The Further Adventures of a Little Cat...

This is my April contribution to Sian's Storytelling Sunday 2012.  A short tale about the continuing adventures of the small cat we all know and love:

Sherlock's Vetinary Adventure

Sherlock hasn't been so fit over the winter.  He had his regular check-up, just before Christmas, to make sure his kidneys weren't causing any problems for him.  The vet was happy with kidney function and his blood pressure, but said his teeth were in a bad state and she felt that he really must have something done about them soon, despite the risks of an anaesthetic for a cat with renal problems. 

He must have been uncomfortable with them, as they were covered in tartar and some were going bad.  Of course, bad teeth are known to cause lots of other health problems - both in animals and human beings - including heart problems, so it was definitely important that it was dealt with fairly soon.

He doesn't like winter time and tends to lose weight.  At that point, he was a bit under the weight we like him to be and we decided to make sure he was eating well and a bit fitter overall, before attempting any operations, so he had the best chance possible of making a good recovery. 

I thought it would be better to wait for warmer weather, as he loves to lie in the sunshine and always picks up health-wise, once the warmth of Spring gets into his old bones.  So, we set about feeding him up and encouraging him to get a little exercise etc.  Then I made an appointment, a couple of weeks ago, for Sherlock to have an overhaul, prior to booking him in for his dental work. 

The vet gave him a checkup, then put him on a 10 day course of antibiotics, as a precaution, and booked him in for last Tuesday.

So, Tuesday morning dawned and Sherlock made his journey to the Vet, shut in his box, rather fed up, accompanied by me and Davey.  We had to leave him there overnight, so they could check his blood pressure, give him blood-tests for kidney function and general health, then put him on a hydrating drip overnight, to make sure everything was working well before he had an anaesthetic. 

It was strange at home, without our little cat.  As soon as we got back, I was opening the door and calling "Sherlock, we're home!", as I always do... :-( no Sherlock, of course. 
It was sort-of empty - no cat round our feet in the kitchen; no cat lying on the back of the sofa; no cat following me round the house.  It didn't make the little nagging voice, that suggested he might not come through the operation, feel any easier to bear. 

The vet very kindly called us, around tea-time, to confirm that his blood test results were better than she had hoped, his blood pressure was normal and she would therefore put him on the drip and operate in the morning.  We were to call at the end of the morning, or early afternoon, to see how he was and whether he would be able to come home, or would have to stay in their special care unit overnight.

Wednesday was a tricky day - I was supposed to be working on a batch of commission books, but really, I wasn't getting on very well.  It's hard to be inspired by your work, when you have a little niggling worry on your mind... I did my best and tried to get on with my day, but it was a relief to be able to call the vet at 1pm, to ask for a progress report.

He was fine.  In fact, he'd come round quickly and was, at that point, sitting up and nibbling on tuna, fed to him by a kind vetinary nurse!  Would we come and pick him up - say, around 2:30?  

Well, what do you think? Of course we would ... we could hardly wait for it to be 2pm, so we could get in the car and drive to the vet, without seeming to be in too much of a hurry... (after all, we are British - we don't indulge in unseemly public displays of anxiety, distress or over-excitedness...it's just not done!)

So there we were, sitting in the vet's waiting room, at 2.20pm.  Adele, the vet, came out to fetch us, went over the operation and told us that he had done very well.  Aparently, she'd only had to remove five teeth, as the others, once cleaned up, were in good condition (made me feel very pleased that we try to take care of him!).   He had more antibiotics and some painkiller, that we should use only if he was in pain. 

He came out to see us, looking a bit dopey and bewildered, but so obviously happy to see us, that we both felt a bit choked up, I think!  And we brought him home, made a fuss of him, settled him comfortably on his bed. 

The little shaved spots, where he had blood tests and a drip...

Of course, he didn't stay there. He's fine. He has been carrying on as if nothing had happened.  He seemed a bit uncomfortable that first evening, after the painkilling injection from the vet had worn off.  So we gave him his half-dose of Metacam (yes... I wasn't happy about Metacam, but the vet assured us that a half-dose could safely be given to him - and he was fine).  After that, he hasn't needed more help, other than being given soft foods only for a few days, to let his mouth heal up (none of his "dental" treats in the mornings, only his small tablets, that he can swallow easily, with the antibiotics in a little bit of cheese to mask the taste.

He's doing well.  We hope he will begin to improve now, health-wise, and to get fitter - and fatter.  Today the sun is shining, so he is alternating between sunning sessions and lying inside, to cool off, ready for the next spell in the sun!

