still, it all just adds to the fun of owning animals – and particularly owning chickens.

Malevolent Moggy

Since the cat had his run-in with the shaver last week, he’s been even madder than usual.

So far, he’s decided that he now doesn’t care whether Hound likes something or not – if he wants to sit on me in the living room, then that’s what he’s damn well going to do. We haven’t yet worked out if this is just because he’s cold and wants to warm up by sitting on me, or if he’s just in a “Fuck you, and fuck the rest of the world too” mood. Honestly, it could even be a combination of the two.

The ultimate (so far) Feline “Fuck You” though, has been one morning this week, where he decided he was going to sleep in the dog’s basket during the day. Hound wasn’t there to see it – she’d gone to sleep somewhere else in the house – so he got in to the basket, curled up, and went to sleep.

Hound, when she found out, was beside herself – she just didn’t know what to do. She would bark at the cat, then run back away. It was hysterical to watch. Eventually, Psycho Cat just got up, glared at the dog, and stalked out of the basket, coming over to sit on me on the sofa instead.

I don’t know if his mood is going to stay once his fur has grown back – but I almost hope it does, because it does mean the dynamic is changing (again) in the house, and this time it’s changing in Psycho Cat’s favour…

Trimming the Cat

Once more, it’s the time of year where Psycho Cat goes to the vet to get all his tangled matted fur cut out/shaved/dealt with. We’ve worked out that it’s actually all his winter fur coming out, but rather than falling out it gets tangled in the new fur, and just leads to him looking utterly manky.

Apparently it’s a fairly common issue with long-haired cats, although our case is a bit extreme because he’s a mucky little git and doesn’t clean himself properly. (Something I’ve never seen with any other cat, and due (I suspect) to being separated from his mum too early, before he learned about proper grooming, although that’s something we’ll never know for sure due to Herself only getting him when he was “about” eighteen months old)

So he’s off today to the vets (in about half an hour, actually) and he’s already not happy. Because he’ll be under a general anaesthetic, he’s not been allowed to have any food since half nine last night – and he’s currently stalking round the house, yelling that he’s hungry, and that we’re all rotten for not feeding him. He’s even less impressed now I’ve brought the carrying basket for him in from the garage – now he knows that something is most definitely Not Right.

He’ll be happier once he’s back from the vet, although it’ll probably (as usual) take a couple of days for us to be properly forgiven for taking him there. But once he’s tidied up and not so godawful matted he’ll be happier – he doesn’t actually like it when he’s in this state, but he does fuck all about it, which is why we have to go to these lengths to get it sorted.

Behaviour

Over the last two weeks, both of our animals have really surprised me in how they’ve handled us having builders here and so on.

Hound has been amazingly well behaved. Yes, sure, she’s been in the car during the day (with windows open when necessary) but she’s just slept. Now we’ve observed before that she’s actually probably just a lazy cow when we’re not around, and spends most of the day sleeping, but she’s proved it now. She has a basket in the back of my car, and just hops in there when the workmen arrive, and sleeps all day. I take her out for a walk at lunchtime if possible, but even then she just goes back in the car and sleeps.

Even more surprisingly, she hasn’t been a stress-head when anything goes on around her, either. The postman has walked past the car (with her in it) every day, and she hasn’t reacted at all. Window cleaners, deliveries, cesspit-emptier, skip – they’ve all gone past the car and she hasn’t reacted at all. In fact the only thing she barks at when they go past on the road are horses – for some reason she really hates horses – but that’s it. Nothing else disturbs her at all.

Psycho Cat on the other hand is really pissed off with the entire thing. He’s been stalking round the house, attacking things, and generally being a complete pain in the arse. He is seriously unimpressed with the entire thing – and is, I think, finding it all quite traumatic. He’s certainly coming to me in the evenings for more of a fuss and reassurance than he usually does.

Today though, the plumber is replacing radiators – which has also necessitated a ladder up into the loft. Psycho Cat disappeared. (You can see where this is going, can’t you?) Yes, he’d climbed the ladder, and was exploring the loft. Only he hadn’t thought about how he was going to get back down, so instead was yelling from the loft hatch for someone to come and get him.

