Conservatory Cats’ Chats (C3) March 2013

Conservatory Cats’ Chats (C3) March 2013

Jellicoe: We have been in our new Palace for four whole weeks and we have learnt quite a lot. Our Servants have different duties and I would say they perform them adequately. There is room for improvement in certain areas but in general we are pleased with them.

Isambard: I agree. We refer to The Servant commonly known as BARRY as The THINKER. He does a lot of thinking and planning, researching and speaking on the telephone. His head is full of ideas. He is the one who usually takes video and photographs of us though sometimes the Servant known as JANICE takes a turn with the camera.

Herschel: We call JANICE The HOUSEKEEPER or occasionally just The MAID. She is the one who makes sure our sleeping quarters are clean and our food and water bowls are filled. We like spending time with The THINKER and The MAID because we know they are flattered by our attention.

Jellicoe: That is very true. Although we are not very old, we quickly learnt that Servants are easily pleased by a show of affection. It doesn’t take much effort – a miaou, a purr, a rub of the head. They even like us using them as stepping stones.

Isambard: We also do what one of the FAMILY, the one called SUSANNAH calls ‘the nose thing.’ SUSANNAH is the one with the small Servant who has to be carried everywhere and she says the CAT who owns her does ‘the nose thing’ all the time. Why are Servants so delighted by such commonplace acts? 

We nose touch all the time but you don’t find us getting excited about it.

Here I am with the DOG the Servants call Bertie

Herschel: We are keen to meet the DOGS face to face and teach them who’s in charge but the Servants say we must wait a little longer. The DOGS are silly creatures but the Servants seem fond of them. They have to take them out to exercise whereas we can do everything we want to in our Palace. I don’t think DOGS can climb like us – at least I’ve never seen them do it.

Jellicoe: One phenomenon we have all noticed is that things appear to be getting smaller. The DOGS have shrunk, though of course they are still enormous, particularly the spotted one. Mostly it’s the furniture that has reduced in size. We can no longer fit under the table in the conservatory.

Isambard: The MAID took our sleeping box out of our pen and put a large cushion in its place. We liked the box – it was like a cave – but we couldn’t fit in it any more, not all of us at the same time – so that’s another thing that has contracted. The STAIRS have condensed, too.

Herschel: Our cat tree is not as big as it was, either. It’s very strange. At the same time my brothers have grown larger and they tell me I have too. It’s odd because I don’t feel any different and neither do they. Life is certainly very interesting for us kittens.

Jellicoe: I just hope things don’t keep on getting smaller or we shall be crawling around on our knees. That wouldn’t be much fun.

Herschel: Maybe we’ll end up being larger than the DOGS – that would be so good!

Isambard: Do you think the Servants will shrink, too? They mustn’t get so small they can’t carry our food and water bowls – and who would change the cat litter?

Jellicoe: They haven’t shrunk so far so I think we’ll be all right.

Herschel: You speak sense, my Brother.

Isambard: It’s time for another nap so I’ll say goodbye from all of us.

Ciao!

Conservatory Cats’ Chats (C3) February 2013

Conservatory Cats’ Chats (C3) February 2013

Our Servants have informed us that our arrival has been announced to the world. They suggested that we might care to tell the wider public a little about ourselves and we indicated that we would be happy so to do. They asked if we would like to have a blog of our own but we declined. We don’t feel we could commit to such an undertaking with our busy schedule. We believe it is understood that there are three of us. There were four in our litter but our other brother had already been chosen by different Servants – the last choice they will have before they learn who is Master. We shall take turns in composing this entry. Herschel will start.

Like my brothers I am an Ocicat. I am a Cinnamon Silver and allegedly I am the most sensitive of the three of us.

You may be wondering about my name. Sir John Herschel, Ist Baronet, was ahead of his time and was named after me. He was an astronomer so it is natural that he was interested in Time Warps. Time Travel is nothing new!!

We were all rather alarmed when we were taken from the Servants who had served us all our lives. We travelled to our new Kingdom in a box that smelled of another Ocicat which was quite comforting. I believe his name was Winston but I do not know where he went. It was a long journey and we were tired when the Servants stopped the car and took us into our new Palace. It makes me quite faint to think about it so I am going to ask Isambard to take over.

Thank you, Herschel. Before I continue the saga let me first explain that I am named after Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the great Victorian engineer. I am a Tawny Ocicat, quite an appropriate colour for an engineer.

