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.

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.

Everything's a toy

Before I go and do the 4,000 things I have to do today, I thought I'd share this video with you. We discovered recently that Oscar tries to catch your breath when you gently blow in his face. Here, he also gets a little excited and catches Matt in the face. I don't know why, but this video tickled me more than anything has in a long time. Playing it again and again, I weep with laughter each time. It's the way he extends his arm to grab Matt's face, it's the way he unsolicitedly attempts to reach out for it a second time, it's the way he turns his little head beforehand in a plotting way, it's the way he looks like a right numpty grabbing at the air with his mouth open. Oh, I wish I could keep him.

All kinds of bad

So let me explain. Before I even took these foster kittens on, I knew I'd be travelling a lot come the summer. Well, my first trip is in just over one and a half weeks' time and I only found out last week. Where does this leave the furry gremlins? Gosh, if only I knew. I let Toronto Cat Rescue know in case they need to find them all a new foster home by then. I say "in case", but that makes it misleadingly seem like there's a good chance they'll all be adopted. Well, Matt and I have been unleashing quite an extensive marketing campaign for the little blighters and whilst we've not even got it all out 100%, there's little chance someone will want to adopt a sick kitten.

You see, the latest debacle is ringworm. Suspected ringworm, at least. First Mini Cat and then the rest. Mini Cat isn't too bad now but the rest of them all have it. Except Oscar. But then Oscar still has an upper respiratory infection that hasn't even budged with another course of Zithromax. Typical. Poor cats. I was told by TCR to buy some ringworm cream for them from the drug mart, which I've done, but it's just impossible to apply it twice a day to every single tiny bump hidden beneath the kittens' fur, and getting them to let me cut their fur for easier access, as suggested, is about as easy as getting a disabled tortoise to jump through hoops.

I dropped by at my local vet today to display some posters and asked them about ringworm. They gave me the impression it would be difficult to cure ringworm for sure without getting the chemical wash from the vet ($62 per kitten for a consultation plus $100 minimum for the treatment itself). Well, that's out of the question, seeing as I hardly even have money to treat myself to the occasional piece of jewellery from H&M.

Worse still, we've got someone coming to see the kittens tomorrow and they look like balding geriatrics. I can't lie to them about it, but who will want a ringworm-infested cat? Annoyingly, the term "ringworm" sounds scarier than it is, so all people think of is that they can catch these awful skin-burrowing worms off of cats, when really it's a harmless and purely cosmetic skin fungus that's meant to pass after some time on its own anyway. So again, who will take these kittens before we have to give them when they've got ringworm (because you can sure bet it's not the kind of thing that goes away in one and a half weeks)?

To make things even worse (for me, at least), if it's possible, yesterday one of the kittens chewed through my laptop charger. I went to the Apple store and through some welcome serendipity somehow managed to blag a new one on the warranty, thank heavens. I took extra special care to keep the new one away from the kittens since then and it's been out of their reach all night. What I didn't notice, however, is that for the one hour that I had the charger in the same room as them tonight, a tiny bit was poking out where they could see it. Well, three months and never before a cable casualty until yesterday despite all cables being exposed for all that time, and now the same offending kitten chooses the one hour and the five inches of cable that is available to him to chew through it yet again.

To say I was distraught is an understatement. I sobbed for a full 20 minutes. There'll be no more blagging at the Apple store this time and where the $100+ will come from to pay for a new cable is anybody's guess. So at 56% battery charge and no promise of anything more any time soon, I'm signing off.

[half-heartedly] Oh, check out our blog page for promoting the kittens. *Sigh*

Guess who's back

Oscar. Yes, Oscar. The lady who took him isolated him from her other cat for one night because of his continuing sniffles and he was crying so much on his own that she felt too sorry for him. The very next day, Matt and I missioned it on the subway to Kipling to pick him. The day after that, I walked 6.6 km in my pretty shoes just to pick up medicine for him. ("You can't walk walk that!" Ferne at TCR exclaimed. "Pssh," I said, examining my nails coyly, "That's nothing. You should see how far I walk for human medicine." I didn't really say that). Listening to The Bugle podcasts en route and getting a tan made it all the more worthwhile.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaargh. Don't get me wrong, we actually really missed Oscar and were really happy to have him back once more, plus the lady said she will still take him once he's better, but I can't help but think I will be stuck with six full grown cats in my 2m x 2m flat for the rest of their lives. Christ, the way I'm going, it'll probably be for the rest of my life. I'm convinced I'll have to raise my future children in this cat house, constantly attempting to prevent them from attacking the baby in its crib or eating its food when I turn my back. On the brighter side, maybe I could get them to help me raise it. You know, a bit like Mogli. There are many feline values that could be appropriate for a child to learn, like... uh... getting what you want by looking cute and speaking nicely... uh... being assertive and feisty... uh... begging soul-destroyingly for food and... umm... developing cunning. Yes, cunning is always important if this kid is to become a mastermind in this day and age, and who better than Celia to be the meticulous tutor for that purpose? And when the kids are older, they can call her Mum too and refer to the former kittens as their uncles and aunties. I'm just wondering where Matt falls into this. I'm suspecting he falls out of this some years before conception has taken place. 

