When our oldest cat passed away, there was generally no doubt that we’d get a new one to accompany our other cat, Puffy (right here!). To be frank: Puffy the black cat is just not photogenic. Kitty (“Katherine”) was, Puffy not.
So, our new cat, Molly (“Millifred”) brought home a cold, flees and a bold new change of the guard as she, now over a month in, she’s bossy and tender. She’s obviously a young thing, but I don’t recall Puffy being as bad. Ever. They do get along so once and a while.
Which reminds me that I’ve slowly attributed human skills to these cats, which obviously my wife finds extremely unfair: Kitty was an extremely smart cat who could turn on and off light switches and who preferred human heat. Puffy, is the fuzzy sort of cat who at this age still does not cover up her, well, messages. And Molly? I fear she’s going to be a troll, who does not give any damn if you’re bigger than her.
On preview: I should go back to reading my books.
When Imoved to Canada and married my wife almost 12 years ago, I automatically begot two pets, Katy the wonderdog and Peanut (nee Kitty). We lost Katy 2 years or so ago (previously). Last Wednesday we put down Peanut: for three of four days she had refused to eat solid food and she had lost so much weight that she could hardly stand up. During her illness, she was fairly fief tho: her last days she would never give up on purring her head off. Literally.
The death of Peanut feels like it marks the end of a an amazing set of years: Both dog Katy and cat Peanut were part of a 12 year adventure of fun, sadness, love and determination. Unsurprisingly, our cat never ceased to amaze and aggravate us and I guess, those are the stories of her that we will remember for, well, until we cease to exist ourselves.
As an atheist, I’ve never believed in a heaven or hell for humans. If there was a heaven or hell, I’m so hundred percent certain that this cat would have been a prime candidate for either place. If there was such a thing like ‘Feline History’, I’m sure her antics would have gloriously been part of that. For now, I’m glad that we were able to bury her next to her pal Katy.
Been fairly busy and still am, which means that I’ve only got a bunch of left-over links I ran into the last couple weeks:
The June 2009 SA has a story about the evolution of the Housecattus Domesticus Abnormalis, or rather, the common house cat. The cat as we know it in Western Europe, did indeed originate from the Middle East. Additionally it appears that the cats/human bond started about 10,000 years ago, when humans started to establish themselves in homes, which attracted the cute little mice your cat will throw up in front of your shoes. Or in scientific lingo (if you’re religious, you may want to close your eyes):
Both these food sources [houses and trash heaps] would have encouraged cats to adapt to living with people: natural selection favored those cats that were able to cohabitate with humans and thereby gain access to the trash and mice.
Silly Europeans, the moment they start banning stuff, Canada gets in an uproar. It’s the seal hunt, again; which is when Canadian seal hunters club seals to death. While I don’t particularly care about the seal hunt, it takes some guts to eat a raw seal heart, that requires guts. Or maybe you need to be out of your mind to do that.
And last and definitely least: The malaria bugs have been slowly getting resistant to artemesinin: researchers in Cambodia have issued warnings that the drugs are taking longer to clear the blood of the parasites, which is an early warning sign of emerging resistance. The irony (a cynical one at that) is that if it wasn’t for our use of medication, there wouldn’t have been this resistance.
T here’s nothing cuter than young kittens, except for when they discover they can feast on wires, cables and other typical loose things and stuff hanging out from computers and other hardware. Also, dog food, because, apparently, you can bat at it.
So yeah, we took in a kitten after we came back from Nova Scotia and the worst part of taking the thing in is that the older cat and the young one are still not used to each other. We were also unlucky with the cats’ names: for years we have called our oldest one ‘Kitty’ (we never bothered to use her ‘real’ name), and now of course that name backfires at us, since the youngest one also seem to relate to the name ‘Kitty’. We end up improvising the names of either cats: depending on the circumstances, the oldest one goes by the name of ‘The Older One’, ‘Grey Cat’, ‘Mrs. Cranky’, ‘Hissy Fit’ or even ‘Precious Little Racist’ (because she’s still hissing at the younger, dark kitten, get it?). The youngest one’s name fluctuates between ‘Little One’, ‘Yo’, ‘The One With The Yellow Eyes’, ‘Vandal’, ‘Miss Flea’, ‘Miauw’ and, yeah, ‘Puff’ (which is apparently, her given name).
Wait a second: Wasn’t I supposed to write about politics and economics?