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I live with a husband, two daughters, two cats. Want to meet them? Read on. Could care less? Stop here.
Start with the cats. We're cat people but I don't subscribe to the nonsense that they rule and we're their pets. It might seem that way as we leap from the dinner table to let Tally into the basement as his scratching threatens the paint and our sanity but no, if there's an alpha cat, it's me, right? I feed them, I change their litter tray, I have all the power. OK. Just wanted to point that out.
We'd been in Canada for a year or so before we succumbed to cat fever. Leaving Ginger and Tabs behind when we emigrated was hard (friends of our who cat sat them when we were on holiday asked if they could adopt them; faced with the thought of the journey, a cattery while we got settled (took 4 months) and possible quarantine if we didn't like it and came back..well, taking them wasn't an option. My mum and dad were all set to take them but gladly let the friends have them instead. We saw them last year; I like to think they recognised us). God, that was a long bracketed bit. Where was I? I missed my cats. I nagged David, worked on Eleanor and the humane society had a special offer. Cats! It was meant to be!
Got there; no kittens. Darn. But we knew that kittens become cats fast and once we were there, in the room with the cages, we knew we weren't going home without two.
But which two? Heart rending. I picked mine at once; a ginger tom who nuzzled my fingers as I pushed them through the bars and then bit them. Hmm..I assumed it was friendly.
David was taken by a long haired grey cat with fluffy paws; tufts of it sticking out between his pink pads. Fine; he looked a bit scraggy but fine. Only trouble was, I then spotted a little black cat near the door...couldn't take three. Grey and ginger it was. David's a single malt collector; Talisker and Macallan became their names.
We had one cage, lent by our vet friend. After lots of money and paperwork had changed hands, we shoved them in and staggered to the car. They cried. Then they didn't. I was on the back seat murmuring to them soothingly about how all their troubles were over and ...Tally was on top of Mac, teeth embedded in his neck! The silence was a death struggle. Tally's first memory of me became a hand whacking him hard about the head as I rescued Mac. We drove away, hoping no one at the humane society had been watching us from the window.
It was a week before our friend could chop off their dangly bits. A week of spraying, fighting and biting. Tally was feral, refusing to be petted, scrapping with Mac constantly. My arms and ankles were covered with a network of bites and scratches but I perservered. Neutering worked wonders. Mac put on weight and became dominant, Tally is now loving to the point where he head butts me if I don't stroke him enough. They've both cost us a small fortune in vet's bills; Tally almost died from a mystery illness. We fed him chicken broth by syringing it down his throat every few hours; I think it saved him as he'd stopped eating. Mac has weird moments where he lies flat and shivers that ended up with him on oxygen at the emergency clinic, brain scans the lot. Still never found out how what or why and callous folk that we are, we decided if it happened again, he'd have to make do with our nursing.
So, that's the cats. This is them way back when; they're bigger now.
http://afhpics.mnsdesigns.com/jane-cats.html
Start with the cats. We're cat people but I don't subscribe to the nonsense that they rule and we're their pets. It might seem that way as we leap from the dinner table to let Tally into the basement as his scratching threatens the paint and our sanity but no, if there's an alpha cat, it's me, right? I feed them, I change their litter tray, I have all the power. OK. Just wanted to point that out.
We'd been in Canada for a year or so before we succumbed to cat fever. Leaving Ginger and Tabs behind when we emigrated was hard (friends of our who cat sat them when we were on holiday asked if they could adopt them; faced with the thought of the journey, a cattery while we got settled (took 4 months) and possible quarantine if we didn't like it and came back..well, taking them wasn't an option. My mum and dad were all set to take them but gladly let the friends have them instead. We saw them last year; I like to think they recognised us). God, that was a long bracketed bit. Where was I? I missed my cats. I nagged David, worked on Eleanor and the humane society had a special offer. Cats! It was meant to be!
Got there; no kittens. Darn. But we knew that kittens become cats fast and once we were there, in the room with the cages, we knew we weren't going home without two.
But which two? Heart rending. I picked mine at once; a ginger tom who nuzzled my fingers as I pushed them through the bars and then bit them. Hmm..I assumed it was friendly.
David was taken by a long haired grey cat with fluffy paws; tufts of it sticking out between his pink pads. Fine; he looked a bit scraggy but fine. Only trouble was, I then spotted a little black cat near the door...couldn't take three. Grey and ginger it was. David's a single malt collector; Talisker and Macallan became their names.
We had one cage, lent by our vet friend. After lots of money and paperwork had changed hands, we shoved them in and staggered to the car. They cried. Then they didn't. I was on the back seat murmuring to them soothingly about how all their troubles were over and ...Tally was on top of Mac, teeth embedded in his neck! The silence was a death struggle. Tally's first memory of me became a hand whacking him hard about the head as I rescued Mac. We drove away, hoping no one at the humane society had been watching us from the window.
It was a week before our friend could chop off their dangly bits. A week of spraying, fighting and biting. Tally was feral, refusing to be petted, scrapping with Mac constantly. My arms and ankles were covered with a network of bites and scratches but I perservered. Neutering worked wonders. Mac put on weight and became dominant, Tally is now loving to the point where he head butts me if I don't stroke him enough. They've both cost us a small fortune in vet's bills; Tally almost died from a mystery illness. We fed him chicken broth by syringing it down his throat every few hours; I think it saved him as he'd stopped eating. Mac has weird moments where he lies flat and shivers that ended up with him on oxygen at the emergency clinic, brain scans the lot. Still never found out how what or why and callous folk that we are, we decided if it happened again, he'd have to make do with our nursing.
So, that's the cats. This is them way back when; they're bigger now.
http://afhpics.mnsdesigns.com/jane-cats.html