Back to the blog. The first thing we noticed was that the floors were bare. Could our new Servants not afford carpets? As we were carried through to another room we were shocked to see four enormous beasts in the Palace grounds, staring through the glass and making extraordinary and very loud noises. The Servants placed us in what appeared to be a prison. What had we done to deserve such treatment? We were relieved to see a large litter tray in there and we leapt on top of it and huddled together for courage when the dreadful, slavering creatures burst into the room and came to sniff us. 

We soon discovered that they were interested more in our food than in us but hissed and growled at them nonetheless. One of them had spots like Herschel and me but he was enormous. We learnt that these fearsome beings were DOGS and they appeared to be the Servants’ servants so of little account to us. We tolerate Servants but their minions are beneath contempt and we shall lose no opportunity to emphasise that when eventually we allow them to mix with us. I think Jellicoe should continue.

Only too pleased to oblige, Brother.

You may have noticed that Isambard said one of the DOGS had spots like him and Herschel. I have spots too, on my tummy, but I am a Black Silver Ocicat Classic – a superior type of tabby of impeccable breeding. In keeping with my very smart uniform and military bearing I am named after Admiral Jellicoe, 1^st Earl Jellicoe. I have a loud voice, a necessary requirement for issuing orders to the other ranks on the poop deck, though in my case I have just my brothers to command. When the Servants are required to attend to us we all shout orders.

The time is fast approaching when we shall allow the DOGS to come into our domain – the Conservatory – and we shall venture into their quarters. Our Servants carry us into the Conservatory in the mornings and one of them sits with us to admire our agility and beauty and to play with us. Sometimes both of them come in and the DOGS stand at the glass door and stare at our food while the Servants talk to us and take photographs and moving images (video) of us. We may be able to include some video of us on one of our blog posts one day if the Servants can find time to upload it. We understand that we take up a lot of their time. They are simple souls and learn slowly what is required.

Thank you, my Brothers. I am recovered enough to resume. We had not been long in our new Palace before more Servants came to admire us. Bethan and Robert spent much time playing with us. Robert is a Cat Whisperer- at least that is what our Servants called him – and we were happy to permit him to pick us up. I was still quite skittish.

Then last weekend even more Servants came, including a very small Servant who had to be carried everywhere. Our Servants called them FAMILY. There were a number of younger Servants who spent a lot of time in our domain. We were tired at the end of the day but discovered that we were beginning to enjoy the Servants picking us up.

I am always the first to purr. Whenever a Servant speaks to me I purr – it’s only courteous – and of course I have a very loud purr. We were taken to the STAIRS the other day. We had never seen such things before but we are wonderful athletes and had no problem leaping up and down them. I feel there is much more to this Palace than we have yet seen. The prospect of exploring it appeals to me.

We enjoy the Conservatory as it is warm and full of things to climb on and race around and allows us to enjoy one of our favourite pastimes – ornithology. Now, as we are still quite young, we must stop writing and take a nap. We are sure there are exciting times ahead.

Ciao!

The Seventeenth Blog of Augustus Lazarus Cooke (Gus)

The Seventeenth Blog of Augustus Lazarus Cooke (Gus)

Here I am with Bertie - he's quite confused - doesn't know why he can't play with the kittens.

Hello everyone!

I know it’s only been a little while since I last blogged but I wanted to tell you how life has changed.

Do you remember me telling you that Mr H kept saying, ‘You don’t know what’s coming your way,’ and how Mrs H laughed and said, ‘They’ll be all right,’ and I thought it wouldn’t be anything nasty? Well, it isn’t anything nasty as far as us dogs can see but we’re not allowed to get close enough to really find out.

Just after the Boss’s birthday he and Mrs H rearranged the furniture in the sitting room and got the big puppy pen out of the garage and put it next to the patio doors. All us dogs thought there must be a puppy coming and we were thrilled. After that Mr and Mrs H took us for a walk and then they went out again on their own but this time they took Winston’s basket with them. Bertie got really excited and sniffed it all over and we all thought it was a big mistake about Winston dying and maybe he was coming home after all. It wasn’t and he didn’t but what they did bring home were three tiny cats – kittens they’re called - and they’re distant relations of Winston and Monty.

We wanted to make them welcome and play with them but we weren’t allowed and anyway they weren’t very friendly. They hissed at us and growled and we backed off. I think they were afraid, actually – we must look ever so big to them.

Mrs H took them into the conservatory and they rushed off and hid under the bureau and the low coffee table. They didn’t want to be stroked and they didn’t eat anything. Naturally, we were curious so we stood in the kitchen looking through the glass door and they ran as far away as they could.

