Cat on the Keyboard

Jan 2019

Domestic cats give so much enjoyment to so many. Facebook and social media posts featuring these feline creatures are numerous. I have two, now twelve years old, both rescued as kittens. Leo and Poppy. I was persuaded to take the two as I was informed that they were brother and sister and would be good company for each other. I fell for the sales pitch. But I haven’t regretted it. Brother and sister or no they just about tolerate each other, so they indeed could be. One is a home-loving cat, the other an outdoor adventurer. One stays in and doesn’t go out much, the other stays out and doesn’t stay in much. However they are both quite fussy and leave any fresh cat food that has been left out for them for more than an hour. One demands a lap and sticks like a limpet, claws embedded deep into your skin. The other likes an occasional lap, but only for a few minutes. One accepts being heavily stroked and petted by our three-year-old granddaughter, the other can sense grandchildren ten minutes away before they arrive and disappears without trace until they have left.

There are several cats on our block at present who venture into our garden and they peep in through the patio window to check if we humans are about: a huge black and white bruiser who has battle scars all over his face, an all-black who is wary and nervous and a large and very handsome ginger. They all keep to themselves and you never see more than the one at a time. If they are spied by either of our cats there is caterwauling, spitting, swearing and the occasional prize fight, followed by a trip to the vets to get patched up. One or more of these intruders is entering in the dead of night through two cat flap barriers to finish off any food left in our kitchen cat bowls.

A quite recent development is outdoor cat being attracted to my computer keyboard while I’m using it. I am a two-fingered typist but I am now creating documents with two fingers and a paw. Leo just cannot resist and if he sees me heading to my desktop, he trots along too, jumping on my lap in readiness to be creative.

Cats are good copy for writers and when I’ve written about our moggies of the past, in the past, cat lovers have enjoyed reading about them. The rescue cat who preceded our present two was quite a character too. Freddie the Cat: a star in his own right. He was already long in the tooth (if he had any) when we got him and we soon realised that in his previous life he had been kept indoors all the time and never seen the outside world. He had agoraphobia and when we put him outside, he would spring back as though he was connected to an elastic leash. Being used to using a litter tray and never alfresco toileting, weaning him off indoor litter trays was a problem. He would eventually perch outside in desperation on top of a garden flowerpot to do what he had to do. He also had lost several teeth, but could still catch a mouse, it was painful for us watching him gumming one to death.

Dog's Blog

Bob’s Blog

A Dog’s Blog

We love our dogs, don’t we. But they aren’t perfect, especially mine. If I was asked to describe him best, I’d say he was a cross between Goofy and The Hound of the Baskervilles. My dog Alf is now in his dotage. In his sixteenth year and rapidly losing both sight and sound. And has some obligatory arthritis of course. These ageing problems don’t seem to bother him too much as his happiness indicator still wags vigorously on command. Country walks are now a venture too far, but luckily we have a large garden and he knows every inch by memory and locational sniffs. His sense of smell is fantastic and he can identify anyone in our family or circle of friends ten yards or more away. He gets into difficulties indoors however if a piece of furniture is moved or we have a change around. We hear a crash and find that he’s walked into the ironing board or whatever wasn’t lying in his path the day before. He doesn’t like potentially slippery floors, like tiles, as his back legs are quite weak, so if he reaches the edge of a carpet, he stands psyching himself up for the doggie long jump, leaps and lands where he thinks the next safe surface lies.  His habit of dunking any loose carpet he finds in his water bowl doesn’t help things at all. Also his short-term memory is lacking and he scratches the door to go out, then barks to come back in, then scratches the door to go out, then barks to come back in . . .  and so on. You get the picture I’m sure. Yes, his memory is poor, but on the plus side, his bladder and bowels are magnificent. If he exits to the garden and it’s particularly inclement, he immediately turns about to return indoors, leaving his day’s toileting until another day. Magnificent! He never was a yappy dog but now sits in the garden, jowls raised, barking at nothing in particular for as long as I think the neighbours can put up with it. If his barking is interrupted by a very loud bang from a car exhaust or low-flying helicopter, poor Alf literally spirals three feet in the air.

But he’s our pet dog, and you get very attached to your pet dog, warts and all. He started life as an Alfie but he’s much more suited to Alf these days I think. But Alf has never ingratiated himself to humans, ever. He looks happy and cuddly on the outside, but he’s made of sterner stuff inside. Never bite the hand that feeds you has never been a maxim for him. I exaggerate: he wouldn’t bite - quite, but his whole body goes rigid and he makes nasty growly noises to emphasise that he will not comply with instructions, and then does just what he wants.

So Alf’s life is drawing to a close. But suitable medicated he will happily last a little longer. He still has a good quality of life. And we still have a great quality of pet . . . ‘Do shut up that eternal barking Alf!’