We have a fish pond, and a stream at the bottom of the garden. It is thus somewhat of a rite of passage for cats in this household that they at some point come home very wet indeed. With Bada, we had to hose her down with jugfuls of warm water at 1 a.m. Iggy and Mustrum have often come in very moist, where clearly one of their full and frank exchanges of views has taken them into the stream. Here’s Drumknott in a fairly soggy state.

Henry is very interested in the fish in the pond, but he is also obsessed with chasing insects, and dances across the garden in pursuit; I said to Pete the other day that he would probably end up in the pond. And so it was this morning.

He didn’t seem remotely bothered, and Ron helped him clean up. The fish, however, were huddled at the bottom of their pond, and seemed unimpressed.

Originally published at the Tribe.


This afternoon I found Henry and Ron busily investigating a bumble bee which had somehow fallen into their clutches. They were fascinated by the sound it made, and had batted it about enough for it to be not very well at all. Pete removed it, as what we really don’t need is a kitten with a stung mouth.

However, I fear this may be inevitable, as they are sproinging round the garden chasing anything that flies. Or buzzes.

Originally published at the Tribe.

Henry, Mustrum and Iggy

We bought a cheap little camera in town yesterday, a Pentax M50, to keep downstairs – this is the first video, which didn’t come out too bad at all.

Henry likes to chase the shadow of his tail – he does this a lot, for a very long time usually. Except, it seems, when there’s a camera about. But there’s some nice footage of Mustrum, who is a very fine cat indeed, and some of Iggy too.

The “red or green” question, incidentally, was to do with what colour of chilli was wanted for the tomato sauce for supper.

Originally published at the Tribe.

snoozing in the spring sun

I just went downstairs to fetch the washing in from the line (and how nice to be able to dry it outside!), and passed four cats snoozing peacefully in the living room; Mustrum was up here in the study.

I can’t tell you how nice it was, as last evening we were worried enough about Henry to phone the VetLine that came with his insurance. He had been extremely sick during the afternoon – the entire contents of his fat little tummy – and then a little later, again, but just bile that time.

We weren’t too bothered at that – he’d had a trying couple of days, anaesthetic, pain killers, car journey, operation, NO FOOD for several hours. He’s not a sicky cat, though – we’re not aware of him having ever vomited before. No, what caused us real worry is that he refused his waffer thin chickie – that was enough to make us concerned.

So, as we had the phone helpline, I thought I’d give them a try. And they were great – the very first question they asked was the phone number, so they could phone us back if we got cut off. It was an 0800 number, and I had a vet nurse on the phone for about 20 minutes – can’t fault the service.

She agreed with us in the end that it was just All Too Much, and that Tuesday’s rather overenthusiastic troughing upon his return from the vet had quite a lot to do with it. But she was very thorough, and logged it all.

Not just pet insurance – this is Marks and Spencer pet insurance. Well impressed.

And Henry has eaten like a small grey furry hog today, so clearly he’s OK again 🙂

the unkindest cut of all

Ron and Henry were conveyed to the vet today, to be neutered. As is the way of things these days, this can no longer be done at the little surgery in Hotwells; instead, we had to drag them all the way over to Zetland Road for 8-8.30 a.m. The traffic in our village is appalling from about 7.30 a.m., so we were up early, enboxed the chaps and drove across Bristol.

Neither they nor the other cats had had anything to eat since about 7.45 last night, and so there was a deal of plaintive mewing en route, but we arrived safely without them actually consuming the cat box, and delivered them in plenty of time.

Within an hour or so, the vet hospital phoned and said that Ron’s (it would be Ron, wouldn’t it?) second testicle had not descended, and thus his op would be a little more serious. And expensive. They have to “go in and get it”.

We collected them at 14:00 and brought them home to, on the vet’s recommendation, “a light meal and rest and quiet”. The mewing in the car was rather more urgent on the return journey, which was – I think – due to hunger.

I’m not joking here: within 10 minutes of getting home, they’d consumed an entire chicken breast (boiled and chopped), a pouch of Whiskas, and half a can of Whiskas. They’re now roaming the house to see if there’s anything else nice to eat. Ron has killed a cardboard, and Henry has seen to a piece of plastic coated wire. Nobody’s told *them* they’re supposed to be resting.

I have a second chicken breast, which is supposed to be for the three big cats – what do you think the chances are?

scrabbling under the bed

Pete and I were reading in bed last night, and there was a sort of scrabbling from under the bed. Kittins do scrabble, of course, but there seemed somehow to be a more concentrated aspect to this than usual.

So Pete got out and had a look. And found a rat. Dead, thankfully, but not for long, as it hadn’t stiffened up. Also thankfully, it was intact, despite Ron and Henry’s best efforts to open it. Pete has disposed of it.

A rat in February seems quite odd, and they certainly didn’t catch it themselves. We can only surmise that Aunt Lilith brought it in for them, as she is the only cat we have now who rats (as far as we know, of course). Perhaps she has commenced some sort of training regime.

Originally published at the Tribe.

having his evil way

Mustrum and Henry

Mustrum used to have an unfortunate tendency to, er, press his affections on our late and much lamented Moo. Although she wasn’t keen, she never stopped him, and he has never really come to understand that he’s been neutered.

He appears to have transferred his affections to Henry now, who seems equally submissive, if a tad wild-eyed, as can bee seen in the photograph. It’s all very odd, really

Originally published at the Tribe.