Then Bethan and Robert came. Robert loves cats though they make him breathless and Mrs H calls him the Cat Whisperer ‘cos he picked them up and they didn’t struggle.

This weekend everyone else came so the kittens were played with all day and they were really tired. They’re not scared any more but we’re still not allowed to meet them nose to nose apart from when they’re in the puppy pen at night. I’m looking forward to the day we can all be together ‘cos I liked Monty and Winston and I miss them curling up with me.

I expect they’ll tell you about themselves but here are some photos of their first day with us. I don’t think their eyes could be any bigger!

Herschel

Isambard

Jellicoe

Got to go – supper time. There’ll be more room in the kitchen now that Tia, Foxy and Buster have gone home.

Be good.

Hwyl fawr am nawr! (That’s Welsh for ‘Goodbye for now!’)

Orders

Orders

My new Cashpoint card arrived yesterday. The sticky strip across it pronounced, ‘You must start using this card immediately. Please destroy your old card securely.’

So, I had to stop what I was doing and rush out to the ATM to get some money, then I had to dress up in a bio-hazard suit to destroy the old card securely.

Honestly, your life’s not your own these days . . .

The Sixteenth Blog of Augustus Lazarus Cooke (Gus)

Hello everyone!

It’s windy and dull today but it isn’t raining. It’s a special day for Mr H ‘cos it’s his birthday so it doesn’t matter to him what the weather’s doing.  Yesterday he and the missus went out. They took us for a long walk first then off they went in the car. They left Jenna in their bedroom but they didn’t know that till they got home and couldn’t find her.

They went to see Gareth and Nina and Susannah and Nick and the children. I would have liked to go too, ‘cos I like children but I had to stay and look after the house. Us dogs still haven’t met the baby – he’ll be all grown up by the time we see him. I think he’s coming to our house in a little while.  Everyone keeps saying he’s a gorgeous, happy little boy - I hope he likes us.

Anyway, Mr and Mrs didn’t get home till ever so late but they left the lights on for us even though we don’t mind the dark. We hadn’t had our supper so that was the first thing that happened when the Humans walked in. Then the Humans had their supper.

Today we’re all tired. Us dogs get really worn out worrying about our Humans when they go out without us to protect them so we always spend the next day sleeping. I’m wondering what’s going to happen in a few days ‘cos Mr H keeps saying, ‘You don’t know what’s coming your way,’ then Mrs H laughs and says, ‘They’ll be all right,’ so I don’t think it will be anything nasty. I expect it will be something nice that we’ll really like – maybe a big juicy boneJ They’re going to take us for a good long walk so that means they’ll be going out without us again to collect whatever is coming. I expect dogs aren’t allowed in bone stores – too much excitement.

Gillian and Bethan are coming to see us next weekend – at least, I think they’re coming to see us. I don’t think they’d be very interested in meaty bones but I could be wrong.

I must go now - *yawn* - I need to go back to sleep again.

Be good.

Hwyl fawr am nawr! (That’s Welsh for ‘Goodbye for now!’)

Clever pig!

If you ever doubted the intelligence of pigs this clip should convince you . . .

Self-containment

It’s no good – I can contain myself no longer. Actually, that would be terribly messy, wouldn’t it? Organs and tendons and bones spilling out in an unholy soup simply because my too-frail flesh could no longer hold them in, and should it happen, would I see it, like the beheaded man is believed to see for a glancing second or two? It doesn’t bear thinking about.

However, if a chicken can run around headless for days, or even eighteen months, as Mike the Headless Chicken did, why cannot a human? Granted, it would be bizarre if not actually terrifying and disgusting in equal degrees, but if a chicken can do it, why cannot a man? Superior being and all that . . .

I can’t see anyone volunteering to prove that it could be done, but you never know. Notoriety can bring money – I’m sure the people who survived hanging dined out on the story. Only two Englishmen survived attempted hanging three times, John ‘Babbacombe’ Lee and Joseph Samuel.

And now, having written this ramble, I find I can contain myself – for another day or two, at leastJ

Clivia

Clivia

I gave my mother this Clivia fourteen or fifteen years ago. It only flowered once for her but it has bloomed every year for me since she died twelve years ago and is a wonderful reminder of her, if I should ever need one. 

I am linking to Today's Flowers where you can see many beautiful flowers across the world.

What is it?

What is it?

What is it? Did it give you a start when you saw it until you realised it wasn’t a snake?

Take a closer look – what is that peeping out?

More importantly, what does it signify? Questions, questions – and no answers yet . . . (and yes, I should have swept the floor before I took the photographs.)

Life . . .