He put up a struggle about coming down though – obviously thought that even though I’d got hold of the little pillock, he was going to fall, and kept digging his claws into the edge of the loft hatch. It ended up with me freeing his claws again and then quickly bringing him down below the level of the hatch, at which point he kind of relaxed and gave up a bit, with nothing to cling on to, just trusting me (a little bit) to bring him down to ground level. And then I’ve also moved the ladder – it seemed sensible.

He’s still not happy, mind you. So I’m sure he’ll find somewhere else to hide before long.

Nicknames

Somewhere along the line in the last three or four months, I’ve ended up giving Hound a new nickname. Herself always calls her “Pop” for reasons unknown, and until recently I did the same.

But for some reason or other, I’ve changed the name for her, and to me she’s now “Podge”. It doesn’t mean anything, because of all things she could be, fat isn’t one of them. Ever. She eats more now than she ever did, and it’s all a lot easier than it used to be but still, “Podge”? I don’t know where it came from, I’ve no idea at all.

Still, she answers to it, and Herself doesn’t object to it either, so it works for me in all aspects.

Now I just wish I could work out where it’d come from…

O’Neill Coat

Many, many moons ago I bought a fantastic coat from O’Neill. (In this case ‘many moons ago’ means back in 2000 or 2001, I can’t quite remember) It’s a fantastic coat, a big wool duffel coat thing, thick wool, padding, the lot.

The thing is, I hardly ever wear it. It’s so warm, I usually only wear it about once a year. Of course when I need it, I really need it, but it’s not needed that often.

This year though, I’ve already worn it twice – the second time being last night while walking Hound round the fields. Incredibly bloody chilly, what with the wind and the snow just starting to come down. And the O’Neill coat was fantastic, I stayed warm and dry. OK, I looked like Kenny from South Park, but who the chuff cares, I was warm.

And really, that’s all that matters.

Broody

One of our hens has gone broody – she’s lying all day on the nestbox (although she’s been up for food and water) and is quite grumpy when anyone goes near her.

In fairness, it’s not unexpected – Light Sussex’s are one of the breeds (apparently) that do get broody on a fairly regular basis, so it’s not really a surprise. In some ways it’s quite funny, really. It does mean that we’ll be down to two eggs a day for a while, but again that’s nothing entirely bad either.

Just one of those things – and quite fun, really. I do feel slightly – and I really must point out that it’s only slightly- guilty about her being all broody and wanting to hatch eggs that have no chance at all of hatching (we’d need a rooster/cockerel for that task) but there’s no way we’re ready for having a whole herd/flock of chickens at the moment. We’re quite happy with just the three, and letting them get on with their lives.

All part of owning chickens, really.

Patchy

One thing I’ve noticed recently with our hens is that one of them is laying eggs with patches on them, either of a different colour, or a kind of gritty powder on them. I’m not sure what it means, but the books and sites I’ve looked at don’t mention it as anything bad, so I’m not too concerned.

It’s still odd though – so if anyone here does know what’s causing it, I’d be a lot happier…

Chicken Run

Over the last few days, I’ve been watching Channel 4’s “Hugh’s Chicken Run. It’s not been pleasant viewing – not least because I find I get truly annoyed by Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall – but to me it’s something important.

Now with Herself being vegetarian, we eat hardly any meat here anyway (I do have the occasional sausages, but not often) and we don’t have chicken at all, but before I moved in with Herself I can’t deny that I did eat a fair amount of it.

I’ve always found it truly disturbing the way chickens are raised for mass-production – and I think even more so now that we’ve actually got some chickens of our own – and I hate the idea of birds going from chick to slaughter in 39 days (the industry standard) with only 30 minutes of darkness per day in order to fatten them as fast as possible. (if it’s light, they eat – if it’s dark, they don’t)

As the first programme in the series showed, most people don’t know the conditions for breeding supermarket chickens (for example that the industry standard is 17 chickens per square metre of shed) and so I firmly believe that programmes like this one are essential for getting more people to know what it involves.

And that’s why I’m also linking to the Chicken Out campaign site – because I believe in this sort of campaign, even when it’s fronted by a bell-end like Fearnley-Whittingstall. (And there’ll be another post about him later, I think)