Wonder Cat

So Rosey is still boycotting his obscenely large selection of litter trays for the purposes of plopping. Poor Mini Kitty. She must think boys are so lazy and unclean, which I would actually concur with.

Last weekend my mum came home after running some errands and went into the bathroom, where Mini and Rosey stay when she's out, and fully expected to find a little present from Rosey on the floor. Indeed she could smell said gift, but couldn't see it. She could, however, see a J cloth on the floor, under which was nestled Rosey's little present, as it turns out. My mum concludes that Mini Cat must have dragged the cloth from its previous spot wedged behind the toilet cistern and used it to cover Rosey's poop, possibly in some kind of desperate (but alarmingly clever) attempt to cover up the foulness.

I was skeptical when she told me this, but she went on to say that Mini regularly kicks bits of gravel that happen to be outside the litter tray towards Rosey's offending stool, wherever it may be in the room, and attempt to cover it up with that, so now I am wondering whether the whole J cloth thing was premeditated by the little black cat after all. Apparently they've never played with the J cloth either. They're not interested in things like that. I am surprised either way. I thought a recent study showed that cats are pretty stupid. Mind you, a lot of people can be pretty stupid too. Anyway, needless to say my mum was gushing and squealing like an embarrassingly proud parent over Mini's antics. To be fair, I knew she was a special little girl.

In other news, Rosey is still snotty and sneezy and, on reflection, has actually been like this since I got him. The vet's been giving him various medication and although he has this issue, his airways and lungs are always apparently clear. My mum thinks he's got some sort of lifelong condition. She keeps vaguely mentioning herpes, which has me raising my eyebrows in perplexion (which isn't actually a real word, but definitely should be). I'm pretty sure the vet mentioned no such condition.

Here are some old and recent photos of the babies for purposes of a comparison. It's amazing how much they've grown and changed.

Getting back to writing

Wow, life's been hectic now back at home and I just realised how long it's been since my last post. I am genuinely wondering how I went about my life with six cats to care for when there even seems too much to do now with none. I guess when you're caring for the little critters, you automatically care about them more than the trivial little things in life (like keeping the surfaces tidy, using in-date milk and paying the electricity bill).

I see Oscar and Tilly are still listed on the TCR website and therefore still in their foster home. I wonder how they coped with losing their mom. Just the thought of it is so saddening, even if cats don't attach as much emotion to this kind of thing as humans. I think I'd be in tears if I had to look after those poor orphans. And I think I was lucky with my bunch. It was difficult enough coping with the death of Celia even though she was no longer in my care: I don't know how I'd have felt if I did lose one while he/she was with me.

I feel like I appreciate the fragility of life a bit more having just read about little Destiny's fate on Beth's blog. It makes me think back to Rosey and how close we'd been to losing him. I cannot believe what a little fighter he was and how far he's come from being a snotty little furball who wouldn't stop screaming to an athletic little tiger who only ever wants to poop on the floor. I feel like throwing caution to the wind and just letting the little guy poop wherever he bloody well likes in appreciation of the fact that he just kept on going in times of adversity. Unfortunately he's my mum's responsibility now and she tells me it's not much fun cleaning up poop from the floor every day, especially in the heat of summer. I actually do know how she feels and have had my fair share of it, thank you very much. Other than that, Rosey's being totally, totally spoilt with fresh meat, which he loves so much that he gobbles it down and starts on Mini-Cat's bowl within seconds. No wonder him and Matt got on so well.

