Author: mamaroo43214595

Nolan was born in 1997, part of a litter of puppies bred by the Guide Dogs for the Blind, to be trained as guide dogs once they were older.  At some stage of his training, it became obvious that Nolan wasn’t going to make a guide dog…one reason, I think was because he was so big and strong, and would have been hard for a blind person to handle, unless they had previously done weight lifting….and the other was he really wanted to be a dog.  Guide dogs have to be completely dedicated to their human, and watch out for them completely.  Nolan didn’t quite have this knack…even though he was dedicated to his “oldies”, very rarely would he put them above food…:)

 

So Nolan was a “failed” guide dog, and they then trained him as a companion dog.  Now this suited him down to the ground.  He had found his niche.  He was a people dog par excellence, but it still allowed him to be a dog.  I would imagine he passed this course at the top of his class. So he came to ADA Cottage, Rylstone, a hostel for the aged and disabled.  He was around 18 months old when he arrived, and immediately set about winning the hearts of everyone associated with the Cottage.  It wasn’t long before even the people who didn’t like dogs were on his side.  He would go into work every day, 5 days a week, starting round 9 am, and go home about 5 pm.  At weekends, and in the evening, he stayed with the police sergeant and his wife, who lived just across the road.  He stayed with them for quite some time, and then things changed in their lives and they could no longer take him.  So he came to me.

 

He fitted into my family really well…he was just another member of the zoo really.  I already had Gypsy, and Albert, the geriatric golden retriever, as well as Max and various joeys.  The human family soon fitted into the new routine of taking him to work each morning, and picking him up each evening.  Most of the time he was walked to and from work, thus keeping us fit.  All his food was paid for by the Cottage, as well as all veterinary expenses.  He just loved his work, and loved all the residents, and staff.  He felt immensely responsible for the residents…if they fell ill, he would take himself into their room, and lay next to their beds and “guard” them.  One lady he guarded so well, he wouldn’t let the ambulance man in!  He was put into the laundry temporarily so the poor ambulanceman could do his job.  Once let out, he went to her room and howled!  I took him to see her in hospital a couple of days later.  The poor lady was completely off with the pixies and thought she was in hospital to have a baby.  She didn’t know me, and she didn’t know her daughter, but she knew Nolan.  Nolan of course knew her….

 

Another time one of the residents died in his sleep, and when Nolan arrived at work, he took himself into the room to guard the poor fellow until the doctor and undertaker arrived.  So seriously did he take this guard duty that he didn’t even turn up for food as he usually would.

 

Food turned out to be an ongoing problem with Nolan.  The staff and myself always kept him on a healthy diet, but the residents didn’t understand that he shouldn’t eat non stop.  They all took the view that their little bit wouldn’t hurt.  Of course Nolan agreed with this, and was always ready and willing to eat whatever they offered….whether it was a healthy snack, or something horribly fattening.  Because of this, Nolan started to have tummy troubles, and was eventually diagnosed with pancreatitis.  The residents were terribly concerned about him, but most of them weren’t good with cause and effect, and had no idea that they were killing him with kindness.  We used all sorts of methods to try to get them to co-operate, even to the staff checking their rooms to make sure that there was no “naughty” food that they could feed him.  We also got a letter from Dr Harry, a tv vet out here, and that worked for a while.

 

Eventually, after years of battling, Nolan went onto part time “employment”.  He was by this stage getting a bit older, and he no longer had the energy that he once had.  He was still included in their functions, such as Christmas Parties, and fund raising dinners, where he would make guest appearances, and I would then take him home before he helped himself to their dinners…   I can remember one dinner where everyone had come in fancy dress, and Nolan came in a tutu and pearls.  He was an instant hit, and loved every second of it.  He was also invited to be a guest at other functions, for example the Church Fashion Parade, where he did some modelling, much to the delight of all there.

 

In due course, and with advancing age, the decision was taken to retire him.  He still went in to visit his “oldies” and staff on an irregular basis.  His last visit to them was only a few months ago, just before he became ill and was diagnosed with Addison’s Disease.  Even though this knocked him for six, with the correct medication he fought back, and had a few more months of quality time.  He was, however, a bit too old and easily stressed to take back to visit his oldies, but he was always delighted when someone came to visit him.

 

His wonderful positive attitude continued up until the last few days of his life.  Even though life was becoming more difficult for him, he was still smiling and happy.  Just in the last few days it all got a bit much, and I realised it was time for him to go to his rest.  After consultation with the vet (just in case) we made the necessary arrangements, and I took him along to the vet.  I was accompanied by two of his “other mothers” and the thoughts and prayers of many friends.  He went to “sleep” surrounded by love.  It was an emotional time for us all, but we were all relieved to see him now at peace.

 

In his time as a companion dog he touched so many hearts, and eased the troubles of many of our elderly people.  Anyone who had anything to do with the Cottage, tradespeople, visiting medical people, delivery people, family members, visiting clergy, all remarked on what a difference he was making to the residents, and what a joy it was to have him around.  He will be missed.

Despite having a pedigree a mile long, and being descended from national and imported champions, Albert was a rescue job.  He was one of two dogs belonging to my brother in law’s family, father and son, both pedigreed Golden Retrievers, and when this family was forced to move to smaller premises, they realised they could only keep one of the dogs.  They asked us whether we would take Albert, as he was the younger dog and would cope with changing families better.  Of course we said yes, and Albert came to live with us.  He had been with the family since a little puppy, he had been the pick of the litter, and given to them, as payment instead of “stud fees”.

 

It took approximately 10 hours travelling from his former home to ours.  He was not used to travelling, and he spent the entire time on the front seat, with his head in the driver’s lap, dribbling.  The whole 10 hours.  He was a bit shaken by the whole ordeal, but once he was introduced to Jessie, our black labrador, he thought he was in heaven.  Here was a playmate, she was friendly, and he was VERY happy for her to be the boss.  He was used to letting his father call the shots, so he felt very much at home.  They became firm friends almost instantly.  They looked lovely together, she a shiny black, and he a lovely gold.

 

Shortly after Albert’s arrival, an acquaintance of ours who had a female Golden Retriever, asked us whether we would let Albert sire a litter of puppies.  We agreed, and Albert went off to their place for a few days to do his “work”.  Jessie was grief stricken.  She had just found a wonderful friend and playmate, and he had disappeared.  She thought he had died, and she really mourned.  Albert, however, thought he had died and gone to heaven….After the appointed time, we brought him home.  Jessie was beside herself.  He was back!  Oh she was so happy, and wouldn’t let him out of her sight for quite some time, she wasn’t letting him get away again.  They became such good friends, they were like soulmates.  They were always together, and rarely fought over anything.  Albert knew his place, and he knew she was the boss…..

