The arrival of the Fairie Queen

For weeks, we didn't know whether we should get another cat. I looked around at local rescues and nothing seemed to fit us. But our big soppy boy was moping, and so were we. We've never been a one cat household before.

I saw a photo of a young cat, rescued from a colony over in a town 80kms away. After a few weeks of  discussion, we decided to go and check her out - we could visit human friends on the way, so the trip didn't seem too extravagant.

She is a lovely wee thing - very skittish and skinny, but then she'd lived wild for the first months of her life. Her markings are the pavement special variety. Not much aristocratic heritage to be seen, but her bluish coloured eyes suggest an oriental touch somewhere in the ancestry and sweetness seems to ooze out of her. We decided to take a chance. 

She was delivered to us today by the lovely lady who runs the sanctuary. We've made a small room for her at the end of our long hallway, so that she can get used to the smells and noises of the house, and the big soppy boy - Mango. When she came out of her cage she checked out the room and wove in and out of our legs. Apparently, she is quite a maternal wee thing, and I foresee a role reversal taking place, with her taking care of the soppy lad, rather than the other way around.

An hour prior to her arrival, said silly ginger got beaten up by the neighbour's cat, so we had to lock him in another room to calm him down. I'm now covered in his fur as a wrangled him into the spare bedroom.

We live in the middle of a cat soap opera.

The new Fairie Queen is to be called Vienna, because she looks like a milky coffee when she is curled up. Her rescue name was Bonnie. Mango brought us a live mouse just after midnight last night, so I predict this new twosome could develop into prohibition rodent eradication partnership - shades of Bonnie and Clyde.

More to follow.

Cumin

It has been nearly 5 weeks without the cat who changed my life. 

Cumin was my soul cat, a whimsical sweet little madam of ginger floof and attitude.

I tried to write about her earlier, but for some reason got locked out of this blog.  Now I am sat trying to focus on writing about her I find the wounds and sadness run very deep indeed. If I'm honest, I've pushed all the crying and sadness down into a place that I don't want to revisit. Now I just feel numb.

People may scoff at the love I had for her. She was "only" a cat I can hear some people thinking. Not true. She was the ultimate bundle of fun, and ridiculousness, sensitive to a fault and so incredibly beautiful. For a Pavement Special, she was heartbreakingly gorgeous. Her unusual colouring had so many compliments, people crooned at how soft she was and laughed at her chirrup as she greeted all and sundry. She was little Miss Congeniality with guests, but never overstayed her welcome. Like a well bred aristocrat she said enough to make you feel at home, then went about her business - and there was a lot of it.

She was chief cicada and moth wrangler and collected leaves from our magnolia tree every afternoon at 3pm with predictable regularity.  Her kittenhood was full of silly little escapades, which included running up a 20ft tall cabbage tree (ask me how we got her down). She was the love of the ages of our elderly cat Otto, who, after a few days of being terrified of her, fell head over paws and took care of her for the rest of his life.

When we moved to the countryside, she managed to round up almost every mouse and rat in 1km radius. She became the team leader of our ginger male and tabby male rodent murder squad. She deposited mice in our shoes and slippers and guarded a stoat in our walk in wardrobe which Mango had brought in the night before.

At night, she would hop on my bedside table and wriggle into bed with me, curling up on my tummy as I slept on my side. When I became ill with a heart problem, she never left my side after I was released from hospital. 

As a kitten, she slept in an empty drawer in our spare bedroom. Later when we moved, she requisitioned the same drawer, even though it was now full of my husband's socks. Possession is after all, nine tenths of the law.

She became ill at the beginning of this year. She was losing weight. We put it down to her age. She was treated for a problem with her thyroid, and this was successful. But her heart was not working well and she got horrible asthma. We tried treatment but she got thinner and thinner and watching her trying to breath was awful. She stopped eating. It was time for her to leave. 

A friend of ours dug a grave for her next to Otto. My husband and I were recovering from COVID and I could hardly breath with the grief. Since that time I am numb. Our ginger boy is moping and sad and stress grooming. We didn't initially want to get another cat. We are not getting any younger, but our 8kg ginger moggy has lost weight and doesn't know what to do with himself. We have to get him a friend and I'll have to learn how to be a kitten mum again.

Fourteen and a half years vanished like the blink of an eye dear Cumin. I don't know if we ever reunite with our departed animal friends, but I know I will feel your wonderful presence with me until I depart this earth. Please help me raise the next kitten. I'll need your help with that.