As an aside, I was alarmed to notice a strange name on Rosey's medicine bottle from the vet when I visited at the weekend - "Tigger". Having questioned my mum, she shiftily revealed that when being pressed for a name at the vet the first time, she felt embarrassed for Rosey about giving the vet a girl's name for him, so she hastily opted for "Tigger". Uh, now all we have to do is change Mini's name to "Winnie" and rename Tiddles "Christopher Robin" and we're all set for a remake of the children's classis Winnie The Pooh. Well, she claimed she gave that name because he looks like a tiger and wasn't in fact aware of his cartoon namesake, but I'm not so sure. There's nothing wrong with the name, as such, but it's such an obvious name for a tabby cat and I don't like obvious. And I also cannot believe they rebuffed my suggestion of "Dexter" (I've been enjoying series 1 and 2 and was inevitably inspired) and then went and did this. Anyway, luckily neither names stuck and my handsome little stripy prince continues to be called Rosey, although his silly little head doesn't in fact seem to respond to anything you call him.

Some very sad news

Celia, whose translucent amber eyes adourn the tops of my blog pages, passed away yesterday.

Jenn at Toronto Cat Rescue had the kindness to think of me and delicately let me know straight away, even though I'm away from home and even though I was just another foster home for Celia that she'd had up until three weeks ago. She was right to think that's not how I saw it though.

Apparently Celia fell ill at her new foster home last week, a week or two after being spayed. She was taken to the vet where she remained on IV until she could fight no more. I'm told the vet felt Celia was jaundiced and had pneumonia. Jenn thinks her little body just couldn't handle recovering from the spaying operation.

When one of my beloved cats who I'd grown up with passed away a few years ago, it felt like a small part of me withered inside, but I nonetheless at the same time found comfort in that he'd enjoyed a reasonably long but certainly happy life. I've been troubled by the sad realisation that I cannot find similar comfort in Celia's passing. Any shred of comfort is as tenuous as her eventual grip on life.

I don't know much about Celia's history except that she spent longer than she should have in a metal cage at a high kill shelter. When dropping her off to me from the shelter, Beth observed from Celia's behaviour that this one year old cat definitely must have been loved at some point, words which still resonate with me. I'll never know how she lost this love, but her never-to-be-won battle to properly regain it I suspect will continue to quietly haunt me.

Within days of having her, one name came to me out of the blue with curious gusto: 'Celia', a name so fitting for a cat demure and fervid in equal measures, so reflective of her playful nature and unquestionable femininity. My Ceeli, my Celi-Cat, my Sea Leaf, my little madame who so tenaciously asserted her self-assured, capricious status in the household for the entire three months that she was with us. So strong, so obstinate that I never imagined her to ever be anything other than an unfaltering constant. An admirable mother to her kittens, a grateful and unforgettable houseguest to myself and Matthew. A familiar radiant face in the back of my mind and memory, locked firmly in the only place she will continue to exist to me.

Thank you, Celia. Thank you for making my thoughts delve deeper into the idea and secrets of motherhood than any human being has. Thank you for fighting on long enough to make sure that Tilly, Elliot, Oscar and Mini-Cat were raised in the best way possible and in full health. Thank you for accepting an orphaned and sickly Rosey as one of your own and being the mum he never had. Thank you for presenting me with a challenge I never thought I'd take on, let alone succeed in, yet did. Thank you for making me realise that sometimes a cat's just got to have their own way. Thank you for doing all the funny, quirky things that will always remind me of you and make me smile even through my tears. Thank you for inspiring me to write a song about your awkward but entertaining ways. I must finish it some day. Thank you for opening my eyes to the struggles that stray and abandoned cats and kittens face and how it's possible to make a difference.

Most of all, thank you for being a gorgeous little black, yellow-eyed kitty and giving me a reason to pick you in the first place. You may never have found a forever home, but you'll always have a forever home in my heart.

Matters of the rear end

So Rosey has now pooped on the bed about five times at my mum's. It seems that whilst the bed is an essential component favoured above even the litter tray, he's not actually fussed about which bed he relieves himself on: the one in the spare room, the one in my room when I visit, the basement spare rooms etc. Well, this morning he apparently hit the motherload - my mum's bed. He also added a cheeky pee as an afterthought. Of course, my mum and her partner couldn't possibly have normal bedding, oh no. It had to be a $200 wild goose down duvet with sheets made of rare Madagascan glow worm cotton that was handwoven by leprechauns in the Andes (maybe). Needless to say her partner was anything but happy, particularly thinking of that cleaning bill.

