Cat

 

This is a slight reworking of a post I wrote many years ago.

Cat

                                            Winston Ocicat 

I am Cat. I grace you with my presence when I so wish, and recline on your lap, kneading and needling with my claw-sharp paws, primal recollections of comfort and warmth awakened in my memory-rich brain.

I loosen my fur and give it to you. I smile when it tickles your nose and you sneeze.

I pull your hand to me with my curled paw, and caress it with my head, over and over, my scent mixing with yours. I lick your skin with my rough, pink tongue, and you do not stop me for you fear offending me. I bite you, gently, and you do not withdraw. 

I possess you, and you love me.

I speak to you in different voices. I cry when I am hungry, ever louder, if you do not answer my needs swiftly. At other times, my tone is gentle, pleading, kindly. My meaning is difficult to understand, but I repeat until you learn, and then I am content. Sometimes I just want you to talk to me - then I beg politely with a silent miaou. 

The silent miaou. 

I like the fireside, and thank you for it. The heat melts my bones till I lie limp and sated. Outside, summer sun saturates me while I dream of other ages and lands. I twitch my paws and whiskers, flick my ears and call out. I am Cat, ancient as time, wise with atavistic memories. Through the centuries, I have been honoured, worshipped, abused, abandoned.

 I am a god and I am dust.

 My instincts are ancient and inherent. I watch the birds and chitter. I chase the sunbeams. I capture moths. In the small, wee hours I prowl and yowl, then join you in your bed, curling against you, lightly pinning your arm with mine.

 I have no need to earn my place in your home – it is my right to allow you to serve me. I may catch a fly or chase a spider if I wish. I will hunt a rat or mouse, because I want to. You cannot train me, but I will educate you.

 When you please me, I give you my sweetest gift – a rumbling reverberation from deep inside that makes you laugh and wonder at the skill with which I continue to purr, breathing in, breathing out, breathing in, breathing out.

 I am Cat. I am yours and you adore me.

 

Outside of a dog . . .

 

Outside of a dog . . .

                              . . . a book is man’s best friend.

Our eldest grandson and his little family visited us on Sunday, unexpectedly. It was delightful to see them all. 

Callum's elder daughter, Melia, is almost two and a half years old, and a very competent little girl. In the morning before they set off from home, she announced that she wasn’t going to wear nappies any longer. Obviously, she judged that the time was right, though it wasn’t the most opportune time to relinquish them, but she didn’t go to the loo very many times while she was with us.

Her baby sister, Hailey, is four months old and she was happy to gaze around at her surroundings, and coo.

Melia is very used to dogs and our dogs were happy to have visitors, particularly those at nose level with sticky fingers. They had to be segregated periodically when food was being consumed.

Books and toys, drawing pads and colouring pencils were brought out to entertain. 

Gilbert, being a Literary Labrador showed an interest, using the books as a pillow after our visitors departed.

                             Our cats, too, have shown Literary Leanings.

      

                                                  The late Winston Ocicat enjoyed blogging.

                                                 He also enjoyed reading his Kindle in bed.

                                           Pats the Abyssinian enjoyed books from kittenhood.

                                                 Herschel Ocicat guards the bookshelves.

          Jellicoe Ocicat is studying ornithology amongst other subjects.

Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend.

Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read.

Groucho Marx

 

Ocicats

 

Ocicats

Winston, our first Ocicat, was chocolate in colour. His breeder named him 'Ginger'!

Winston

 Just in case anyone is interested and because our cats have featured in blog posts recently, I thought I’d tell you a little more about our Ocicats. Yes, they’re ‘posh’ cats, that is, purebred. The reason for having purebreds as opposed to moggies is that we thought it would be easier for them to be house cats, that is, cats that don’t have unlimited freedom. There are nasty people around who do unpleasant things to cats. A few years ago we enclosed (cat-proofed) the garden so that they could explore the great outdoors in safety. There is plenty of interest in the garden and they can and do exercise their hunting skills.