 

Albert, being a Golden Retriever, was very loving.  He didn’t have a mean bone in his body.  He loved going for walks, he loved chasing rabbits.  He loved being with us.  He was also intelligent, but he didn’t want anyone to know.  It would spoil his image, so he acted dumb.  But we realised it was all an act, and my daughter took it upon herself to teach him some manners, and some “party tricks”.  The first thing she taught him was to take food politely.  Food was very important to Albert.  He was used to having it thrown to him, and if you offered it to him in your hand, you would be likely to see your hand disappear up to your elbow as he tried to grab whatever you were offering.  So she taught him to wait till you put it in front of him, and not to snatch, and that the food would not be thrown to him.  He learned it very quickly, and we pretended not to notice.  Then she taught him to open the door.  Most dogs we had would just charge the door, and of course it had to open from pure brute force.  Not Albert.  He would come up to the door, look at it, and then push it with his foot.  If it didn’t open, he would push it harder, but it would open, and he would parade out with a big smile on his face.

 

He also made good friends with Max the cat.  Max would see him out in the yard, and he would deliberately go out of his way to talk to him, or rub himself on him.  He would never do this with Jess.  If Albert was asleep somewhere, Max would curl up with him.  Albert also befriended Bilbo, during Bilbo’s short stay.

 

Then as they got older, we found Jessie was becoming ill, and in due course she died.  Albert was heart broken.  He really mourned her loss, and got thin;  we were really worried about him.  We paid him extra attention, and he rallied, and went on without her.  This left him as top dog (well the only dog really) and he wasn’t really sure how to cope.  One of Jessie’s duties (well she thought it was…) was to “mother” the joeys.  At every available opportunity, she would wash them, and generally look after them.  This was done discreetly, so as not to worry the joey.  Albert thought he should take over.  However, he had problems….he was not discreet.  He would just confront the joey, as it to say keep still while I lick.  The joey would see this great lump of dog, and take off in fright.  Fortunately, Albert realised this wasn’t working, and just gave up…..

 

Then Gypsy arrived.  Albert was entranced by this tiny little dog….another female, and another friend!  Before too long they had settled into a very easy and loving relationship…and Gypsy was the boss.  She became his companion into his old age.  And then Nolan arrived, and Gypsy was still the boss…and Albert was at the bottom of the pecking order, where he was happiest.

 

By this time he was getting old.  We were told that Golden Retrievers live till they’re 10 to 12.  He lived to be nearly 17, and he was really well almost to the end.  He slowed down a lot, but he still wanted his walk, even though it was a bit much of an effort to actually chase the rabbits now, he still wanted his food and he still took part in life; just slept more.  But we knew the end was coming, so all the kids came home to say goodbye.  Then one day he didn’t want to eat, nothing would entice him.  It was time to do what had to be done, and we did it humanely.  We could do nothing else for such a loving friend.  We laid him to rest next to his beloved Jessie.  It was a passing of an era for the kids, the end of their childhood ties, but not of our memories….

The first time I saw Jessie, I was in hospital recovering from a lung infection.  She was a round butterball of black fur with legs, and the kids wanted her so much.  She was typical of all our animals, she was another “rescue job”, and the kids had brought her to meet me before I came home. She settled in very quickly, obviously intelligent and loving the kids.  She won everyone’s hearts.

 

Hubby and the kids used to go out often chopping wood, and Jessie had to stay in the truck if there was any actual felling of dead trees, but this particular day, when she was about 5 months old, she managed to get out.  Dont ask me how, no one is admitting anything.  And of course the crown of the tree fell on her.  They brought her home, limping, so off to the vet.  This started a long and interesting relationship with the vet……After Xrays, it was found she had broken her pelvis in a couple of places, and also the neck of her femur (the thighbone, where it fits into the pelvis).  The pelvis would heal, but the femur needed surgery, so I left her at the vets, and rang every day to see how she was (I must have driven them mad), and a few days later I brought her home.  She recovered very well, typical of all young things, and was soon back in the thick of things.  She grew up to be an important member of the clan, and the best fielder on the backyard cricket team.  Only problem was after she caught the ball a few times, it got awfully yukky, and also she didn’t really want to give it back, she preferred to lie down with it and chew it up.  She was also very good at rounding up the chooks (chickens).  We put that down to the kelpie (sheep dog) in her, and she loved to swim ….. well she was mostly labrador….and of course she loved her food.

 

One day after a swimming and walking expedition with the kids, she was shaking her head furiously, so back to the vets.  He poked around inside her ear and pulled out a piece of plastic….don’t ask….I have no idea….and sent me home with some drops.  This sort of started the pattern, she seemed to perpetually have problems with her ears, and she spent so much time at the vets getting them cleaned out, she would walk straight up to the vet, present her sore ear, and wait patiently while he dug around and removed any foreign matter.  She seemed to know that she would feel better afterwards, and it was worth the discomfort.

 

One unfortunate side effect of her ear trouble was that she was half deaf some of the time, and this led to another incident.  We had a 3 tonne truck which used to sit in the back yard when not in use, and all the animals thought it was a wonderful source of shade.  This particular day, my son had to move it for some reason, and got everyone out from under it, then attempted to start it.  It wouldn’t start, and Jess snuck back under it, and didn’t hear it when it did start.  Son didn’t check to see whether anyone had got back under, which he should have, and did in future, and one set of back wheels drove straight over her.  I got a panic stricken phone call at work:  Mum!  Is the vet open??!!  I’ve run over the dog!!  As you can imagine I panicked too, but thought, the dog must still be alive, or he wouldn’t want the vet, and organised for him to bring the dog to the vet straight away (I worked in the next building to the vet).  The son and his sister brought her straight down, and the diagnosis was a broken pelvis, and strict instructions on handling and feeding.  The fact that she was (typical labrador) overweight had actually been to her advantage in that it provided padding, but now we had to get it off her, and of course she wasn’t going to be interested in walking.  A strict diet was going to be in order.  So the kids took her home, and made her a bed outside, because she wasn’t going to be able to negotiate the steps in the house.  By the time I came home, there was the Taj Mahal, made from tarpaulins and star pickets, with an old foam mattress in the bottom, and the dog lying in state, but wagging her tail, so I knew things weren’t too bad.  She was on very high doses of pain killers, and “flying high”.  She just lay there for the next couple of weeks, only getting up to go to the loo, but eventually recovered really well.  The “diet” worked  and she lost the weight, and we were gradually able to reduce her pain killers as she recovered.  The vet was really pleased, as he had been concerned that being older she may not want to get up and going again.  But Jessie didn’t want to miss out on life, and was soon back in the thick of things, playing with the kids, going for walks, and NOT lying under the truck…..

 

Jessie became everyone’s best friend.  She was such a good listener.  She knew when any of us were upset, and she would just sit at our feet and look up at us with her beautiful eyes, and you just got the urge to tell her all your troubles.  I can remember when my daughter’s best friend died at the age of 22 from cystic fibrosis, I was feeling pretty sad and Jessie came into the bedroom where I was sitting, and just launched herself onto the bed and stuck her head under my arm.  I couldn’t help myself, I gave her a big hug and bawled my eyes out.  I felt so much better afterwards.