*Sigh* 

Well, I just hope my friends and loved ones will recognize the vital signs when I'm confined to a rocking chair in my 80s enduring several debilitating illnesses and the cats start eyeing me up suspiciously.

NB: If you think this picture's intriguing, check THIS out.

And the Oscar goes to ...

... a lovely lady from Burlington who fell in love with him straight away!

Sorry, Matt told me I had to put that joke in. He was so pleased with himself.

It's not a laughing matter, however. We miss him so much. I was actually fine with it until Oscar's new mum phoned me after getting home and said that he's been crying for the past hour. He's still got some sniffles from getting over a URI so she thought it best to isolate him from her other two year old cat, so he's been crying non stop! It broke my heart to hear him in the background and it's awful to think he'll never snuggle up to me again and purr his little grey head off, but then I remind myself that it was always going to be difficult for them to adjust to a new home and in the end it's the best thing that could happen to him. Well, one down, five to go. Hmm... and then what?

"Take them! Take them all!"

Gosh, I thought none of the kittens would ever find homes but it seems that God has finally been smiling upon this little brood. I had an e-mail from a lovely lady a couple of days ago who was interested in taking Elliot or Oscar.

My first thought was "Why them?", which, yes, is slightly shameful, even though I am like one of those fiercely proud parents who see their kids as being beautiful, even if said kids have seven ears and a tail growing out of their heads. Of course I think all my foster kittens are cute and unique blah blah blah but have you seen the TCR website? Some of the cuteness on there makes me weep (partly in awe, partly in a sense of hopelessness for my own, less attractive kittens) and I even see a lot of those ones gathering dust on the website week after week. Poor little gremlins, I think, all they want is a good home, and as unique and deserving of love as each one may be, if even the cutest ones aren't snapped up, what hope do my lot have? 

So again, why had this lovely lady picked Oscar and Elliot out of that sea of fur?  I'm told she can only take one of them (who will be a playmate to her existing 2 year old boy cat) and apparently she couldn't tell Oscar and Elliot apart on the TCR website, so I am wondering whether the fact that Elliot can walk on a leash swayed her decision and it is in fact he who she prefers but doesn't know which face belongs to him.  Lucky for her, they can both walk on a leash (I'm only joking: I very much doubt she's that superficial).

So after the initial puzzlement came the glee at the prospect of some interest in the kittens, then the slight sadness about having to split the two grey boys up, then a more intense sadness due to the realisation that they are all going to have to go at some point. I'm torn between screaming "Take them! Take them all!" to her when she comes on Monday and coolly telling her she's got the wrong address (I'd have to put the kittens in the bathroom and sedate them in order for them not to blow my cover). 

Anyway, so she's coming over on Monday night with the intention of taking one of them home with her. Who will she pick? They're so different now. Elliot is a giant, muscly beast (I'm wondering if Matt's secretly obtained a cheeky supply of creatine to enhance his "manly charm" and Elliot's gone and found it) with a face inexplicably not unlike a bull dog's. Forgive me, God, but if Elliot were a human of school age, I suspect he may be bullied for his looks (children can be so evil), but luckily he's a cat and even ugly cats are accepted in our society. Moreover, I know people who specifically enjoy ugly cats (no, not just to make fun of). Of course, his unfortunate oversized face might be to do with the fact that he's currently overcoming yet another bout of Inflamed Eye Syndrome (not its official name, I'm sure), a popular companion of cat flu. Elliot is more interested in running around like a greyhound on steroids (in fact, if not for the fat head, he's not dissimilar to one of those), whilst Oscar is smaller, a lot lighter, much more loving and seems to have stolen Elliot's former beauty, facially speaking. The malleable quality of these kittens' faces really is extraordinary. 

Anyway, so I guess we will wait and see. I'm just hoping she won't make up some colourful excuse come Monday and leave empty handed when she sees these illness-ridden, leg-climbing kittens.

Uh, in my next blog post, I will try to abstain from using unnecessary parentheses.