 Monty, cinnamon silver, with Jenna

We fell upon Ocicats quite by accident, their spotted, striped coats unusual in our experience. People often mistake them for Bengal cats but they have no wild cat blood in them. The Ocicat is a 'man-made' breed, the result of an American breeder, Virginia Daly from Michigan, trying to create an Abyssinian-pointed Siamese by mating an Abyssinian with a Siamese. The first litter looked entirely Abyssinian but the second cross produced Abyssinian-pointed kittens and one spotted kitten. The breeder’s daughter remarked that the spotted kitten looked like an Ocelot and called him an Ocicat. He was neutered but subsequent litters, breeding Siamese to Abyssinian and then mating their offspring back to Siamese, produced more spotted kittens. 

More breeders followed the same breeding regime and soon it was possible to have a recognised Ocicat breeding programme.  At some point, possibly due to an error, the American Shorthair was introduced to the breeding, giving the Ocicat heavier bone and greater bulk. It also introduced the silver gene, so the original six colours expanded to become twelve. In addition, the gene pool was enlarged, making the cats less susceptible to inherited weaknesses and disorders.

                            Monty with Frodo. Frodo loved the cats.

A litter of Ocicat kittens can contain kittens that look like Abyssinian cats, which are referred to as 'mountain lions', the expected spotted striped kittens and those with a classic tabby marking, which used to be called Ocicat Classics. The classic Ocicats have been carefully bred to form a sister breed, now known as Aztecs, which strikes me as a really odd name.

Ocicats are strong athletic cats and are heavier than they look. Our Ocicats have greenish-yellow eyes but I have seen cats with striking orange eyes. They are very dog-like in their interaction with humans and are extremely affectionate.

We have had five Ocicats. Our first, Winston, was chocolate and as soft as butter. We were so delighted with Winston that we got our second Ocicat a week later. Monty was chocolate silver in colour but his heart was weak. Medication to help his heart damaged his kidneys and vice versa so we had to let him go when he was three years old. There was nothing more to be done for him.

Three years later, Winston died very suddenly and unexpectedly in the animal hospital from a respiratory illness.

After that we decided we couldn’t ever have another cat until the day, about two years later, when a mouse ran over my foot upstairs. Thus we acquired three litter brothers, Herschel, who is cinnamon silver, Isambard, a tawny Ocicat, and Jellicoe, a black silver Classic (tabby) cat.

 Clockwise from top, Herschel, Isambard and Jellicoe

Isambard was such a sweet, gentle boy but he died when he was almost seven from a respiratory illness he may well have caught from my husband. Barry was quite ill with something very similar to Covid a couple of months before Covid had officially appeared on these shores. Isambard spent much time snuggled up with Barry and became very ill. He died in the animal hospital, unexpectedly, shocking our vets who had expected him to recover. Cats are so delicate. 

Jellicoe was also ill, but recovered. 

                                Isambard checks the unlit stove.

People often ask why we don’t have rescue cats. Simply, rescue organisations don’t like cats being confined to home and not allowed to wander freely leading a normal feline life. The trouble is that free-ranging cats often fall prey to wicked people who find it amusing to paint them with house paint, crop their ears and tails, use them as target practice or as bait for dogs. Even without such people, cars and motor-bikes are a hazard. Some cats seem to be more street wise than others but, from personal experience, it is heart-breaking to lose a cat to a car or simply for it to disappear, its fate forever unknown.

                        Hallowe'en Jellicoe (cobwebs from the garage!)

I think attitudes are slowly changing and I see and hear of more non-purebreds being raised and loved as house cats. Indeed, one of my grandsons has two moggy house cats. There will always be those who do not agree, my son and one daughter included. but we respect their views and know they understand ours.

                                     Herschel contemplates

As you might imagine, there are a number of blog posts featuring our cats. Searching their names will bring up more than you probably would ever want to read.

A Life Full of Animals - part two

 

 

A Life Full of Animals – part two

 

Dominie and Jenna. Jenna could barely step over the threshold!