 

Another time, we had had a big fall of snow nearby and we decided to drive out and look at it.  So the kids all piled into the car, and so did Jessie.  Our other dog, Albert didn’t really want to come, but the kids thought he should.  Once in the car, he started to whinge;  he was not a good traveller.  Jessie put up with it for as long as she could, and when she could cope no longer, she just barked at him, as though she was saying, Oh please shut up!  We turned round and took Albert home, and let him out, we knew none of us could cope with him whining and Jessie barking at him for the whole trip there and back.  So off we went, and we finally made it, and got out and the kids ran round in the snow, built snowmen, threw snowballs and generally had fun.  Right in the thick of it was Jess, till her feet got cold, and then she went straight back to the car and asked to be let in.  So she spent the rest of the snow visit looking out at the snow with a huge grin on her face.

 

She lived till she was nearly 10, and continued her habit of needing regular vet trips with ear and other assorted problems.  Her wonderful relationship with the vet continued, and right at the end she became ill.  All the kids, who had by this time left home for further education or work, came home to say goodbye.  The vet was able to give her treatment which kept her reasonably well for a short time, but when that failed, we did what we had to, we let her go with dignity, and had her put to sleep.  After giving us so much, we could do nothing else.  She still lives on in our hearts…a dog in a million.

 

 

Puddles was my daughter’s cat.  At this stage my daughter was studying art in Sydney, and living with a couple of friends in a suburb of Sydney.   Her house mates decided she needed a kitten for a birthday present, so they went to Paddy’s Market to get it.  Paddy’s Market is a huge noisy place, where you can get many many bargains, but I would imagine  very scary for kittens and puppies.  Anyway they brought this poor little tabby kitten home, and it soon became obvious she was a bit…..shall we say…..neurotic.  She was often to be found up the top of door ways.  No one ever saw how she did it.  She was also the type to climb the curtains if she was upset about anything.

 

After a while, my daughter came home, and of course the cat came with her.  Puddles wasn’t impressed with the cat that was already here, Muffet, and Muffet wasn’t too keen on her either, but after a while they sorted things out, and while things were never amicable, they tolerated each other.  I tried hard to be kind to Puddles, but she was never a friendly cat.  She could not ABIDE being picked up, and any friendly overture was returned with a spit and/or a swipe from a paw with claws unsheathed.  She hated the dogs, she hated just about everyone except my daughter, and even that wasn’t a demonstrative relationship.  If there was any affection given or shown, it was on Puddles’ terms.

 

One night I made the mistake of walking down the hall without turning the light on first.  I didn’t realise Puddles had decided to sit down on the floor right in the middle of the hall, and of course I trod on her tail.  There was this unearthly shriek, and I felt as though I had been slashed by razors, as she swiped my leg with her front paw, all claws extended!  There was another shriek, this time me, and Puddles took off into my daughter’s bedroom to hide.  I of course cursed her, her ancestors, and any other assorted relatives she may have had, and came back out into the light to inspect my injuries, where the kids that were home came and checked them out as well, and between us we decided I would live.

 

I wasn’t the only one to feel the full force of her claws.  One day Jessie and Albert, the dogs we had at the time, decided it would be a good idea to chase her round the house a bit.  Puddles detoured up the hall, and came to a dead end at the front door, which was closed.  So she changed from victim to a hunter….she turned round, faced the dogs, ears back and eyes blazing…and I’m not sure how she managed this bit, but some how seemed to walk on her back legs, with her front legs with all her claws out, slashing through the air like scythes.  Jess and Albert realised she meant business and fell over each other in their attempts to escape her!  Poor Jess wasn’t fast enough and there was a yelp, as the claws made contact with her nose.  They never chased her again after that….

 

However, they did some chasing on her behalf.  Despite her bad temper, she wasn’t a brave cat, and when the local stray tomcat used to come onto the front verandah and harrass her, all she wanted to do was to come inside, and if the front door was closed, they would both sit outside, howling, with her cowering as close to the door as she could get, until I would come and let her in.  Of course I got pretty sick of the “music” before too long, and decided “steps needed to be taken” to get this marauding visitor to cease and desist.  So one day, after I had let Puddles in, the tomcat was sitting on the verandah looking quite at home, and I called the dogs to the door.  I would not normally encourage dogs to chase cats, but today I thought it was warranted.  So I threw open the door and let the dogs out.  Well!  The cat took off, with them in hot pursuit.  It ran across the road, and under the gate to the Council Work Yard.  The dogs were only inches away from it, and of course they couldn’t get under the gate;  they were both retrievers, and large dogs.  The cat kept on running, and I saw it scale the fence on the other side of the yard, and it looked like it would keep running for a while yet.  The dogs of course were most disappointed that their quarry had eluded them, but I called them home, and told them what good dogs they were.  They looked rather puzzled…..but the cat never returned….

 

Another time I had to take her to the vets.  It was just a routine trip, but she did not under any circumstances want to get in the cat basket.  To start with I had to lift her up, and this was a nono in her book.  As I tried to lower her into the basket, she put all four feet out sideways, and propped herself.  Each time I “undid” a paw, she would be hanging on with the other three.  Eventually I managed it, it seemed to take forever, and when we got to see the vet, I suggested he examine her in the basket, after explaining the problems we had getting in her in the first place.

 

After Muffet died, at a ripe old age, the kids went out and got me Felix.  Puddles was not at all happy with this turn of events, and didn’t want to eat her food anywhere near him….he might look at it!  So we got round that by feeding her on an old table in the back room.  She was up away from him, and at that stage he was too little to attempt to get up there.  She had her own little placemat, and her water dish and food bowl were kept up there, and she would jump up there to be fed.  However, one day she misjudged.  She jumped up and landed in the water bowl, which of course spilled.  She tried hard to jump straight back down again, but the water on the placemat made her skid.  She looked like one of those cartoon cats with revolving legs as she tried hard to obtain traction.  Eventually she succeeded and shot down to the floor and took off and hid.

 

While Felix was still a kitten, Puddles suddenly became very ill.  She went off her food, and lost a lot of weight, in a matter of days.  Once I realised it wasn’t just some simple thing that she would recover from quickly, I took her to the vet.  She was feeling so bad she didn’t even fight me when I put her in the cat basket.  The vet examined her, and announced she had cancer.  He said she wouldn’t have long, but he said with a bit of treatment she would have quality of life for a short time.  So I took her home, and rang my daughter, who had by this time left home again.  She managed to come home that weekend to say goodbye.  Puddles in the meantime rallied with the treatment, but took herself into my bedroom to live.  There was a chair next to my bed, and that became hers.  Or she would get onto my bed once I had got up.  She only came out for visits to the loo, or for meals.  All night she would stay there, next to me, and she would at last allow me to stroke her…….but picking her up was still stretching the friendship.  She stayed there, till the end came, which mercifully was quick.

 

I could never say that life with Puddles was boring…..

