about the cats

Since you've been asking. 

We have had a couple of cats to date but we are cat-less at the moment - or as R calls it, cat-free.

First, there were Kieran & Donal, two black-ish toms, wild and vicious. The idea was that they would keep down the number of rodents in the basement of the big crumbling mansion that was our communal home in the south of Ireland - they didn't or maybe the rodent population was too big. We were a very poorly organised crowd with endless house meetings and an activist agenda but little time for pets. S would occasionally try to pull either of the two misfortunate animals by their tails up the grand staircase. As a result, both cats went into hiding when kids were around. And since I spent most of my time with S attached to me, I had little cat interaction. Before you think too badly of us, somebody did take care of them, incl. food and vet etc. But I have no memory of what eventually happened to them.

When we lived in paradise, we soon found out that local people disposed of kittens the same way they disposed of old car batteries or broken transistor radios. Also, the kids in our neighbourhood liked to play with kittens the same way kids in Europe play with teddy bears. This being a small island, cats - and dogs for that matter - are highly inbred with a poor life expectancy. 

But all this could not stop us from saving Minnie from a fate worse than death, or so we thought. Yet, Minnie was a lost cause. Not only did she pass on to us a huge variety of parasitic worms, she also made it her aim to attack us at any given moment, especially while asleep. It's not easy impossible to cat proof a small bungalow in a tropical location. Take my word. I am not going to tell you about Minnie's fate. But we had a couple of really nice dogs there.

Back in Europe, things improved. We got Molly. We picked her up from a friendly home where she had been the tiny runt of the litter and for the first three years of her life, she was an indoor cat in a city apartment. When not climbing up the xmas tree and sitting on top of the tv set with her tail swishing across the screen, she was polite and generous. And shy. 

Then came Ronia. She was an emergency. Friends hat discovered a tiny abandoned kitten, almost dead, in their barn and, well, put two and two together. We did. But those two hated each other. From day one and for ever. Lucky for them and for us, we were about to move into the house with the garden in this quiet suburb with cat-friendly streets and neighbours. Plenty of space to get lost in, trees to climb and be unable to come down from, mice and moles and squirrels to present as early morning gifts and so on. Soon, both cats had developed into fierce outdoor creatures with a busy nightlife away from us, winter or summer. Molly became huge and pompous with an occasional mean temper. Ronia was always slightly daft, and I mean this in the nicest possible way.  

I believe they were both extremely happy.

Molly died four years ago at age 16, Ronia was 17 years old when she died last November. We gave away all the cat's things only last month. But the basement doors are permanently fitted with cat flaps. You never know.

Molly

Ronia

November. Not my time of the year, I could say.

It is ridiculous, really. Because I give into a mood, it's quite the thing to do. 

Oh oh November, I always get depressed in November, people tell me. Before I know it, I wake up and I think, November, am I depressed? And well, let's blame it all on this damp month with bare trees and wind and the dark evenings.

The little cat is dead, we went to the vet and he did the thing. It was dark and raining hard by the time we got home and while R dug the hole in the back of the garden, I washed the floors and got rid of the litter box and all the rest. 

Then the basement started to smell. We actually had a fight over who was going to check behind the stacked flower pots for maybe a dead mouse or worse and yes, it was pouring by then. Whatever it was, it just disappeared. I think.

Quite appropriately, R started to investigate his pension situation in what, three-four years and oh my goodness, we are going to be skint. Absolutely. And that is before tax. So now, we snarl at each other and I cannot sleep and really, I feel like a right fool. Because we always knew and we more than once managed with even less when we were young and wild (and healthy). We can always sell the house, R shrugs. But we both know how that will hurt. Or maybe not. Go to sleep, he tells me, no use thinking about it now.

A quite popular writer and poet here used to have this daily newspaper column, on the last page of one of the more radical national papers, where he would write a little ditty about current affairs, corrupt politicians or anything else that he wanted to get off his chest. So he wrote this little poem about November, how miserable and grey it is and what a waste of time and let's get rid of it and so on. 

Next day, the paper published a letter from a seven year old boy, complaining about giving November a bad name. And he listed all the great things November has to offer: leaves to mess about, raincoats and mittens and scarves to wear, puddles to jump into, hot cocoa to drink when you get home and so on. 

And of course, your man had to rewrite his poem and he did. And I have it all somewhere, the first poem, the letter and the second poem. I cut it all out and had a good laugh. Because, here's the thing: midwinter is only seven weeks away. Time flies. Before we know it we'll be old and poor.

After easter, ascension and whit Sunday, this is the last of the spring/summer holy holidays, corpus christi. Here in this country with an agnostic majority, we take all this stuff very seriously. After the procession today, the catholic youth group down by the river is having a barbecue, which I think is quite the suitable thing to do. A touch of the Varanasi Ghats.

Of course, I won't dare to clean windows or cut the lawn and all the shops are closed . Instead, the nation indulges in watching  football soccer, food and drink, procrastination and all the other stuff that comes with it.

We decided to stop forcing the whatever pills down our little old cat's throat twice a day. And yes, we tried all the right moves, excluding the burrito thing which involves wrapping her tightly in a towel, R will not hear of it. Being blind and deaf and very sleepy, she has now started to hide in fear and my hands and arms are covered in bleeding scratches. This is not the way to do this. I am not sentimental or sad, she is an old lady who so far has enjoyed a fabulous life since she was found as a very very young abandoned kitten covered in ticks and maggots. We will not turn the last weeks/months into a miserable daily battle.

a very quiet summer weekend in June

 Our little old cat is now blind and deaf and outside, she is lost. So I watch her sleeping, sniffing in the wind, timidly wandering off and when I carry her back from wherever she got lost in the hedges, she spits and hisses.

