Felix Domesticus

Isaac Newton is accredited with discovering gravity and the nature of the universe. He is also credited with his laws about the nature of forces and such stuff. This doesn’t bother me too much. I test gravity every so often just to check that it works and think no more of it. I mean, providing there’s food on the plate, water in the pond and somewhere to bask what more could a self-satisfied cat want? Oh, yes, the freedom to come and go as one pleases. That was Newton’s greatest achievent; the catflap. Apparently he was far too busy messing about with prisms and things, trying to discover the nature of light to be bothered with letting his cat in and out. We cats are always on the wrong side of the door - that is the nature of the universe. The catflap neatly solves the problem of lazy people who cannot be bothered to let us in and out at our whim. We can do it ourselves. The kittens didn’t take long to figure that one out…

Take care - Nef.

Hatshepsut is a cat with airs - well, aren’t we all? She is a cat who has ideas above her station in life (which is below me). Don’t they all, indeed? Hatshepsut - of Hamlet and Bast, is a cat with many names. Hatshepsut became Hattie, then Hat. Then, as the humans are inclined, it grew longer again. It became Hat, the cat. As this rhymed with the nickname of a notorious gangster murdered by the Kray gang in the sixties (Jack the Hat McVitie), she became Hat the cat McVitie. McVities make biscuits… hence the moniker, “The Biscuit”. Warped, I know, but it is a cross we cats have learned to bear - it sort of compensates when you consider free food for life.

Hat is a cat with eyes that bore into you. A stare from those peepers will freeze even the most determined kitten. They may try to take her place on the duvet, but they try in vain. So, too does her mother who will defer to her wayward daughter on such matters - well, usually after a hiss and spat exchange. She will bounce onto the duvet, take up her place between the people and turn around three times before settling down. “It’s my place, darling, and don’t you forget it.” Even I tend to let her have that one - the agro is never worth it…

Oh, well, places to go, kittens to watch…

That cheeky Ahmose left me holding the kittens while she decided to go out crepuscling…

“His manners and appearance did not calculate to please; His coat was torn and seedy, he was baggy at the knees;” Growltiger’s Last Stand - T. S. Eliot
Hamlet was the original Growltiger. Ginger coated with one good eye, a torn ear, limp and bad attitude he appeared on our territory when Bast was on heat. He sired four kittens and didn’t realise that his job was now done and that he should do the honourable thing and vacate the premesis. He stayed - pinching our? food and ingratiating himself with the ape people. The more he snarled and hissed at them, the more they tried to appeal to his better nature. Hah! Better nature indeed. He didn’t have one. We all kept our distance. He liked to think that he was top cat around here, but that was just us letting him think that.

Take a good long look at that cat. Once, I guess, he was a good looking tom. By the time we knew him, the years had been rough and he was a bad attitude on legs and threadbare at the seams. His daughter, Cleo picked up where he left off when he died in 2003. Take a look at this picture and see the family resemblence:

The same set of the head, the same broad face and dammit! The same bad attitude. When the kittens were born, the rest of us tended to be tolerant - well, they are only kittens and they don’t realise that other cats’ tails are not toys. A quick boxing of the ears usually gets the message across - temporarily, at least. Cleo will adopt a different approach. She will walk into the room and survey it for low flying kittens. If they are detected, she will hiss loudly in their general direction before taking up residence and settling down to sleep. Woe betide any kitten that dares to ignore that warning. A quick trip to next Wednesday week is in store for those that do.
Curiously, she is friendly to the ape-people who seem to appreciate cats with a bad attitude. I really must take note of this and try it sometime.
Well, bye for now.

Nefertiti

Ahmose’s kittens had their first taste of the great outdoors today. Ahmose fussed about like, well, like a mother, herding and chirruping as she does. She really must get used to the idea that at six and a half weeks old, they are growing up and don’t need her to fuss so much. But fuss, she does. Her own mother was like it. Anyway…. pictures. Enjoy.

Okay, that’s me done for today.
Nef.

Those of you who were following Peter’s progress following his road accident will be saddened to learn that he died yesterday. He had been having difficulty passing urine. Upon investigation, the veterinary surgeon discovered that scar tissue was constricting his urethra. There was nothing he could do to repair this, so despite his making a remarkable recovery otherwise, the vet had no option but to end Peter’s life.

We are all deeply saddened.

“The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious cat: If you offer him pheasant he would rather have grouse,” The Rum Tum Tugger - T.S. Eliot.
Isis is much like the Rum Tum Tugger. Contrary and curious she is not like the other cats. One of Bast’s kittens, she inherited her father’s ginger genes and these show through her tabby coat.
This cat never ventures upstairs nor outside the humans’ boundary fence. Indeed, the garden is her territory and other cats venture in at their peril. She will wait on the shed roof and survey her domain. If the ape people enter the garden she will rush up to them and squawk loudly at them. Weird. We usually just leave her alone. Indoors she will settle in her basket under the chair. Woe betide any cat who dares to usurp that place.
Like her brother Ptolemy, she will take interest in the wildlife. Well, mice and voles. Unlike Ptolemy, she is more than happy to beat the living daylights out of fake mice. She has a grey stuffed mouse that she guards jealously and regularly beats into submission. Once, it had fur… Also, like Ptolemy she will occasionally inspect a hole in the
skirting because a mouse once hid there and you never know, one day it might just come out again.

Oh, well, that’s me done. Got to go and do something or other interesting…

“Then the family would say: ‘It’s that horrible cat! It was Mungojerrie - or Rumpelteazer!’ - And most of the time they left it at that.” (Mungojerrie And Rumpelteazer by T.S. Eliot)
Ptolemy looks much like his mother - a tabby striped tiger with a white tip on his tail. The ape-people tend to use terms like “not the sharpest tool in the box” although I’m not too sure what they mean by this. His claws are very sharp. Ptolemy is typical of a tom cat, though, not very bright, yet generous in nature.
Sometimes he will catch a mouse - more often he will steal it from one of his sisters. Once he brought on into the house much to the annoyance of the ape people who chased it around the room until it shot down a hole in the skirting and disappeared. Ptolemy kept watch on the hole for a while in the hope that the mouse would reappear. More likely it went under the floor and outside through a ventilation brick. He still harbours a hope that it will return and from time to time will look at the hole to see if there are any developments. None yet, of course and the brighter cats in the tribe realise this.

Most of us give him short shrift - particularly when he tries to assert himself as top cat. I’ve been known to box his ears on occasions for that offence. His usual trick is to slink up to his victim and lick their ears. Very nice, we all like the occasional ear lick…. mmmmmmmm. Then the blighter bites it. This results in a hiss, spat and flying fur with Ptolemy crashing through the cat flap with his offended victim in hot pursuit.
Since Ahmose arrived last summer, Ptolemy has a comrade in arms. He mothers her and she returns the affection. Oh, well, that saves my ears being bitten, I suppose. Since she had the kittens, he nannys them, too and she doesn’t mind. So all too often there is a thundering of feet, rattling of the cat flap and the humans look at each other and say “Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer and that’s all there is to say about that”.

This picture is typical of him - looking as if butter wouldn’t melt. Don’t you believe it. He is doubtless plotting some nefarious crime against another cat.

Well, that’s me - gotta go… busy, busy, busy.