Psst! Catmother here.
Yes, that’s right. Sorry to infiltrate your moggy enclave, but Pasha Puss is worn out this week from having caught her first mouse, so she’s taking a well-earned nap.
So I thought I’d nip in here secretly and give you a bit of the back story of Moggyblogs HQ.
This week: Pasha’s predecessors
Back in the mists of time (9 years ago), Felix and Flora arrived. A beautiful black pair of 5-month-old siblings, they came from the local Cats Protection centre and quickly made themselves at home. I’d heard horror stories about having more than one cat, but it appears that male and female siblings don’t tend to experience the same kind of dominance issues that plague other combinations.
At that time I was going out to work during the day, so as they were on their own for that period, it was a great relief that they were able to keep each other company. Even when we went on holiday for three weeks, and engaged a variety of friends to fulfil the feeding rota, F&F seemed to cope with no problem at all. And thus my guilt was assuaged.
Their personalities were very different. Felix spent less time in human company, often disappearing for an increasing number of days at a time, but when he was with us he seemed more confident about interacting with us. Flora, on the other hand, was more of a homebody and inclined to keep us company, but at the same time seemed more nervy and skittish.
Some time after they came to stay, the vet discovered that they (first Felix; then, later, Flora) had heart murmurs. Nothing too imminently dangerous, but it put them at greater risk of heart problems later in life. There was very little we could do, if we didn’t want to put them through a stressful-and-not-guaranteed-to-succeed operation, so all we could do was watch and wait.
Sadly, Felix succumbed to a blood clot at the age of just 4. His entire rear half was paralysed, and the vet’s suggestion of putting him on aspirin (which had worked for a smaller clot some weeks previously) made no difference. I made the horrible decision to have him put to sleep. He is now buried in the north-west corner of the garden, with a patch of bamboo planted over him.
Flora kept us entertained for several more years. By this time my personal circumstances had changed and Catfather had moved in. Despite his asthma, he’d become acclimatised to her – which was a great relief, as I hadn’t wanted to have to choose between love and my cats…
When Flora’s heart murmur became apparent, the vet suggested putting her on a regular dose of aspirin as a precautionary measure.* I was a little trepidatious, as I’d heard about the problems involved in giving a cat a pill. However, my fears were allayed once I realised that Flora loved cheese. I merely squished the tablet into the middle of a lump of cheddar, and down it went.
In the end it wasn’t her heart that did for Flora. She’d regularly been allowed out of the front of the house, despite the fact that we lived in a busy road, as we’d got her used to it gradually and thought she’d found her ‘road legs’. She would sit at the end of the drive and skedaddle back into the house if so much as a dog went past. And she certainly seemed to be wary of cars.
But one day, with no warning, she simply walked out into the road in front of an oncoming car. Catfather was outside, I was inside and heard him calling out to her, and I could sense she was in danger. So I rushed outside (in my dressing gown, no less), to see her running away from the road at great speed. Phew, I thought, she’s obviously had a narrow escape.
But as we followed her round the back of the house, we could see that her hind legs were simply dragging behind her. I rang the emergency vet and agreed to take her in, but she didn’t even survive the journey. I don’t think anything could have been done for her even if she had. She’s now buried in the north-east corner of the garden, under her favourite ‘decorative’ wheelbarrow.
At least this time it was relatively quick. No hauling herself round the house for two days waiting for the aspirin to kick in, as with Felix. But it was a terrible shock for us; she was only 8, and we’d thought we had many more years with her. In the space of those 8 years I’d gone from having no cats, to having two, to having one, then back to zero again.
And my life had changed utterly in that time. I’d gone from someone who liked cats in theory to someone who loved them and now couldn’t envision a life without them. A not-so-crazy cat lady, if you like.
That was just a year ago: 22 June 2013. The question was what to do next. Catfather’s asthma was a factor in whether we got another cat: could he acclimatise himself to a new one? Also I needed space to grieve. By this time I was volunteering at Cats Protection, so I was seeing new cats all the time. Would I find a new companion here? Who would it be? How long would it take before I was ready?
And thus we come to the next stage in the journey: the entry upon the scene of Pasha.
Tune in next time to find out how this little tortie-and-white madam has now taken over our lives – and with a personality entirely different to either Felix or Flora. And then – I promise you – normal service will resume, and Pasha will be back with her campaign updates!
To be continued…
*NB: If you are in a similar situation, do not let your humans do this without first seeking advice from your vet!