Jellicoe

 

Jellicoe

When Jellicoe yells at me, insisting it is time for one of his four daily meals, I have made a point of telling him exactly how long he has to wait. ‘It’s not time yet,’ I say, ‘Another forty/twenty-five/fifteen minutes.’ He looks at me in disgust.

On Saturday, Alexa’s dulcet tones informed me that it was time for ‘Jericho Bee 12’, her version of Jellicoe B12, the vitamin powder he has to have every day. Actually, the capsule containing the powder is so small that it would be very difficult to estimate half the amount, so he has one capsule every other day.

 Anyway, the alarm sounded for the final meal of the day and I was in the middle of something so didn’t leap to my feet immediately to attend to the small but powerful furry character that is Jellicoe. He decided I needed further prompting and miaoued at me, then tapped my face with his paw. Receiving no adequate response from me, he extended his claws and gently touched my face again. Neither he nor his brother have ever scratched or bitten us or anyone else, even when undergoing any sort of investigation, so the ‘scratching’ was a token gesture.

I was still not doing as I was bidden by him and his yowls were becoming more insistent. Eventually, he sat and glared balefully at me until I was shamed into giving him his rations. Perhaps ten minutes had passed since the alarm sounded. Jellicoe is not a patient boy.

The next day, he walked onto my lap to remind me that it was tea-time. The alarm had not sounded – it went off two minutes later - so it is certain that Jellicoe has learnt to tell the time.

What a clever boy!

Notwithstanding four meals a day, Jellicoe is constantly looking for food. Locks on the fridge and freezer have foiled his attempts to purge them of their more delectable contents but he is aware that Roxy and Gilbert have tasty food. He watches and pounces as I weigh their portions, so I toss a piece to the floor and he swoops on it. The dogs eat rapidly – more like vacuuming than eating – so Jellicoe doesn’t have very many such treats.

However, he knows that the pouches containing his and his brother’s food are put in the bin when they have been emptied, and has observed how it is opened. It is a tall bin with a soft-touch opening, with just the lightest pressure required to lift the lid. Jellicoe has discovered how to do it and is expert at strewing the bin’s contents across the floor as he searches for food.  He opens the recycling bin, too, just in case there’s something toothsome inside but there isn’t, so that holds little interest for him. He hasn’t yet learnt to shut it, though.  

Sitting on the red recycling bin, ready to open the waste bin

 It doesn’t matter so much during the day, because if we don’t see or hear him opening it, we are soon alerted by Gilbert trotting to his bed with an empty pouch in his jaws and an expression of guilty pleasure. Since we don’t want to come down to a mess in the morning, the bin has to be put away securely before we go to bed. More importantly, we don’t want to risk Jellicoe choking on something. He visits the vet quite often enough.

Cuddling with Gilbert