We have always been available to look after our adult children’s dogs. Taking care of Foxy, Gillian’s fox-red working Labrador puppy, made us realise how much we liked and missed Labradors, and so Jenna came into our lives from Shropshire. We asked for the biggest black bitch in the litter, as she would be living with Dalmatians, which are quite big dogs. Well, she had big paws and that’s as far as it went. She remained a little dog with big paws throughout her sixteen years.

 Playtime with Frodo

We didn’t know there were pheasant in the forest where we walk, until Jenna flushed them. She also chased deer and would disappear into the distance, so we put a cow bell on her, to hear when she was near and an electronic tracker, so that we could discover where she’d been. We think it was because she had Dalmatian companions, who don’t generally retrieve, although they can, and are built for long distance running, which she wasn’t. Once she had Labrador friends and relations she never disappeared again.

 Jenna with tracker 

Jenna was a very sociable dog. Whenever we were out walking and saw people in the distance she would always go to greet them, even if she had never seen them before. Once she had done that, she would be content to come back to us. She maintained that endearing habit almost to the end of her life.

Jenna and Gus

Her half-brother, Gus, four years her junior, pointed out to us the difference between dogs and bitches. We had always assumed that bitches were easier, even though we had had dogs as well as bitches. They are smaller than dogs, generally, Dominie being something of an exception. The Jack Russell and Dalmatian bitches were biddable and faithful, but Jenna, our first Labrador for nearly forty years, reminded us that this particular breed is different.

Gus

We had forgotten how independent they are. Jenna was friendly and loyal but inclined to follow her own path, which was actually never far from ours. Gus stayed close to heel and like Buddy Liver-Spots before him, spent much time and energy trying to keep his pack together. His most worrying times came when we had an extended family walk with several dogs. As the line of people lengthened, so he rushed back and forth from end to end, trying, so we thought, to chivvy the laggards to increase their pace, and the leaders to slow down.

Buster, left, and Bertie 

An exception to this rule was Buster, Bertie’s brother, who went to live with Gillian and her family in Dorset. They were beautiful fox-red working Labradors. While Bertie was a sensible, sober dog who never wanted to be found wanting in the behaviour stakes, or anywhere else, Buster was capricious. He enjoyed charging off in all directions. Bertie enjoyed greeting other dogs, but once introductions had been made, he was happy to return to us. He was a perfect gentleman with a wonderful smile. Gus’s smile showed just his front teeth but Bertie’s was full and wide and accompanied by snorts of pleasure.

Roxy 

Three days after Frodo died, Roxy was born in Shropshire, (all our Labradors have come from the same kennels in Shropshire, where the dogs are bred for temperament first and foremost) and it’s fanciful to think that some of his spirit was reborn in her, mainly because she is a counter-surfer, the only Labrador we’ve known to do this, although Gilbert is showing signs of following in her paw-steps. In every other respect, she’s her own dog, friend to all, human, canine or feline.

Jenna, Gus and Bertie all died within eleven months, which was heart-breaking. Gus and Bertie died in August and October last year so Roxy rapidly went from being the youngest to the only dog and she was really depressed. She had never known life without another dog and although the cats were company it wasn’t the same. So, in January this year, Gilbert came to live with us.

Gilbert soon after he arrived. He was smaller - that is, shorter than the cats

Now he is thirteen weeks old and growing apace. Herschel is gaining the ascendant, as cats do

At the time of writing, both cats have taken refuge from Gilbert inside the fire guard and are about to start taking lumps out of each other. A stern ‘No squabbling’ from me usually stops them in their tracks. Although they’re litter brothers, they are very different. Herschel is a standard Ocicat, spotted and striped and a third bigger than Jellicoe. Jellicoe is a classic tabby-patterned Ocicat, now known, bizarrely to my ears, as an Aztec. They are extremely affectionate and always in our company. Their brother, Isambard, died when he was seven.