The good news is that Rosey isn't entirely to blame. After his previous ill-placed stools, my mum resolved to keep him in the bathroom with the litter tray until he gets used to using it again (she also leaves a bit of water in the bath because that's his second favourite spot to defecate after the bed) but her partner failed to adhere to this and let him out, so I suppose if you let a cat that you know poops in beds on your bed, there's a good chance it will poop on that bed.

Anyway, they're giving it a few weeks and seeing if they can manage to retrain him, so fingers crossed, but it doesn't help poor Rosey's cause when his behaviour is in total contrast to Mini-Cat's, who is reported to even leave her dinner half eaten in order to visit the litter tray when she has the urge. They say she's a little angel. Poor Rosey.

Still looking back

Well, it's been a little while and I'm happy to say it's been getting a bit easier not having the kitties around, but only because I'm away. The morning after Celia, Oscar and Tilly went to get neutered and spayed before going to their new foster home was just ghastly. Our apartment was silent and there were no longer a set of furry heads looking at me from the sofa when I opened my bedroom door. I went about my business and kept coming across their toys that were scattered across the floor and taunting me. It was like an abandoned playground that was filled with laughter and chatter only moments before but now is just a swing gently swaying back and forth whilst a tumbleweed rolls across in the background from stage left.

On a happier note, Rosey and Mini Cat seem to be getting on well at my mum's. Well, I mean they're happy, but I think my mum could be a bit happier. She absolutely adores them but it's apparently been quite challenging coping with an old cat that hates the kittens and kittens than hate producing normal stools. Mini had diarrhoea, which seems sorted now (fingers crossed) after a visit to the vet, and Rosey has taken to pooing in the bathtub. Not nice, but still an improvement from pooing on the bed, which he did over the weekend. My mum says it also seems like the only time he bothers trying to cover up his poo is when he poos somewhere destructive, in which case he appears to go at it until it's smeared over a one metre radius. When he does poo in the litter tray, his loving sister Mini covers it up for him, bless her.

Speaking of her, my mum says she is just adorable. Of course I knew this, but I'm secretly pleased that I picked her such a charming cat (she wanted Rosey but I insisted she have Mini too, who I paid for). She cuddles up to my mum all the time and purrs her little head off. She also never scratches, even if she wants to wriggle free. Everyone fell in love with her at the vet apparently too, which, by the way, was surprisingly cheap. They gave her antibiotics, a thorough examination, worm treatment, special food to take home, clipped her claws and gave her a cute little welcome pack with her own purple octopus toy, flea comb and various other bits and bobs, all for $65! Mind you, this is Innisfil, so I guess you don't get the Toronto prices and they probably don't have as much demand.

Anyway, I thought I'd leave you with some pictures of the two rascals in their new home, which is about twenty times the size of the home they had with me.

Going their separate ways

As the day's worn on, I've been feeling more and more melancholy. Rosey and Mini Cat are now in their forever home at my mum's and spent the past two nights chasing each other round my bed whilst I tried to sleep before curling up next to me, a luxury they didn't get the opportunity to enjoy while they were in Toronto with me.

I made my way back home tonight to a cheerless apartment containing Matt and the three remaining cats: Celia, Oscar and Tilly. Elliot went to his new home a couple of nights ago where he's getting used to his new name: Spyro. The sombre feeling here is down to the fact that this whole thing is over now. Tomorrow morning a driver is picking Celia, Oscar and Tilly up and taking them to the vet to have them neutered/spayed. After that they will recover at a Toronto Cat Rescue worker's home before going to their new foster home.

