0 comment Friday, May 9, 2014 | admin
I am the type of person who feels that you have to have a cat in the house before it feels like a home. I don't know why this is; but a house without its resident feline feels empty to me. And so I've always had a cat around.
Now don't get me wrong; a cat for me is still a cat. It is not my "baby", I don't treat it like a surrogate child. Good mousers are welcome, and I allow my cat to be a cat, which sometimes means he's a morbid, sadistic furry murderer who gets into brawls a lot.
Morgan is a cat we got from the RSPCA about eight years ago. We think he's at least ten, maybe even as old as eleven now. I will be the first to say, he's not been the most interesting or engaging cat I've ever owned. His favourite activity is sleeping; and I've taken photos of him every hour, on the hour from time to time to prove to friends that he is the most sleepingest animal I've ever encountered. The only time he wakes up is at night, when he demands to go outside for his wander and prowl. As soon as he's outdoors he immediately reverts to a feral mode; perhaps it gives him kitty street cred with his mates or something, because he pretends as if he's completely wild and won't even come near me when he's out of doors.
He's not particularly affectionate; he's not a lapcat, he doesn't like being picked up, and while he may demand attention from time to time, you can only pet him for so long before he suddenly decides to bite you; he has really long fangs and we've called him "Catula" in the past. He's not the brightest bulb, although he's pretty, and he's been very tolerant of our son, taking the "okay, I'll keep my claws in until you get older, and then I'll tell you off properly if I have to" approach cats all seem to find rather instinctively.
However, he's definitely getting on in years; there is some white appearing in his coat, and when he was one an insanely good climber and leaper, he's having trouble climbing up and moving around these days. I've had to come to the inevitable realisation that my handsome, albeit daft and rather boring, lodger is approaching his dotage and requires a bit more care.
So I'm now looking into keeping him indoors from now on; this is NOT a move he is going to appreciate, but as I've noticed he has worms and will need a treatment, worms in cats when they're getting older can sometimes be life-threatening. Getting him to stop hunting is impossible, and the large amount of cats in the area means he may catch diseases from communal middens. He's also not as able to stick up for himself like he used to (not that he was a particularly good fighter in the past). There is an absolutely massive tabby in the area who has claimed this space as his turf, and I'm certain he's gone a few rounds with Morgan and invariably won. It's time we put an end to that as well and just kept my lad inside. This means a new litter tray, but Morgan used it well enough in the past, and should be fine with one now.
A heated bed in the winter wouldn't go amiss; I can track where the pipes are under the floor by where Morgan is sleeping in the house! So I have a feeling he's very much in need of a bit of warmth. A system to have fresh water which trickles (he's had a disdain of water bowls since I've had him, insisting to drink directly from the sink tap, but he struggles leaping up there these days) as well as a different feeding system for little-and-often is required.
And, of course, the rather sad but necessary bit has been discussed with the ex; neither one of us believes in invasive surgery or chemo for animals; painful, difficult to recover from, and can often make the suffering worse. If my lad is in pain, then I will free him from it, and bury him beneath his favourite tree outside. It will be heartbreaking, but such is the way of things, and I know for a fact, that my house will not stay cat-less for long.
A house is not a home without a cat in.
Now don't get me wrong; a cat for me is still a cat. It is not my "baby", I don't treat it like a surrogate child. Good mousers are welcome, and I allow my cat to be a cat, which sometimes means he's a morbid, sadistic furry murderer who gets into brawls a lot.
Morgan is a cat we got from the RSPCA about eight years ago. We think he's at least ten, maybe even as old as eleven now. I will be the first to say, he's not been the most interesting or engaging cat I've ever owned. His favourite activity is sleeping; and I've taken photos of him every hour, on the hour from time to time to prove to friends that he is the most sleepingest animal I've ever encountered. The only time he wakes up is at night, when he demands to go outside for his wander and prowl. As soon as he's outdoors he immediately reverts to a feral mode; perhaps it gives him kitty street cred with his mates or something, because he pretends as if he's completely wild and won't even come near me when he's out of doors.
He's not particularly affectionate; he's not a lapcat, he doesn't like being picked up, and while he may demand attention from time to time, you can only pet him for so long before he suddenly decides to bite you; he has really long fangs and we've called him "Catula" in the past. He's not the brightest bulb, although he's pretty, and he's been very tolerant of our son, taking the "okay, I'll keep my claws in until you get older, and then I'll tell you off properly if I have to" approach cats all seem to find rather instinctively.
However, he's definitely getting on in years; there is some white appearing in his coat, and when he was one an insanely good climber and leaper, he's having trouble climbing up and moving around these days. I've had to come to the inevitable realisation that my handsome, albeit daft and rather boring, lodger is approaching his dotage and requires a bit more care.
So I'm now looking into keeping him indoors from now on; this is NOT a move he is going to appreciate, but as I've noticed he has worms and will need a treatment, worms in cats when they're getting older can sometimes be life-threatening. Getting him to stop hunting is impossible, and the large amount of cats in the area means he may catch diseases from communal middens. He's also not as able to stick up for himself like he used to (not that he was a particularly good fighter in the past). There is an absolutely massive tabby in the area who has claimed this space as his turf, and I'm certain he's gone a few rounds with Morgan and invariably won. It's time we put an end to that as well and just kept my lad inside. This means a new litter tray, but Morgan used it well enough in the past, and should be fine with one now.
A heated bed in the winter wouldn't go amiss; I can track where the pipes are under the floor by where Morgan is sleeping in the house! So I have a feeling he's very much in need of a bit of warmth. A system to have fresh water which trickles (he's had a disdain of water bowls since I've had him, insisting to drink directly from the sink tap, but he struggles leaping up there these days) as well as a different feeding system for little-and-often is required.
And, of course, the rather sad but necessary bit has been discussed with the ex; neither one of us believes in invasive surgery or chemo for animals; painful, difficult to recover from, and can often make the suffering worse. If my lad is in pain, then I will free him from it, and bury him beneath his favourite tree outside. It will be heartbreaking, but such is the way of things, and I know for a fact, that my house will not stay cat-less for long.
A house is not a home without a cat in.
Labels: Good Life