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.

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.