0 comment Wednesday, July 9, 2014 | admin
Ludo went back to the breeder's yesterday, amid my own tears and acknowledgement it was the best thing for her. They were wonderful and understanding, and the breeder herself got a bit teary eyed as she put a new collar on my dog so I could keep Ludo's - and she admitted that the collar was Brindy's (their first Leo), who died earlier this year. We both had a sniffle at that point. Because Ludo is the most chilled dog on the planet, even though she has very little experience with other dogs, she went to their house, sniffed at her Mum and Uncle, then said "Cool, where's the food?" and had a sleep. That's my girl.
This was the best, if not entirely unpainful, choice for us. This is especially true considering how quick the fall is moving in (I turned the heat on last night!) and I'm moving around even worse than before. I'm making plans for the carpet to get cleaned this week, and also re-introducing my cat Morgan to coming downstairs and hanging out.
But I promised my son I'd get another cat, and I know exactly the cat I want. Bear with me as this will wander into a rather weird metaphysical space.
I had a cat in the US which was a farm rescue - the farm cats had bred without check for years, and there were over 60 cats and kittens in the barn at the house of the mum of a friend of mine at work. She was going to cull the tribe and have over half of them put to sleep, and my friend, a decided cat-lover, wasn't having it, and started to rescue and rehome as many as she could. I asked for a black, fluffy cat, and I received Bagheera.
I am convinced he was part Maine Coon, as he was the most chilled cat I have ever had in my life; he also had some decidedly non-cat traits, like playing fetch. It was our favourite game, actually, and he'd play this with me regularly. He was vocal, and even at what I assume was 8 months of age, was the size of a normal cat, and still growing! He slept on my pillow at night, woke me up by washing my face (ouch) and even though he liked playing rough never clawed me. If I said "be nice" he'd stop immediately and wait until I re-instigated the game. My ex, who was living in the US at the time, had never had pets, and certainly had no experience with a cat, but he adored "Baggy" and became a confirmed lover of cats due to my lad.
I lost him to FIP before he was 2 years old - I suppose it was inevitable really considering the huge population he had grown up in. Unless he had been vaccinated against it from early on there was no chance he would have escaped it. I was gutted - I couldn't even take him to the vet the final time, and instead had my ex do it for me. His first cat, his first death - he was devastated, and I remember when he got home, his eyes swollen and red, the first thing he did was run - and I mean run - straight to the shrine of candles I had on a table and light one. He didn't even speak; he lit a candle first, and then cried and cried.
I have some weird beliefs I suppose, compared to other people - and I won't go into it here - but I believe souls are fluid. I know I want another cat, and I've decided what I want is another black cat who fetches beer-can widgets, with blue-green eyes and long silky fur, huge and calm and capable of playing with his claws in, sleeping on my pillow.
So, I've lit my candle, and I'll work the gris-gris. I can be patient.
This was the best, if not entirely unpainful, choice for us. This is especially true considering how quick the fall is moving in (I turned the heat on last night!) and I'm moving around even worse than before. I'm making plans for the carpet to get cleaned this week, and also re-introducing my cat Morgan to coming downstairs and hanging out.
But I promised my son I'd get another cat, and I know exactly the cat I want. Bear with me as this will wander into a rather weird metaphysical space.
I had a cat in the US which was a farm rescue - the farm cats had bred without check for years, and there were over 60 cats and kittens in the barn at the house of the mum of a friend of mine at work. She was going to cull the tribe and have over half of them put to sleep, and my friend, a decided cat-lover, wasn't having it, and started to rescue and rehome as many as she could. I asked for a black, fluffy cat, and I received Bagheera.
I am convinced he was part Maine Coon, as he was the most chilled cat I have ever had in my life; he also had some decidedly non-cat traits, like playing fetch. It was our favourite game, actually, and he'd play this with me regularly. He was vocal, and even at what I assume was 8 months of age, was the size of a normal cat, and still growing! He slept on my pillow at night, woke me up by washing my face (ouch) and even though he liked playing rough never clawed me. If I said "be nice" he'd stop immediately and wait until I re-instigated the game. My ex, who was living in the US at the time, had never had pets, and certainly had no experience with a cat, but he adored "Baggy" and became a confirmed lover of cats due to my lad.
I lost him to FIP before he was 2 years old - I suppose it was inevitable really considering the huge population he had grown up in. Unless he had been vaccinated against it from early on there was no chance he would have escaped it. I was gutted - I couldn't even take him to the vet the final time, and instead had my ex do it for me. His first cat, his first death - he was devastated, and I remember when he got home, his eyes swollen and red, the first thing he did was run - and I mean run - straight to the shrine of candles I had on a table and light one. He didn't even speak; he lit a candle first, and then cried and cried.
I have some weird beliefs I suppose, compared to other people - and I won't go into it here - but I believe souls are fluid. I know I want another cat, and I've decided what I want is another black cat who fetches beer-can widgets, with blue-green eyes and long silky fur, huge and calm and capable of playing with his claws in, sleeping on my pillow.
So, I've lit my candle, and I'll work the gris-gris. I can be patient.
Labels: Good Life