We're so lucky to have Sherlock. He's a fabulous little cat and we all love him.  It was so hard to make that decision, for him to have his teeth done, as the risk of losing him was very real.  But he has bounced back, with no apparent ill effects.  I was even able to call the vet on Friday morning, to tell her he didn't need the follow-up appointment to check his painkillers etc, but could wait for his final follow-up in the next few days.   It's a relief to have him home and well.  We hope he'll have many more happy years ahead of him now, with a more comfortable mouth and better health as a result!

"Love that Old Cat" - an old page, but so appropriate!

Thoughts from the Washing Line... (Storytelling Sunday 2012)

So, yes, I know I haven't been around for a month.  A long time.  Lots of reasons why, which I won't detail here; I have just been so busy and I think that'll do.  However, I didn't want to miss Storytelling Sunday (even though I'm posting this on Monday evening!), so here's my effort for the month.

* * *

[source]

This morning I was hanging up washing - on the outside washing line, which DS had put up for me specially - having taken it from the corner where it was stored "for the winter".  DH commented that I should take a photo of the washing out in the garden, as it was warm and sunshiney today, which he felt was unusual for a day in early January ( I didn't take that photo - I really should have!). 

It set me thinking about the winters we have had recently (or maybe I should say "endured", when thinking of the two most recent winters!). 

This year's winter has -so far - been so warm and windy, with a couple of very wet spells. 
Last year and the year before, we had some warm and wet weather, but there were spells in December when it snowed and snowed, with freezing temperatures - and the resulting disruptions to work and school days, transport, postal and goods deliveries, power supplies etc... 

December 22nd 2009 

December 22nd 2010

December 22nd 2011

Earlier I was reading an article about the winters of 1946/47 and 1962/63 (both of which happened before I was born), when all of Britain was plunged into periods of sub-zero temperatures, blizzards and deep, drifting snow.

1947

[source]

1962/3

[source]

1963 - Margate, the sea froze over

[source]

The previous very cold winter that I do remember, was 1978, when all of Britain suffered with blizzards and heavy snow.  The South and East of England was spared the worst of the January weather, which hit northern areas just after Christmas/New Year.  However, we suffered badly during a big blizzard in mid-February.

[source]

[source]

[source]

That winter, we were living in a cottage, on a farm at the top of a hill, in the middle of the Bedfordshire countryside. 

The journey to school, in the town of Bedford, was a 40-minute bus-ride, along the main road, a mile from our cottage; the village was a mile and a half away in the other direction.  The farm was across the road and we had a next-door neighbour in the adjoining cottage. Other than these neighbours, we were very isolated, perched at the very top of the hill.   We used to walk to the village quite regularly, as there was a shop there; in summer the local school opened their outdoor swimming pool - for the bargain price of 15p each, we could swim all afternoon; my sister had a school friend in the main village too, so we would go and visit her sometimes.  We also went to a nearby church, once a week,  to practise bell-ringing, with some locals and girls from a nearby boarding school.

[source]

The cottage had no heating - just an open fire in the sitting room and a couple of electric heaters.  The kitchen was equipped with an electric cooker (but no gas),  the bathroom had an electric bar-heater at the top of the wall.  So, that winter it was almost as cold inside, as it was outdoors.  We woke to a layer of ice on the inside of the window-panes, a bedroom so cold that it was painful to get out of bed and dress. 

[source]

A bath was out of the question, until the bathroom had been heated up, so it was a chilly wash every morning.   That winter, for the first (and last) time, I had chilblains on my feet and fingers (I have Reynauds syndrome, so it was very difficult when the weather was so cold). 

The blizzard hit us in mid-February, when we were just about thinking that winter was nearly over (!).  School half-term holiday was on the way and we were looking forward to a few days at home, relaxing by the fire, walking in the fields, perhaps visiting Grandma in town.  However, on February 14th or 15th, we woke to deep snow and white fields all around.  Our mother gave us a warm breakfast and sent us off, to walk down the hill to the bus-stop, in our school coats and gloves, scarves and knitted hats.  I think we probably wore wellington boots to walk in, carrying our school shoes. 

The snow was pretty deep and had frozen hard (already!).  In fact, I remember walking along the lane, which bordered a paddock on one side, looking at the hedge and wondering how it came to be so small.  We sometimes scrambled over the fence/hedge and ran across the paddock, since the road doubled back around the paddock, making the walk twice as far as if we took a short-cut through the paddock (this was fine until the time the farmer put three young bullocks in the paddock... long story, but basically, one of the bullocks trapped my sister against a tree and licked her face all over, until she stopped shrieking and giggled madly!).  The fence was invisible and the hedge looked about a foot high, under a deep drift of snow.  The paddock was also deep in snow and looked level with the top of the hedge in places.  We decided that it wasn't a good day to take a short-cut and went the long way round to the bus!