In a few days' time I will inevitably be occupying my mind with plenty of other things during my time away, but right now it feels like I've lost something. It's like I feel sad for everything. I feel sad for Rosey and Mini Cat because I won't see them often, I feel sorry for Elliot because he's having to adjust to a new home, I feel sorry for Oscar because he doesn't even know how much we want to adopt him but can't, I feel sorry for Tilly because it's like we've left her at the bottom of the pile of her litter and I feel sorry for Celia because she's striving to find someone to love her permanently but, realistically, the chances of that happening any time soon aren't great. I also feel sad for TCR for having to move these cats about and for struggling to keep their charity financially afloat and I feel sorry for Matt for having had this little cat family forced on him in the beginning, only to have fallen in love with them and suffer the heartache of never seeing [most of] them again. And yes, I admit it, I feel sad for me too. Sad and guilty, as if I could have done more.

Well, I guess it's the end of this particular journey but I don't feel it's anywhere near time to disconnect from it all. I'll try to stay in touch with as many of the kittens are possible, their new homes permitting, and will of course follow the course of Mini Cat and Rosey growing up at my mum's. I have also offered to do fostering for cats whose foster families go away on vacation at times when I'm back home here, at least until my schedule is a bit freer some time next year. I also want to help TCR raise some money, so I am going to have a good think about ways in which I can do that. I want to paint some paintings for them to sell at events later on in the year, so I guess I might as well start gathering some catty inspiration.

And so with a sigh of resignation tinged with quiet optimism, I'm going to bed. My heavy heart would be lifted if only Celia, Oscar and Tilly could sleep in our room tonight, if it wasn't for the Godforsaken tomato plant that lives there (and, to add insult to injury, hasn't even had the decency to sprout more than two feeble pea-sized fruit over the last two months).

I think I'm going to compile some nice photos to post soon of the past three months.

An actual adoption!

Well, I hope I'm not speaking too soon, but I do have a good feeling about this. Someone replied to our Kijiji ad earlier on this week, expressing interest specifically in Elliot. I know! He'd taken the time to look through all the profiles we made for the kittens on their blog and had obviously decided that a muscleman beast of a cat is the kind of cat for him. I must say Matt and I were apprehensive at first because of this guy's short, snappy e-mail responses (this is entirely irrational, of course) so when we finally set up a time for him to come meet Elliot yesterday, we were almost expecting him not to even turn up.

But turn up he did, and what a surprise. It's not that either of us had any particular expectations, but I suppose we didn't exactly expect to see a young tattooed man at our door with a tall, immaculate, skinny jean-clad friend in tow with better sculpted eyebrows for a man than I've seen on any woman. I instantly liked them both. Don't ask me why, I guess it was "the vibe".

They both plonked themselves on our living room floor (not that we have more than three rooms) and observed the cats for a while before gently engaging in some light play. Fifteen minutes of chatting revealed that this guy knew more about cats than I do, but more importantly, it was clear that he cared for them a hell of a lot and had always adopted rescue animals throughout his growing up. He lives in central Toronto with a couple of people who already own a cat and a dog that are getting on a bit so wouldn't mind the buzz of youth injected into their furry lives.

Unbelievably, he seemed to really warm to Elliot straight away and was totally sure of his decision to adopt him. He filled out the adoption forms and said he'd spend the next few days getting everything together for Elliot and come back with the adoption fee later on next week to pick him up. We were so, so, so happy. It seems Elliot was too, because he's been so loving and grateful-looking ever since. And, as is typical of fate, I now come to regret my negative words about his aesthetics, even though it's mostly tongue-in-cheek, because he really is a beautiful boy, if not a little beefy, as the above picture proves.

Oh, and the reason for Elliot's new daddy's short, snappy e-mail is because he uses a BlackBerry, the same BlackBerry he got his friend to take pictures of him cuddling Elliot with so he can send it to his family and friends.

So, happily, with the money I'm going to save on not having my cables chewed, I went and got my hair highlighted today.