 

Tiggy belonged to a young man whom I shall call Joe.  Joe was one of the “dregs” of society, who, when he was sober, displayed the fact that he had been well educated and was intelligent, and a really nice bloke.  However most of his time was spent under the influence of anything he could find, especially alcohol, and marijuana.  He was usually staggering around the place, and sometimes he seemed to float, depending on the depth of his “bender”.  Despite all his obvious faults, he doted on his cat, Tiggy.  Tiggy was just an ordinary tabby cat, but he meant so much to Joe, and Tiggy was always in good condition even if Joe wasn’t. 

One day Joe decided he should go to the doctor, because he wasn’t well.  He was sober enough to realise this wasn’t because he had a hang over, his system was really having a hard time.  I suspect it was a long time since Joe listened to a thing his body told him, but this day he was listening, and he was a bit scared.  After he had seen the doctor and had some tests, he was even more scared, because the doctor told him his liver was in dire straits, and if he didn’t clean up his act, he only had a short time to live.  So he pulled his socks up, and did what the doc had recommended, joined AA and started eating proper meals and generally looking after himself.  It was a pleasure to be able to hold a genuine conversation with him!  And in due course, he got a job.  The job had on the spot training, and he sailed through it.  And he was given more training, and he was then transferred.  The only problem was, he was transferred to the back of beyond, and the only accommodation he could get was in the local pub, and he couldn’t take his beloved cat.  He was distraught.  After having made something of himself, he didn’t want to lose it, but he didn’t want to lose his cat either, and he was just about ready to throw in his job.  But in desperation, he came to me, and asked me would I be prepared to take Tiggy for 3 months, until he had saved up enough money to get into better accommodation.  Of course, glutton for punishment me said yes.  I had met Tiggy, and he was a nice cat, and I really wanted to help this fellow, after what he had been through.  However I was prepared for the fact that the three months could stretch into longer, because I knew a bit about the town where he was going, and knew decent accommodation was hard to find there.  So I was prepared for a lengthy stay if necessary.

The day came when Joe was to move, and he turned up at my door with Tiggy in a cat basket.  Tiggy was not happy at all.  Not only was all this activity happening, but he had been put in a cat basket, and walked round the corner to my place.  Where Joe lived was only about half a block from my house.  So by the time he reached me he was already in a state.  So I might add was Joe.  He really felt bad about leaving Tiggy, but we both knew he had no choice.  He wanted to leave some money to pay for Tiggy’s cat food and pressed some money into my hand, and practically ran out of the door before I could say no.  I suspect too that he didn’t trust himself not to break down. 

I took Tiggy into a secure room, and shut all doors and windows before I opened the cat cage.  My two cats, Felix and Max were outside at the time, and I wanted Tiggy to sus the place out a bit before they came back in.  I opened the cage and watched proceedings.  The door was on the top of the cage, and his head popped up, sniffing the air.  After a few minutes, he nimbly leapt out, and starting prowling round the room, inspecting everything.  Every so often, he would jump up, or backwards, as things startled him.  After he appeared to be settling, I picked him up (having made sure all escape routes were secured) and took him to the laundry, where the kitty litter tray lived.  He was less than impressed with this turn of events, and I allowed him to explore the rest of the house.  Then I let the other cats back in, as it was getting onto their mealtime.  Well Tiggy thought this was the last straw!  He took to his heels, back into the first room he had seen, and hid under the bed.  And when I say hid, I mean hid.  I needed a torch to find him.  But find him I did, and being satisfied he was ok, left him to it.  I reckoned he would come out when he was hungry, and that may not be for a while, it was very stressful for an adult cat to be moved. Specially in with other cats. 

It took Tiggy a long time to come to terms with his new home.  He spent most of time hiding anywhere he thought was appropriate at the time, under beds, in wardrobes, behind or underneath chairs.  And about a week after he actually staged an escape.  I rang Joe’s “ex” next door neighbour and asked him to let me know when Tiggy turned up, which he did.  He wasn’t easy to catch, we had to wait till he was hungry, then back in the cat cage and back to my place, where a stricter regime was put in force.  Gradually though, he relaxed, and accepted the fact that here was where the food was, even though his previous master wasn’t, and eventually I was able to let him outside, without fear of him heading “home”.  He hated the other two cats, and made it quite obvious they should leave.  Which of course they didn’t.  So they ignored each other as much as possible, until they had a showdown in the hall.  Many growls and yowls were emitted, and a lot of fur flew, though very few blows were actually struck.  Felix and his henchman Max won that round, but Tiggy waited for his chance.  In the meantime he had decided I was ok, and made friends with me, and with my kids when they came home.  He took over my chair, and when I brought my mother home for five weeks, when she was ill, she spent most of her time asleep in my chair, with Tiggy on her knees.  He was good for her, and he appreciated her lap.

The three months came and went, and Joe had been in touch by phone, and as I expected, he wasn’t able to take Tiggy.  He kept sending me money for him, and was very pleased to hear news of him.  The months stretched into years, and I had to have a few days in hospital.  When I came home, Felix had disappeared, and Max had an abscess on his spine, near the base of his tail.  So we assume there had been a cat fight, and Felix had succumbed to his injuries.  We never found him.  However, Tiggy realised there was a power vacuum, so when he was eventually sure Felix wasn’t going to spring out from behind something, there was another power struggle in the hall.  More yowls, growls, and posturing, more fur flying, and Tiggy was now…..The Top Cat.  He was now in his element.  And when Bilbo arrived in our lives, Tiggy was still the top cat, but a benevolent one where Bilbo was concerned.  Bilbo was the cat who was a walking disaster area as far as his health was concerned, and who never grew past the size of a three months old cat.  Physically that is.  Mentally he was a giant….or thought he was.  He wanted so much to be the top of the cat pile, but of course Max and Tiggy wouldn’t hear of it.  He was treated with great gentleness, and played with as a permanent kitten.  Until Bilbo bit Tiggy in a temper one day, at least, but even then Tiggy treated him with great tenderness. 

Eventually, Joe rang and said he was being transferred again, this time to Mudgee.  He said he wanted to find a place to live back in Rylstone or Kandos, and he could commute from there.  And of course he wanted to take Tiggy back.  As you can imagine I had grown really fond of Tiggy, but a promise is a promise, and I had only taken Tiggy until Joe could take him back.  So I said, once you’re settled, I’ll bring Tiggy round, but we made arrangements for him to visit as soon as he was back in town.  Which he did…..but Tiggy just looked at him and turned his back, he would NOT speak to him, despite all Joe’s cajoling and entreating.  Joe was obviously a bit upset, but I told him I thought all would be forgiven once he actually took him home and fed him a couple of times.  Amazing what a bit of food will do to a cat’s outlook.  So about a month later, Joe rang and said he finally had his place sorted out, and cat proofed, and he was ready for Tiggy to come back.  So back in the cat basket, and round to Joe’s.  Joe had bought all his favourite foods, and had all his favourite treats to “buy” him with.  We retired to a secure room with him, and went through the whole procedure again.  However this time, Tiggy seemed to realise that this was home, and this time he was with Joe.  He went through a bit of prowling and exploring, but went up to Joe and rubbed on his leg.  Joe picked him up, and he purred, and we proceeded to the lounge room where he and Joe reacquainted themselves.  When I left them, they had moved to the kitchen to check out the treats.  I really couldn’t get over how quickly Tiggy was settling in, and it really warmed my soul to see it. 