We waited a very long time for our bus.  The main road was mostly clear (I suppose they had snow-plough lorries out), but the bus service had been very disrupted.  The bus did arrive eventually, but not before my Reynauds' had got the better of me.  Its arrival found me sitting on the edge of the kerb, with my head between my knees, no doubt very white in the face, dizzy and desperately cold.  My sister hailed the bus and explained the problem to the bus conductor - a lovely lady, who immediately took charge.  I was half-carried up to the top deck of the bus.  The kids sitting on the long front seat were unceremoniously kicked off, so that she could place me right in front of the heater, which was blasting out wonderful warm air.  By the time we reached school, I had thawed out (quite painfully!) and no longer felt faint. 

(the bus was like this one - photo by Boxley)

We stumbled into school, around an hour late.  About half the girls were missing - I suppose their homes were snowed in, or their parents didn't think they should risk the weather.  Lessons were not running as usual, since some staff had also been unable to make it to school, but we all struggled on, until a message came round, about 1130am, that the whole school was to assemble in the main hall.

My school - in summer!

We were told to go home; school was being closed and would re-open when the weather improved.  There was a long queue for the one school pay-phone and some of us were sent to the office, to borrow the secretary's phone. 

The bus usually came across town to pick us up at the end of the school day.  It left at 4:10pm - so obviously we couldn't expect it to be there for us at 12pm.  We all trudged across town to the bus station and were lucky to catch a bus that passed the end of our lane, as it went between Bedford and Luton, a very large town to the south of Bedfordshire.  The bus driver was kind and let us get off there, although it wasn't a normal stop; this saved us some of our walk home, for which we were very grateful, as it was snowing again.  I think our mother was relieved to see us and she soon had us warmed up again. 

I think we were off school for the rest of the week.  It was an unespected holiday and we made the most of it.  I remember going for a walk in the fields that surrounded our cottage.  They looked strange and unfamiliar, covered in snow and ice.  We could barely recognise our normal routes and made our own footpaths across the snowy fields.  Obviously some snowballs were thrown and I'm sure we talked about building a snowman in the garden of the cottage. 

It was an exciting walk; until my sister decided to jump into a snow-pile that she found.  A run-up, a jump - whooping with excitement.  She disappeared.  It wasn't just a snow-pile, it was a drift, which covered a deep water-filled ditch!  Obviously, once I'd fished her out, I had to walk her home very quickly - shivering, wet and a bit tearful.  Luckily the bathroom was warmed up, ready for us to have a bath on our return, so she was swiftly plunged into warm water and thawed out!  She didn't suffer any harm at all - not even a cold. 

I don't remember a lot more about that winter.  We were pretty much house-bound for a while, only venturing into the fields a couple of times (with more care of snow-drifts!),  enjoying our walks, but glad to be home again and warmed up. I'm sure we built some good snow-men (I remember being lent a hat and scarf by the neighbours and supplied with coal and carrots!).  Then the wind changed, the temperature rose and the snow melted.  We went back to school and life was back to normal. 

We've had three or four very cold winters since (1980/81 for example), but I remember that first one best, because after that we moved closer to town and had central heating; the chill and snow didn't seem so difficult with the advantages of modern technology (and friends whose mothers gave us lifts to school on snowy days).   

* * *

This was my contribution to the first of Sian's Storytelling Sunday posts for 2012.  I hope it made you smile!

Sherlock's New Cushion - A Bed-Time Story

Good Morning, All Blog Friends!  This is my first contribution to Sian's wonderful Story Telling Sunday - I hope you enjoy the Tale! 

When you've finished, why not go back to Sian's blog, to read some of the other stories - there are usually lots and they're all quite different and normally very good!

Prologue

I'm sure that those of you who are owned by cats, have notice their clever ability to copy sounds?  You know, you speak to your cat, and he answers you - in your own language! At least, it sounds as if he does.

In fact, cats are great communicators and do have the ability to make a lot of different noises - and a selection of individual vocal sounds (someone told me a cat can make 18 different sounds, which I can quite readily believe!). 

They can also "talk" with body language - how often have you come back from a holiday, to find that your feline pal will not "speak" to you and slowly & deliberately turns his back, then sits upright with his nose in the air?  All to tell you how badly he feels about being abandoned to the cat-sitter. 

If you give your cat a lot of attention and watch/listen to him, you will have learned some of his "words" - whether vocal or body language.  A cat "says" so much more than just "Miaow"!  (In fact, Miaow is only an English spelling - there are lots of ways, round the world, of spelling the sound a cat makes when it wants a human's attention ) and it only uses this word to its mother, then to its humans, never to other cats or animals.