Isambard, Jellicoe and Herschel

Our first two Ocicats, Winston and Monty, also died young. Monty was only three and Winston was six. Our vets did their best, but were puzzled. As one set of medications sorted out one problem it revealed another and it became a roundabout of symptoms and decline. They were stunning animals.

Winston and Monty  

We then had a couple of years without any cats until one day we were startled by a house mouse. I like mice, the pet variety, but didn’t want to encourage wild mice, so we did our research and acquired the three brothers ten years ago. Barry says they were his best ever birthday present.

Herschel

Cat in a basket - Jellicoe

We haven’t had house mice since and Herschel regularly patrols the integral garage. I don’t think they’ve ever caught anything indoors but have certainly captured rats and mice in the garden. A foolhardy young squirrel met its end from Herschel and Jellicoe has killed a wood pigeon, which he dragged through the cat flap and deposited at the foot of the stairs. Happily, birds do not figure largely in the death statistics and, unlike the Burmese, they don’t trap frogs. They are not avid hunters and prefer to spend their time in the garden lounging in high places and looking beautiful.

Cats!

Cats!

We have had a number of cats throughout the years, even, for a brief period, breeding them. Our Burmese were recommended  by our vets, to people seeking kittens, for their friendly dispositions and apparent immunity to alarm. We had four children and they and their friends were instrumental in ensuring that our kittens grew up used to the hustle and bustle of a busy home and loving the attention they were given.

Recently I read Eleanor Farjeon’s poem ‘Cats Sleep Anywhere’ to Frankie. It’s a poem many of us will have learnt at school (and then forgotten apart from the first couple of lines!)

Cats Sleep Anywhere

Cats sleep anywhere, any table, any chair.

Top of piano, window-ledge, in the middle, on the edge.

Open drawer, empty shoe, anybody’s lap will do.

Fitted in a cardboard box, in the cupboard with your frocks.

Anywhere! They don’t care! Cats sleep anywhere.

Eleanor Farjeon 1881-1965

This was the cover of my copy of the poem.

Here is a small selection from the thousands of photos we have of our many cats. Many of them are pictured with our dogs. All our cats have loved our dogs. Some of them enjoyed blogging. Some were quite literary. Some enjoyed watching educational programmes on the television . . . or rugby.

Jellicoe,  our 4-year-old  Classic Ocicat . Classics are now known as Aztecs!

Susannah's  one-year-old Somali, Solomon

Marnie with the late Pansy, one of our blue Burmese, about fourteen years ago.

Jellicoe pretending to be a lap cushion!

The late Monty Ocicat with a young Jenna. Monty died when he was three of congestive heart failure

Susannah's Abyssinian, Pats, as a kitten. She is now ten years old.

Jenna with Winston Ocicat, who died unexpectedly when he was six years old.

Susannah providing a perch for Winston

Monty with the late, great Frodo, my velcro dog

Monty loved watching television . . .

. . . and he would not move to allow a dog into a dog bed.  Here it's Jenna trying to get comfortable.

Young Frodo with elderly blue Burmese, Pansy (top) and Singleton.  

If the cats have a squabble, as cats frequently will, they sometimes seek solace. Here it is  Cariadd, our first Dalmatian, doing the honours. There are six Burmese cats sitting on her. To her right are the hindquarters of Biddy, our first Jack Russell.

Christmas Winston!

Winston appreciating my Kindle

Clown, Magic and Angus, all Burmese. Clown and Angus were brothers.

Alicat, our first Burmese, with Bethan, thirty-three years ago

The cats liked sitting and sleeping on the aquarium cover. It was warm and there was always a slight chance that they might catch a snack! Here are, from left to right, Magic, Angus, Pansy, Alicat(behind Pansy), Sweet Pea, Clown and Singleton

Monty studying a spotted cousin . . .

 . . . and here listening to Jim Al-Khalili

Monty and Winston

Winston the blogger

Jellicoe and Isambard sharing Bertie's bed

Herschel and Bertie