I kept in touch with Joe, and called a couple of times to see how they were going.  The last I heard was Joe was moving again, he had been given a promotion to another town, but this time he was able to take Tiggy with him…and his girlfriend, whom Tiggy also liked.  So Tiggy’s family was growing, and his fortunes were still looking good.

 

 

I got a phone call from the lady who worked at the vets.  A litter of kittens were on death row, and she had managed to save four of the kittens, by getting them homes.  Two remained, and the vet would be coming tomorrow for his weekly visit.  She wanted to know did I want one of the last two, and she was prepared to take the other.  In a moment of weakness I said yes, and this started a relationship with a very special little creature.  He was just a tabby kitten, nothing special.  I brought him home, and of course we had to name him.  He was an endearing little fellow, and everyone had just read “The Hobbit” and “Lord of the Rings”, so Bilbo he became.  All went well for the first few days, and he settled in well.  Then came the first of many disasters in his life.  Unknown to my daughter, who was in the rocker/recliner, he got himself in behind the chair.  In an attempt to get out, he tried to go under it.  Yes, you can imagine what happened, he was badly hurt.  My daughter was horrified at what she thought she had done, and took a long time to forgive herself.  He was still alive, though obviously not well, but I really didn’t expect him to pull through.  I didn’t realise what a fighting spirit he had.  We made him up a bed in the cat carrier, to cushion him from further injury, and to keep him warm, and set off for the vets in Mudgee, three quarters of an hour away.  My daughter watched him like a hawk all the way, she expected him to die on her, but he was still with us when we arrived.  We went straight in, as we had rung before hand, and the vet reckoned he needed treatment straight away.  He examined him, and said, nothing is broken, but his little head is badly bruised.  There could be brain damage.  He gave us the choice of putting him to sleep straight away, or giving him a cortisone injection to reduce the swelling, and see what transpired.  I asked the vet for the cortisone injection.  I wanted to at least give him a go, seeing we had saved him from death row.  The vet wanted to keep him in over night, to see how he went, so we left him there, and returned the next day.  They said they were surprised at how well he had spent the night, and he was eating again.  So home we went, and back to normal gradually.  He got back into the swing of things, and the other cats we had at the time used to play with him very carefully, they were very gentle with him.  Then after a couple of months I noticed he didn’t appear to be growing, and the other cats had stopped playing with him.  I also noticed he was getting very fussy over his food, and only wanted mince.  So back to the vet, and a large round of tests.  The result was kidney damage…..he was only 3 months old by this stage…and it was likely he would always be small, and he wouldn’t live more than a couple of years, but the good news was we could give him treatment to make him feel better.  So he had his first injection, and a course of tablets.  He hated the injection, and he wasn’t really fussed on the tablets either.  He also had to go on a special diet as well, he was NOT allowed to live on just mince.  He wasn’t happy about that either!  So he was a bit cranky when I brought him home………..and when I picked him up to give him a tablet, small as he was, he growled at me!  Every time I picked him up for a tablet he growled at me.  Even after the tablets were finished, if anyone picked him up, he growled.  This pattern stayed throughout his life.

 

All went well for a while, and then he would disappear and reappear after a while, and we had no idea where he was going.  And the cats had stopped playing with him, so I thought, trouble ahead.  I’d better find out what he’s doing.  So I watched him one day, and saw him disappear UNDER the fridge.  When I investigated further I found him curled up next to the motor, where it was warm.  And this was the middle of summer!  This was really odd…. I rang the vets and discussed it with them, and we worked out he wasn’t eating enough…..he was still being terribly fussy about his food, and him parking himself next to the motor was actually keeping his system going till the next feed.  He was actually suffering from extremely low blood sugar.  And then I found him almost lifeless….in a little heap on the other side of the house to the kitchen.  He didn’t have enough energy to get to the fridge to warm himself up, and he collapsed.  I turned on the heating pad that I use for the roos, when they are really little or sick, but I knew I had to do something while that warmed up, because it would take a while, and I just felt we didn’t have long.  It was a hot day, so I carried him outside and lay him in the sun.  He needed warming right through, and that was the only thing I could think of.  I checked on him every 10 or 15 minutes, and kept turning him over.  On around the third turn, as I turned him over he growled.  Ah, I thought, bingo!  Life has returned.  I left him there, and rushed inside for some stuff the vet had sent me, an appetite improver.  The idea was I was supposed to put it on his food, and it would give him extra vitamins etc, but he wouldn’t eat it like that I had found…..typical.  But if I put it on his upper lip, he would lick it all off.  So that’s what I did then, to give his appetite a kick start now I had him warmed up.  He sat up, and licked it off, glaring at me, and then I took him into the kitchen and presented him with some food, which he ate, reluctantly.  I had to watch him carefully for several days, till he got enough food in his system.  Several times his blood sugar dropped, and I had to go through the procedure again.  I even had to get up during the night, to feed him, until it was all sorted out.  Fortunately this didn’t last long, and his system picked up, and I noticed the other cats playing with him again, so I knew this crisis was past.  I was sure there would be others…..

 

So we got into the routine….once a month, off to the vets, for his injection for his kidneys.  He would hide of course, he knew when he had to go, but I would usually find him next door, gazing into their outdoor pool at their goldfish, who were just about bigger than him…..  Then of course he would growl at the vet as she gave him his injection.  Back home we would come, and he would spring from the cat carrier, and rush into hiding for several hours….then stalk back to the house, still in a bad temper, but wanting to be fed, and of course growling if he was picked up.

 

Of course, we used to pick him up for a cuddle, just to hear him growl, it seemed so funny this tiny little cat acting such a way.  In the mean time, he had decided he wanted to be the top cat.  Of course the others wouldn’t hear of it, he was still a kitten in their eyes.  In fact he never grew past the size of a 3 months old kitten.  But he REALLY wanted to be regarded as an adult, and when the cats played together, he put such a lot of energy into it, and he used to be really frustrated by the fact the others didn’t take him seriously.  One day he was so annoyed, that while playing with one of the cats, he just stopped, and walked round the back of him, and bit him!

 

By this time, Bilbo was around 6 months old, and the time for desexing was approaching.  I discussed it with the vet and she said we should still go ahead with it, despite his lack of size, because it sounded as though he was already exhibiting antisocial behaviour consistent with awful old tom cats….so the day arrived, and in he went.  I picked him up when it was over, and the vet told me she had had to use microsurgery on him……his little crown jewels were so tiny.