Sherlock is not alone in this ability to "talk" then; but for us, his language seems both clever and unique.  He has a great rapport with "his humans", especially the male members of the household. 

He's learned to mimic words we use, to get what he wants from us - or sometimes, just to be conversational.  If you say "Hello, Sherlock", back comes the reply "Hewo!". 

He generally speaks in a mixture of Ow's, Ooo's, Ahhh's and sometimes a short little "ip" or "ee".  When he watches birds out of the window, he gets excited and says "mip!" over and over again, while kneading his paws or pacing in excitement. 

He has a habit of wandering round the house, when he's not sure where to find us, yelling for our attention. If there's just him and me in the house, he shouts "Muuum", "Muuuuum" for me.  It's not quite the same sound as the human version, but it's quite definitely his "word" for me and it does sound like "Mum"! DH was working from home last week and was quite amazed to hear him do this (and it does prove I'm not mad and it's not just wishful thinking).

So, it's not unsual for Sherlock to "talk" to us.  And we like it. 

* * *

Chapter 1 - Sherlock's New Cushion

Sherlock is getting on a bit.  He's a middle-aged cat, of 14, with arthritis in his back legs.  This means that sometimes he is uncomfortable and goes up or downstairs rather carefully - sort of one-paw-two-paw-hoppity-bump - with a look of careful concentration, as if trying not to hurt himself.  

He doesn't usually like to sleep on the floor any longer, as it makes his legs sieze up and hurts when he has to get up again.  He chooses comfortable places, like beds (when he can sneak in there), sofas and sometimes, laps. 

His favourite spot to sleep in the day-time is (was!) the back of the sitting-room sofa,

or on a comfy bed in the garden

He used to sleep on a chair in my studio, however, this was moved downstairs, so he went back to his favourite perch on the sofa.   He doesn't like it though, if I am upstairs working and he is downstairs; he prefers to Supervise, but can't do that if there is no-where to sit. 

For a while, we had a running battle, as he started sneaking in, to sit on a pile of paper which lived behind me on the floor (since February and until recently, everything has lived behind me on the floor!). Of course, I didn't like this idea very much and kept making him get off.  He couldn't find another place to settle down, so he'd go off to the bedroom (if the door was open), or the sofa again, but keep coming to shout at me from the bottom of the stairs - something in cat-language, that sounded very like "Hey, I'm down here, come and keep me company!"

A couple of weeks ago, I took him to the vet for his check-up, so we could continue to get his medicines etc.  While I was there, I found a really nice cushion, which I bought for Sherlock and put in a corner of my studio. 

This is where he now spends most of his time....

...when he isn't lying out in the sunshine:

* * *

Chapter 2 - The Bed-Time Battle

So Sherlock loves his new bed (almost as much as the sunshiney garden)

Sherlock's New Bed

He spends so long lying there snoozing, that he's usually still there in the evening, when it's time for the household to settle down for the night.

Up til now, he used to ask to "go to bed", getting up from his perch on the sofa and staring fixedly at Human Number One, until he said something like "Is it Bed-time, Sherlock?" and followed Sherlock to the kitchen.

Cats are definitely animals who like a routine.  Sherlock wants his bed-time to be the same every day.  At Bed-Time, he expects The Humans to supply a snack supper, fresh water, clean litter-tray and a comfortable mat or cushion on the dining-room sofa, so that he can settle down to sleep. 

Bed-Time is always around 9:50pm (give or take 5 minutes - a chap has to have a pre-bed-time wash!).  At this time, he will get up and request (or demand!) that we Take Him To Bed.

So, that first night, it was very unusual and irregular, that Sherlock was snoozing on his New Bed at eleven pm.  I was still hard at work (or play?!), at my computer, but DH had an early start in the morning, so he was heading for his pillow. 

He came into the studio in search of Sherlock and said, "Sherlock, it's bed-time."

No response from Sherlock (well, he kind-of half-opened an eye....).

"Sherlock, it's Bed-Time; are you coming to bed?"

After a pause, Sherlock opened an eye, looked at DH and said, quite clearly,

"Mo!"

* * *

Epilogue

When DH and I had stopped laughing, we coaxed Sherlock downstairs for his usual bed-time routine - but I had to carry him!

Since then the bed-time routine has been somewhat erratic.  It's improved since I was at the vet again, buying more medicine, where I bought a second Comfortable Cushion.  This now sits in state on the dining room sofa and, most evenings, Sherlock doesn't mind exchanging the Upstairs Comfy Cushion for its brother Downstairs Comfy Cushion. 

But sometimes, I still have to carry him!