Source: observando.net via Janice on Pinterest

Junk mail has its uses!

Junk mail has its uses!

Our intrepid postman brings the daily haul of mail, much of it consisting of junk. Added to that are the flyers that are pushed through the letter box each day – advertisements for take-away meals, taxi companies, window cleaners, gardening, ironing, oven cleaning – you name it, somewhere there’s someone offering services you might never have realised you needed. Then there are the many catalogues that arrive in droves – glossy, brightly-coloured, all appealing to the acquisitive spirit that lurks beneath the surface of so many of us.

Some of this dross can be burnt with the garden rubbish, (check which way the wind is blowing if you don’t want to be billed for relaundering the washing your neighbours may be attempting to dry in Nature’s tumble dryer!) some may be composted, though too much gives the worms indigestion (I made that up) but I fear much ends up in landfill sites or on a slow boat to China.

We are fortunate in having a log burner – two, actually, that also work on other fuels. Junk mail is useful in the initial ignition of the fires but burns away very quickly, leaving ash that can choke a nascent conflagration. Recently I saw an advertisement for the LogSaver, a device that holds rolled-up paper in a form similar to a natural log. It shows a copy of Yellow Pages (telephone directory) neatly rolled and held firmly in the iron grip of the LogSaver – that in itself was sufficient to stimulate my interest. Telephone directories are heavy, dense and not acceptable at local recycling points, in this area anyway. The advertisement further informed me that the logs thus formed would burn for around one hour and that the device would last for two years. (I must admit that I misread or misunderstood that last point and it was only when I was telling Barry how amazing it was that the logs would last for two years that I realised what I was saying and ended up in a fit of giggles. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently . . . )

Anyway, we thought it sounded like a good idea and accordingly, I sent off for it. It arrived in a neat little box which actually contained two LogSavers.

Note the recycling symbol! 

The papers/brochures have to be rolled quite tightly but once in place there is no escape from the fiery furnace for them.

  Firmly rolled . . .

. . . and ready to go! 

 

 Burning well . . .

. . . and casting a warm and comforting glow.

We are very impressed with them – they will help our logs and coal to go further, the ash can be used to improve the soil in the slurry pit that our garden has become and the volume of material in our recycling boxes has been reduced.

I’m not sure what we shall do in the summer, though . . . save up all the junk until we can have fires again?

Be Prepared!

Be Prepared!

Except in the far reaches of the British Isles, snow is not a common sight in winter and *if it lasts more than two weeks it’s cause for comment by national media. When snow is forecast a kind of war-time comradeship emerges and a siege mentality sets in as people flock to the shops to stock up on essentials. Everyone gets very excited when it falls and settles. Everything grinds to a halt – schools are closed, electricity supplies are cut, public transport is reduced or abandoned altogether and there are hourly warnings on radio and television not to go out  ‘unless your journey is really necessary.’

This is on Wildmoor Heath. There are many gates separating different areas. Cattle graze in some paddocks. On Sunday we reached a gate with a notice informing us that cattle were grazing in the paddock and dogs should be kept on leads. Barry asked a woman coming through the gate if there were any cattle in there. 'No,' she replied, 'I haven't seen any cattle up here for years.' We went confidently through and lo and behold there were several Charolais cows contentedly munching whatever cows munch. We're quite sure our informant wasn't blind! The dogs were well behaved and took no notice of the cows.

Intrepid reporters are sent to the four corners of the country – at least those that are experiencing the unusual phenomenon. They stand on windswept bridges or in the middle of roads telling their open-mouthed public how extraordinary, almost unprecedented, is the sight before them. Yes, travelling is really difficult when snow falls – could it be anything to do with the hordes of cameramen and journalists clogging up the roads telling the nation how it’s advisable to remain indoors?

Well-trodden and very wet in places . . .

Usually, pedestrians are only seen on the streets when taking their children to and from school and often simply from their cars to the school gates but when snow appears the normally deserted roads are filled with parents pulling children on sledges and families building snowmen and igloos. We even see people on skis! It’s funny how they cannot travel to work or school but can still summon the courage and strength to go out and play in the snow.

The unusual influx of people onto the streets is always rather worrying because some drivers, whose journeys are really necessary, are still attempting to navigate their cautious way across unfamiliar terrain. Being unversed in car handling in adverse conditions they are inclined to skid and slide and swerve unnervingly close to small people engaged in snowy pursuits. Sometimes young hotheads take the opportunity to practise handbrake turns along residential streets. Should such morons ever be allowed on the public highway, regardless of weather conditions?