 

One day I came home from down the street to find him lying out in the back room, on the dog’s bed, with his little paw outstretched, and stuck in the curtain.  It looks as though he stretched and got his claws stuck, and he couldn’t retract them.  He was glaring, and of course, as I picked him up to fix his claws, he growled again!  Being so small, everything was doubly difficult for him, but it never stopped him trying.  He certainly had a lot of get up and go.  When it got close to him to go for his injection, he would get grumpier, and sleep more, but after the visit to the vet, he would be firing on all six cylinders again.

 

This round of activity continued till he was around 12 months old, and one day he just disappeared.  We searched everywhere for him, and of course we didn’t find him.  No sign at all.  I talked to the vet about it later, and asked did she think his kidneys had packed it in, and she said no.  She thought he would have lasted longer than that, but thought that seeing the weather was hot , it was likely he had been bitten by a snake, and because of the state of his kidneys, death would have been instant.

 

We mourned him of course, but we knew we had been blessed to have him for as long as we did, and treasured the memories of his short, but fruitful life.

 

 

We think Max started out life as a garbage tip cat.   That was where he was found, anyway.   The kid next door brought him home, she was very concerned about this poor little kitten, and he was SO SO hungry.  Trouble was her parents weren’t near as keen on him, and though they certainly wished him no harm, they didn’t really want the responsibility of looking after him.  As it turned out, he struck up a friendship with our kitten, Felix, and spent a lot of time in at our place.  We carefully avoided feeding him, but after talking to our neighbours about him, they explained they really weren’t happy about him being “their cat”, and we decided between us to see if he would like to move in with us.  So I opened the back door, and put a little bit of food in the kitchen for him.  He had never been in the house before, but he worked out where the food was, and he decided he would move in!  That was that!  He wanted to live here with his friend…..and the food.  We soon discovered that food was a very important factor in Max’s life.  Anybody with food was wonderful.  If you were eating, he would sit at your feet with the dogs and look at you hopefully.  One time Felix was having teeth trouble, and the vet suggested raw chicken wings or necks.  I gave them each one.  Felix looked at his, and then at me as if to say do you expect me to eat that?  Max grabbed his and ran under the table, growling as he chewed it up, and then came back for Felix’s……

 

Of course, he didn’t stay a kitten for long, and grew into a huge and handsome tabby cat, with long fur in the winter, which he would moult in the spring, leaving him with his shorter summer coat, but still longer than a normal short haired cat.  His beautiful thick tail stayed all year round, so he would look as though he was waving an ostrich plume round.  He soon won the hearts of the neighbours on the other side, and he would constantly visit them, because……you guessed it……they would give him their scraps, and sometimes, they had chicken, which is his all time favourite food!  He would go into their house, and lie down in front of their heater, sleep on their beds, and generally make himself welcome.  They encouraged him like mad, because they liked the idea of having a “part time” cat, and not having the responsibility of taking him to the vet for his routine injections etc.  However, whenever the lady of the house has been ill, he has taken himself round there and just sat with her.  Obviously she thinks he’s wonderful.

 

Several years ago, I had to have a short time in hospital.  When I came home, Max came inside, looking for food I thought, and stroked him as he went past, as I usually do.  However I got a most unusual reaction, he spat at me.  When I investigated, because I thought something must have been amiss, I noticed he wasn’t waving his tail round as usual, but he was just dragging it behind him.  Fortunately my daughter was there to carry him around, because I was under strict instructions to pick up nothing heavy than 5 kilos (11 pounds), and Max weighed at least 7 kilos (nearly 15 and a half pounds).  So off we went to the vets.  We had a musical trip, Max was not amused at being put in the cat carrier and put in the car for the 45 minute trip to the vets, but apart from that everything went well.  The vet inspected him and found a huge abscess at the base of his tail, and gave him an antibiotic injection, and sent us home with tablets to give him.  This is when things got interesting.  My daughter had to go home, leaving me to give the tablets to this cat I wasn’t allowed to pick up.  Thankfully he was in a better mood by then, the antibiotics had started to work, and he would allow me to get down on the floor with him where I would swathe him in a towel, and insert the tablet into a pill popper.  Then I would sorta sit over him, and attempt to force the pill down his throat, before he had backed out of the towel, and out from under me.  With an extraordinary amount of patience and perseverance, I succeeded.  Fortunately I only had to do this every second day, and the course was soon finished.  I’m very pleased my doctor never found out……

 

Max fancied himself as a hunter.  Being a typical cat, he would bring me home rats and mice that he found outside, but I got a bit annoyed when he decided he would try his hand at catching honeyeaters, which he thought he could catch by lying in my neighbours’ garden.  I saw him go over there one day and it didn’t take me long to work out what he was after.   He would lie in the plants and wait for the birds to land.  So I thought what could I do to discourage him, and remembered that cats don’t like being hosed.  So I hosed him.  He broke the land speed record getting away from the water, and I doubt that much water actually landed on him.  The next day however, he was back, so I went over to turn on the tap.  As soon as he heard me, he took off home again, but back he went the next day.  This time as soon as he heard me walk towards the tap, he scooted home, and the next day, I only had to walk out the door, and he left.  After that he gave up.  He stuck to the odd mouse now and again.

 

However, he wasn’t all that keen on catching the mice that came inside.  So of course I had to resort to traps.  Just recently, I caught a mouse with the trap one night, and of course discovered the contents the next morning. I picked up trap and all to dispose of the little body, but managed to drop it.  Max streaked out of nowhere, picked up the mouse, still in the trap, and ran under the table.   He was most incensed when I took after him, yelling at him to give me back the trap!  I finally managed to get the mouse and trap away from him and took it all outside, with him hot on my heels.  When I got outside I released the little body from the trap, which remained firmly in my hand, and  I thought I’d better let him have the mouse after all that….he was still following me, and his eyes were huge and black with indignation because I had deprived him of his prize.  So I dropped the mouse at his feet, but he caught it before it even hit the ground and sprinted away.  He came back about half an hour later…..gloating…..

 

Max is now 10 years old, and still as handsome as ever.  He still loves his food, and insists on many helpings of breakfasts, and dinners.  He still visits the neighbours on a regular basis, and has progressed to being the head of the neighbourhood cat mafia.  The last time I had to look after my neighbour’s cat (around the corner), Max insisted on accompanying me, and escorted me up the drive.  He was not put off by the fact that we had to pass several lots of yappy dogs.  Possibly the fact that he’s bigger than them helped.  Of course the neighbour’s cat wisely stayed out of sight till Max went home with me after I had put his dinner out for him.  I suppose it says something that Max didn’t eat it for him…..

 

 

After our first cat Muffet died following a long and happy life, the kids decided I had mourned for long enough, and gave me a kitten for christmas.  He was a little and ginger, and filled our lives with happiness with his antics.  He was always chasing bits of paper, or wool, or anything he could find, and behaving in the time honoured tradition of all kittens.  As it turned out, he couldn’t have come into our lives at a better time;  one of my sons was badly injured in a car accident on his way home to our place for a late Christmas gathering on Boxing Day.  So the kitten gave us some welcome “light relief” and a little bit of escapism over those first few weeks, until his condition stabilised.