No one messes with Celia

On Canada Day, Matt and I decided to have some friends over who live in the same condo complex. They have a cute little dog named Farley, a jack russell/chihuahua cross, who is a total little sweetie (one must gush like this in such a dog owner dominated neighbourhood as ours). We suggested bringing Farley over to ours as he doesn't like being left alone much and we also thought it would be good for the kittens to get used to being with a dog. Farley was reportedly fine with cats and, as a precaution, we put Celia in another room in case she got a bit protective of her kittens.

Well, within minutes of them arriving and the kittens acting remarkably nonchalant around Farley (friendly, even), Celia magically appeared under the coffee table and alerted us to her presence by her hissing in Farley's direction. Unsurprising, but nonetheless slightly concerning, so I made a move for Celia in order to remove her from the room. Mere inches before I managed to get my hands on her, she literally darted three feet in the air at Farley, all four sets of claws and teeth poised for attack. Poor Farley squealed like a banshee as Celia what I can only describe as viciously attacked him. Our friend hastily lifted him up by the collar onto his lap whilst, shockingly, Celia remained attached to him with all four of her limbs. Matt managed to pull Celia off and place her back in the bathroom, but not before one of the animals released a revolting-smelling spray of liquid that impressively managed to project all over our sofa, floor and coffee table as well as our friend. Needless to say Farley went straight home, where I'm told he quickly recovered 

from his shock. For the next five minutes, Celia resembled a bloated squirrel with her bushy tail and spine as she patrolled the flat looking fierce.  

Now obviously it was a silly thing to have allowed this to happen (although I am wondering whether Celia's cunning has now extended to achieving the ability to open bathroom doors) and it was a truly horrendous scene to watch (and scent to remove) but it does astound me that a cat could get this violent. I suppose my message is never to underestimate how protective a mother can be, because even for a petite, sleek little cat like Celia, her "moves" have certainly made me more weary of pissing her off (and believe me, I can be annoying).

Look at her. Butter wouldn't melt.

In other news, Rosey is eating like a trooper and growing admirably, whilst Oscar doesn't seem to have regained much weight since his dramatic weight loss and diarrhea, despite also eating like a trooper. They both still have URIs and it's been weeks if not months. Their noses are all snotty, they're sneezing and Oscar is finding it hard to breathe. I am not overly worried though because they're both still very lively, eating well, have good stools and I keep them well hydrated, but it's still a little unsettling that they continue to be ill. Their eyes are getting gunky again, although thankfully I have ointment for that from last time. I've been told there's not much I can do about their illness as I've already used strong medication in the past so they just have to see this through. 

Uninvited guests

There's no fancying this up: this morning I woke up to several visitors in the litter tray. They were stunningly long and squirmy-looking (or at least looked like they used to be) and I was transfixed for several moments as I pondered how these things could have actually been living inside my furry little babies. 

Anyway, needless to say I was very grateful that Ferne from Toronto Cat Rescue had come over last night to deworm all of the critters, and by golly was it a mission and a half. Honestly, I admire anyone who can put up with and indeed be apparently oblivious to that many sets of needle sharp claws and teeth hacking away at their skin. On a positive note, Ferne confirmed it would be a good idea to clip their claws. Once this was confirmed, an evil laugh unfurled itself within me (inaudible, of course: I had to at least wait until I was alone) at the thought of the kittens trying and failing to mount and consequently draw blood from my bare legs in the mornings.

So they had worms, it transpired. Roundworms, to be exact, although they didn't look particularly round to me. This is all a bit of a mystery, really, for all the cats except Rosey had been dewormed, albeit at different times. Reassuringly, this worm fiasco might explain Celia's repeated vomiting as well as Oscar's weight and appetite loss over the past week. I imagine any fosterer would agree when I say there's nothing worse than a cat or kitten being ill, especially when the cause is mysterious. Unfortunately it happens a lot with shelter kitties, but at least it's all good preparation for when Matt finally gives in to buying me a ridiculously big diamond and we have a bambino of our own.

Anyway, so I'm hoping some good times will ensue now this worm saga's come to an end and that I won't have to be jamming KMR-laden syringes into unhungry mouths much longer.

Let's have some happy pictures to bring the mood back up, eh? Cue jaunty kitten music I composed with Matt last week.

Mini-Cat's more interested in what's not hers, like an envious socialite

Mini-Cat wants to do everything I do but knows secret and destructive key combinations that I don't.

Elliot pretending he's never mounted and consequently drawn blood from a single leg in his life.

Rosey just being... Rosey