Three years ago when we had a heavy fall of snow our ‘dog car’ got stuck (yes, our journey was really necessary – large dogs unexercised for any length of time are more perilous to health even than thick snow) and walking on frozen snow, even with pacer poles, was difficult so we decided that in future we would be fully prepared. Accordingly, Barry bought a snow shovel, snow socks for the car and chains for our walking boots. Naturally, the next two winters brought very little snow and absolutely no occasion to use our special equipment.

This year, when around 5”/12½ cms of snow fell on Saturday, the time was ripe to try out our winter paraphernalia. The snow shovel was put to good use and the drive has remained snow-free and safe to walk on (though more snow is forecast overnight – indeed has just started falling!)

The most revelatory things were the Yaktrax. They were difficult to attach to our boots but they make walking so much easier and safer. They are not good indoors on bare wooden floors – in fact, they’re probably quite hazardous unless you fancy practising ice-skating. The only things we haven’t yet tried are the snow socks. Maybe they will come in handy in another three years J (I may live to regret that flippant remark!)

Although I mock and despair over the parlous state of our transport system and the way we just cannot cope with a relatively small amount of snow, I do like to see that fresh, bright white, the most humble objects transformed into things of unutterable beauty, the trees supporting their crystalline burdens in a clear blue sky. I love the smell of the air, the feeling as it slices into my lungs, the crunch of the snow beneath my feet, the sight of my dogs frolicking in delirious delight. I relish looking out from my warm sitting room to an alien landscape and seeing the birds - and a hungry squirrel - feasting on fat cakes and peanuts and seeds. For me, snow is a rare delight and I embrace it – so long as my journey isn’t really necessary – apart from for the dogs, that is. 

*Thank you to all who pointed out my error. What I intended to say and should have made clear is that snow that lasts more than two weeks takes on the significance of an historical event, causing excited reporters and presenters to delve into the record books to identify whether *this* snowfall has exceeded all others in terms of depth and disruption. Already, we are told that serious floods will follow the thaw - the most serious ever? We shall see. I do sympathise with those most severely affected. It's no cause for levity, I know. 

Blogging

Blogging

My intention was to be a Better Blogger in 2013 but I seem to be in some sort of limbo, waiting for something to happen. On the one hand there is Barry’s mother, Dorothy, old and very frail, who keeps falling into a sort of hibernation in her care home in Dorset.

Two weeks ago she had been asleep for two days, not responding to any external stimuli apart from when the doctor poked the sole of her foot with something sharp. A short while later she woke up and indicated that she was thirsty. Barry and his brother decided she should go to hospital. While there she was rehydrated and given a broad spectrum antibiotic.

Barry’s sister-in-law phoned later to find out how she was and the nurse couldn’t locate her. Eventually she was discovered travelling round the hospital on her Zimmer frame looking for the exit. When the nurse was told that the doctor attending Dorothy in the home said she was dying, the nurse laughed and said, ‘No way is she dying.’ Indeed, when they visited later that day they found her in high good spirits, much of her lost personality seemingly restored, no longer the depressed and aggressive and inward-looking character she had been for so many, many months.

The next day she returned to the retirement home she has lived in for the last two and a half years and promptly fell asleep again. This time it was thought it was due to genuine tiredness after her journeying round the hospital. Following that, she was awake, drinking tea and eating chocolates. Now, once more, she’s back to sleeping deeply and eating and drinking very little. We think probably she will go into the local hospital where she will be rehydrated again. It seems the right thing to do rather than allow her to slowly die of thirst.

Meanwhile, at the other end of the country, in Edinburgh, our eldest granddaughter was taken into hospital with painful contractions (not Braxton Hicks) Very worrying, as the baby was not due for another eleven weeks. Marnie was transferred from St James’ to the Royal Infirmary where the facilities for treating very premature babies are better and we waited and waited and Gillian and Paul (Marnie’s parents) became more and more strained. 

After a week, when no further progress was made Marnie was discharged. She wasn’t allowed to fly or travel by train so Gillian drove to Edinburgh to collect her. She then had to go to Dorchester to be checked but was allowed home. She is still having contractions but will not see an obstetrician until Friday this week, almost three weeks since she was first admitted to hospital. Surely it cannot be right for her to continue having contractions for another eight weeks? She has been told she has an 'irritable uterus' - I'll say it's irritable!

However, the baby is pronounced healthy and capable of breathing on her own if she does arrive early. Whenever she puts in an appearance there are some names she should not have. With a surname starting with S she cannot have names giving the initials BS, FS, OS, PS or SS!! J

Interesting times - I’ll keep you posted!