 

We discussed at length a suitable name for this lovely little kitten.  He looked so pretty with his ginger and white colouring, and he had brought a lot of happiness into our lives, so he became Felix, which means amongst other things, happy.  He grew into a very slender and handsome cat, because he had some siamese ancestry, and he always looked as though he needed a good feed, even though he was eating very well.  When he was about three months old, Max came into our lives as well, and it used to look very funny to see this lovely sleek cat playing with dumpy fluffy kitten.  They looked a bit like Laurel and Hardy, or Abbott and Costello.  But they became firm friends and a real partnership.  You would never find one without the other.

 

In due course, he had to go to the vet for his “little operation”.  Of course Max wondered where on earth he had gone, and was rather put out that his playmate had disappeared.  Felix in the meantime was feeling a bit mournful about the whole idea, and cried all the way to the vets, which fortunately was only a few blocks away.  I came back and picked him up from the vets while he was still groggy and took him home.  Max was very relieved, but also very puzzled.  Why was his friend lying down all the time?  Why wouldn’t he get up and have a wrestle?  When Felix  eventually started to come around, he decided he needed a loo break, and headed drunkenly towards the backdoor.  While his front legs were saying onward, ever onward, his back legs kept buckling under him, thus halting the procession.  He just kept on picking himself up and starting again…  After the visit to the toilet, I carried him back in, and put him back to bed where he lay down for a while and rested, with Max hovering concernedly in the background.  Then Felix decided he wanted a drink of water, and headed to the kitchen, and crouched down over the bowl, lapping.  I checked him a minute ot two later, and found he had fallen asleep where he was, head still bent, and nose just out of the water.  Just as well I checked him!  So back to bed where he slept a bit more, and after a few hours, to Max’s relief he was more normal…

 

When I used to come home from work, Felix invariably would rush out to meet me as soon as I got out from the car.  He would then “talk” to me the whole way inside.  It was a constant chatter, “Miaow, miaow, miaow, miaow, miiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaoooooowwwww!!!!” as he told me of the day’s happenings.  He would keep it up till he was fed, and Max would just watch and listen, and wait eagerly for the food….

 

All went well till Tiggy arrived.  Tiggy was being “boarded” at our place, but it ended up being quite an extended visit.  Tiggy was an adult, older than the others, and after he had settled in, he thought he should be treated with a little more decorum and deserved the status of head cat.  Felix had other ideas.  He, with Max as his right hand man, took Tiggy’s challenges to heart, and we had the feline version of the gun fight at the OK corrall, in the hall way.  Max and Felix up one end, and Tiggy at the other.  They faced each other, but pretended not to be looking at each other.  A lot of spitting went on, and yowling in an unearthly manner.  This continued for a few minutes, then they got serious.  There was a few swipes at each other, claws extended, and a few pieces of fur flew through the air, but it was over quickly.  Felix was the boss, and Max was his right hand man, and poor Tiggy was down the bottom…..

 

All continued on as normal, till I went into hospital for a short stay.  As you would have read in my story of Max, he had a huge abscess near the base of his tail, which I discovered when I returned.  Of Felix there was no sign.  We searched high and low, and for a long time, but to no avail.  We eventually accepted the fact that he had gone, and we mourned him….Max did too.  Tiggy didn’t, and staged a successful takeover bid as soon as he worked out Felix had gone.  But Felix’s memory stays with us……a very “happy” memory…..

Miss Muffet was my family’s introduction to the cat world.  I had grown up with cats, but had made a decision while the kids were little that I wouldn’t be tempted to own a cat….I had seen what behaviour some little children had inflicted on cats, and decided that my children would be a little older and more sensitive and sensible before they were introduced to cat ownership and care.  Therefore, when Muffet arrived on my fence, miaowing pitifully, my kids were aged 10, 8, 6 and 3, and I thought, well maybe the cat will stand a chance…

 

This poor little kitten was about 3 months old, and pretty hungry.  I thought she had probably been dumped when her previous owners realised she was a female.  The then hubby announced he didn’t like cats and started muttering about her presence until I said I would check to see whether someone had lost her, and made it obvious that I wasn’t just going to take her in without making some attempt at being responsible about it, so he relented and accepted her as a part of the family, albeit with a bad grace.  In fact later on, when he saw how the kids loved her, he admitted that when he was a child, he used to take their farm cat to bed….until his mother discovered what he was up to….  So rounds were made of the neighbours, and enquiries were made around the town, including checking all the “lost” notices, and we put our notice up at the vets notifying anyone who was interested that she had been found.  But after a reasonable time had passed we realised no one was looking for her, and she was “our cat”.

 

I wasn’t prepared to let my children be completely responsible for her feeding and welfare…I knew them too well, but I encouraged them to help me feed her, and generally look after her, and most of the time they were willing. Wendy, at the tender age of three had to be “encouraged” to be gentle with her, and even as a kitten Muffet was very longsuffering with the kids and would put up with pretty well any treatment.  She wouldn’t swipe the kids in self defence, let alone malice, so it was up to me, and to the kids’ dad, to instil in them a reasonable standard of behaviour to the cat.  And most of the time they were good.  We had the odd incident of dressing the cat in doll’s clothes, and the only reaction on the cat’s part was to have an “I Am Not Amused” expression on her face, and carting the cat off to their beds with them even though it was patently obvious she was quite comfortable where she was in the first place, and didn’t really want to go to bed….but on the whole no major dramas.  Except for one time.

 

In those days, we had a canoe.  It was the source of many hours of fun paddling down the various rivers and lakes in the vicinity, and in between, on really hot days, the kids would fill it up with water, and use it as a very strangely shaped swimming pool.  However, this day, the boys decided they would teach the cat to swim.  The cat of course already knew how to swim, but put up with the ordeal.  The boys however were silly enough to do this while their dad was around.  He had been in a different part of the yard, and when he came around the corner of the house and saw what was going on, his normal laid back behaviour changed instantly to a volcano in full flow.  The kids of course suddenly become very concerned about drying the wet cat and emptying the canoe out, anything to avoid their punishment that they knew would come, and that they deserved.  He roared at them:  “I may not like the cat, but that’s no reason for you to be cruel to her!”  They never forgot the lesson, and I dare say the cat didn’t either….