 Last week's apricots are this week's cherries.

 an abundance of grapes this year

On a day such as this with its jumble of bad sad news and fog and the effects from maybe something I ate it makes sense to go to the vet. 

This vet specialises in pets, so no horse, cattle or wild bird in the waiting room. Instead, there is an elderly lady with perfect blue-rinse perm and the obligatory string of pearls and her two grey greyhound-like-poodles. She is doing something elaborate with flash cards and little treats. Corn, she says, moving the flashcard with a painting of corn in front of the dogs' milky eyes. Car, cat, sunflower, and so on. I try not to stare. The door opens and a large man starts bringing in seven (7!) transport boxes. He stacks them into a neat tower and eventually sits down wiping off the accumulated sweat from his face. Time for the annual shots, he informs all and sundry. Today the cats, tomorrow we bring the dogs. Nobody asks, how many dogs, but we all begin to speculate quietly. 

On my way out, clutching the box of flea drops, I almost crash into the toddler with her pet rat in a Barbie box.

Nothing unusual, I tell my little cat when I get back in, you know, just the odd nutters. She yawns and goes back to sleep.

The cat is jealous because I am looking after the two bunny rabbits from next door for a week. Every time I climb through the hedge with my carrots and a handful of hay she hisses at me and whenever I sit down she climbs onto my shoulders and digs her claws in before she gets on with the purring - very loud and very uncomfortable.

Made lots of tomatoe sauce from the massive harvest. And there are more, lots more. Tomorrow.

S made it through her surgery and as a reward she went to see Dylan Moran live. That's the spirit, good choice. She also fell in love with her doctor and the nurses.

And now it looks like we have little bitchy battle with the fancy health insurance outfit on our hands because - aah what the hell. I am postponing all thinking and arguing and basically all mental stress until we get the final results.

Yesterday when I went to work the thermometer said 34°C, this morning it was 13°C. Weird, weird and cold.

My teeth are hurting - again, and it's really only a small bit of sore gum, I think, I hope. 

All in all, I am hanging in there like a limp sack of beans.

slow motion

The day starts shortly after 6 am. I wake up every day just like that. At least for once my body is dead on reliable as I am supposed to take two drugs between 6 and 8 am. So I swallow the stuff in the dark and lie back for a doze or even more sleep until R's alarm goes. I watch him getting up, his day's pressures and schedules are already noticable on his face. We touch briefly, silently, sharing comfort and warmth. When he goes downstairs I usually sleep/doze some more with the murmurings from the worldservice news coming up from the kitchen.
When he is done with getting ready I go downstairs to watch him zipping up his coat and putting on his warm gloves. Another hug and he is out of the door and I watch him walking through the garden, leaving on his bicycle.
I pour myself a cup of tea and go back upstairs and climb back into bed. The cat follows me. She seems to like me being around at this time of the day. Back under the covers I let the waking up begin. Now it is too cold to have the windows open, so no birdsong, no school kids, no busy neighbours getting into their cars.  Instead I silently wait for daylight to take hold and then I read for a while with the cat watching me. I work hard on drawing this out for almost an hour. There is a lot of lonely daytime ahead. Too much time, too little energy.

How I would cherish a speedy morning from not too long ago: Up and shower and breakfast, quick glance through the newspapers, goodbye and off on my bicycle. All motion, brisk, efficient, energetic, ready and expectant. Like a snap with my fingers and knowing, knowing all the time that whatever challenges this day will bring I will manage. In fact, that was always the best part, the challenges.

late summer

The nights are getting cold, not that I notice much because I sleep like a log for about five hours most nights seemingly waking up in almost the same position I was in when I fell asleep. Long may it last.

Grapes are ripening, some of the summer blooms are already finished, we are picking tomatoes and peppers and aubergine and radish and sweet corn in the garden.

R is back at work. I miss him badly during the day. But this first week of solitude passed quickly. I try to have a reason to get out - struggling at times - every day.

Today was/is rough, I feel feverish with a beetroot red face and a roaring dizzy head, stiff neck and shaking and shivering in between. But I took the little cat to the vet to get an infected wound cleaned out (the old lady fights a lot) and even managed to translate part of a paper on some novel orthopedic surgical technique and I will charge loads for it once it's done.

Last week I completed my first TED translation and have done a couple of TED reviews. No money but stimulating work at my own pace. Lots more work there for me.

Also had the meeting with the legal advisor regarding disability and pension and my employment situation. He was impressed that I have been called to show my case to an expert panel, thinks it looks likely I'll be granted a favourable disability status (i.e. high which means tax rebates and bargaining power when negotiating to have my working hours reduced)

If ever, if ever...

R has recently started to listen to swing and blues, mostly old stuff. At the moment, he is cooking something spicy and steamy, while the Hep Cat Daddies are belting it out at full force.

other things

Our big cat is dead, she was put down after another seizure kind of event and is buried at the bottom of the garden. What a relief!

Tax rebate has arrived! My first success story since getting sick as I did the tax returns when I things were really shitty.


The garden is paradise. R starts his summer break in two weeks.