 

As I mentioned before Muffet was very gentle and long suffering with humans.  The story was very different with other animals.  Muffet was a mighty hunter, and from a kitten would stalk anything that moved.  Soon after she arrived she was stalking magpies.  Magpies are not fainthearted, and are very capable of looking after themselves.  Consequently, she never attempted to actually catch one.  Other birds and animals were not so lucky.  She was death on legs to many sparrows and starlings and one day I managed to stop her devouring a bronze cuckoo.  She had actually caught it, but it was unharmed.  I was able to make her drop it, and it flew away with her leaping into the air, trying to get it back.  She was NOT happy with me.  She was often to be seen on the roof, checking out under the eaves, and the guttering, anywhere where a starling or a sparrow might have built a nest.  One day she was out in the rafters of the garage, and a bird flew into the garage.  Of course it was disorientated, and flew straight towards her.  She just opened her mouth, and gulped….the bird was gone!  I was horrified!  At least the poor bird wouldn’t have known what happened…

 

She was also deadly on mice and rats, and would often bring home her trophies, and leave them on the doorstep for me.  At one stage in her life, after she had grown a bit, hubby announced she shouldn’t be living inside and insisted she move out. I wasn’t happy about this, but accepted it for peace sake, and waited for a chance to get her back inside.  In the meantime, the mice population, that now lived outside with the cat decided they would move to safer quarters…INSIDE!  They felt much safer now, and had parties in my kitchen, whenever they felt like it!  So now it was my turn to mutter…

 

Muffet found living outside wasn’t so good either.  She had to cope with the local marauding tomcats, and she was a hunter, not a fighter.  She came off second best with one of them, attempting to defend her property, back in the rafters of the garage.  I heard this dreadful caterwauling, and rushed out to the garage just in time to see her fall from the rafters and land on our mower.  She picked herself up, looking very ruffled, and had obviously hurt her shoulder.  The other cat had the grace to leave quickly.  It became obvious after a couple of days she wasn’t going to recover quickly, so the next time the vet was in town, I took her along.  We were able to give her some anti inflammatory medication, which made her feel much better, but the vet said, she should sleep inside, that could turn to arthritis without proper care.  So I had my excuse to get her back inside, which I promptly took.  Muffet moved back inside, the mice moved back out, and everyone was happy…..except hubby.

 

He in the meantime maintained his attitude of I don’t like cats.  However, if you happened to come out late at night, while he was watching tv, and the rest of us were in bed, you would see him sitting contentedly with the cat on his lap.  Or you might find him in the yard playing with the cat who had climbed a branch, or was sitting on top of the tent (a semi-permanent addition to the yard).  When asked about it he would do a lot of muttering and denying that that’s what we actually saw, so I decided the best thing to do was not say anything….

 

There were another lot of animals that she had to contend with.  I had started looking after roos.  Most of the time she just ignored them, and they pretty well left her alone too.  But there was this one young wallaroo, whom I was babysitting for a couple of nights.  On arrival, he got Muffet in a headlock.  She was, obviously, not at all happy with this treatment.  She considered herself by this stage the top animal in the house, and thought she warranted treatment according to her status in life…and this was just not on!  She managed to get away from him, and withdrew to the heater, and turned her back.  I went to bed and left them to it.  In the morning however, Muffet was still in her place near the heater, and the wallaroo was treating her with a great deal more respect, and keeping his distance.  Roos of all sorts love to lie down near the fire, but Muffet had managed (probably by devious means) to get across the message, that any lying down in front of the fire was only to be undertaken when she vacated her space….and then her space had to be returned instantly when she came back!  He had learned this valuable lesson, sometime during the night, it seemed….

 

One time, before the arrival of the roos, and before the building of the roo/fox/dog proof fence, Muffet was chased up our huge gum tree by some local dogs.  Of course they soon lost interest when they saw she wasn’t coming down in a hurry, and I didn’t worry too much….all cats can climb trees.  However, when a cat is upset, and it’s really really windy (as it was that day), a cat finds it difficult to come back down, specially when the lowest branch is about 10 feet from the ground.  The day was wearing on and she had descended the tree to the lowest branch, and was crying.  She wanted to come down, but she didn’t know how.  Of course with the lowest branch that high from the ground, it made tree climbing a tad difficult, even though I had a few kids who would have been willing.  We spent a bit of time brain storming about what to do, and a suggestion was made we should ring the rescue squad.  However, in came elder son who was by this stage about 15.  He had acquired his father’s attitude of I don’t like cats, as he got older, but he summed up the problem quickly.  He said I know what to do, and went across to the works depot across the road, and borrowed their huge ladder.  He and his brother carried it home, and put it against the tree.  He climbed up, grabbed the cat, and handed her down to me.  I took the cat inside, and she was so freaked out, she went straight to bed in one of the kids beds, and didn’t emerge for about 24 hours.  My sons took the ladder back, and elder son accepted my thanks, and just went on with life!

 

Time went on, the kids had all gone off to uni, and/or to find work.  Muffet was getting old.  She was getting thin, and loved nothing more than to lie down in the sun, or in front of the fire, get up and eat, and lie down again.  She was happy with her lot in life, and by this time was 17.  She was still interested in catching mice though….one evening she managed to catch one.  I don’t really know how, because she had slowed down so much by this stage.  It must have had a death wish I think.  I found her with it under the dining room table….by this time she had hardly any teeth and was trying to gum the mouse to death.  I took it away from her (it died pretty quickly after that, but with a little bit of dignity…).  She just looked around, and curled up and went to sleep….probably thought she had had a lovely dream..  .And her life just continued on the downhill run until one day it was obvious she wasn’t well.  She refused her food, even though I made sure it was things she loved, and only wanted to drink water, and sleep.  So I made her up a bed in front of the fire, and waited to see if she improved.  She didn’t, and hubby, he who didn’t like the cat, that night took himself off to bed in the spare room, with the cat, so he could look after her.  The next morning she was worse, and he said, I really should put her down but I can’t.  I was touched.  I assured him I didn’t expect him to do that, and I would take her to the vet.  If anyone had to do it, he would.

 

She had been pretty healthy all her life, and had limited experience with the vets apart from the annual visit for her injections and the odd accident, as heretofore mentioned.  One time I had to take her because her eye was sore.  The vet had a look, and she was so co-operative with him that she allowed him to look under her “third” eyelid without him having to anaesthetise her.  This impressed the vet greatly, and he was always interested in how she was going.  So when I took her to see the vet, he was really sorry to see her so ill.  He tested her blood; he felt by what I said, and her symptoms, it was her kidneys.  The tests indicated they had failed completely, and it was obvious there was no hope.  I stayed with her and held her as we put her to sleep, neither of us wanted to prolong her suffering.  Then I took her home, and hubby buried her with due honour in the back yard.

 

We all mourned her passing for a long time, but she left us so many happy memories.  After a few months the kids had decided I’d mourned enough, and bought me another kitten…Felix….but there lies another story….

Many years ago, in what seems like an alternate life, I was a wildlife carer and rescuer.  It was a wonderful time of my life, in turns uplifting and heartbreaking.  That part of my life has unfortunately ended because of health problems and different living arrangements, but what memories I have.

A few years ago, I started sharing these little snippets online with some overseas friends.  Now I have decided to formalise my collection, and make it more widely available.  I have copied them just as they appeared in my “Mamroo’s Diary” at the time.  I hope you enjoy reading them.

These stories are about the animals in my household at that time and more recently, domestic and wild, with the occasional appearance of humans!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton