The weaning from wet to dry food for the house cats met with sudden success thanks to a suggestion from Evelyne. I mentioned that Demi and Dru were proving particularly resistant to change. She said she mixed oil from sardines or tuna into the biscuits for both her house cats (two gorgeous calicos) and her ferals. Not only did they love the taste, but it was good for their health to boot. Suppertime came round and I dutifully added several drops of oil into the biscuits and gave them a good stir. The young ones were clamouring for food as it was, but there was far more interest from The Beast and the girls. The bowls went down, the scrum piled in - and after a couple of mouthfuls I could hear the oddest sounds coming from Demeter: she was purring! Purring through a mouthful of biscuits. Ye gods, wonders will never cease.
Evelyne has been on holiday for a couple of weeks so I stood up for feral feeding duties. She leaves a bowl outside her front door which is heaped high with biscuits on a daily basis. The first Monday of her vacation I went up to feed les chats de la rue (as strays or ferals are referred to). As she lives uphill to me I make it part of my exercise routine to go to her first then the long way round to the Shed. Effectively this means heading off both upwards and in the opposite direction to Bourpeuil. Following the outskirts of L'Isle Jourdain I head towards the lido and the viaduct; crossing the latter and following the old railway line leads to a junction with chemin de Chez Pinguet, off which lies my land. I take the same route back - dependant on the weather, of course. If wet it's straight across the road bridge to Bourpeuil and back - no messing! So Monday (5th Jan): though bloody cold, it was nice enough for the long way round. Having fed E's ferals on the outbound stretch I decided to call back to see who was availing themselves on the food. That'll teach me...
None of her regulars were there but a mob from a house up from her place were in attendance. The owners of this house have a laissez-faire attitude to cats - especially birth control. That Geiger, The Beast, and Freeman, Hardy and Willis were born there serves as an example.
A black female, a tabby-and-white female, a tabby male (inevitably un-done), a fawn-coloured tabby-marked female (one of L'Isle's subspecies like Bobcat), and a black-and-white youngster watched closely as I approached. The tom came over for a fuss which surprised as he's been pretty damn nervy in the past. There was some movement from the shrubs next to E's door and a small tabby-and-white kitten thrust a path through the the others and straight to my feet. He was skinny and flea-bound but aaaahhhhh! I fussed him, picked him up and placed him by a bowl, and turned away. I almost stepped on him, so quick he was to follow. I pushed him back to the bowl and within three paces he was back underfoot. I picked him up again and placed him amongst the others, which caused a fair amount of alarm and despondency as they misread my intentions somewhat. He followed me nose to heel back to the road which got him placed firmly in the doorway to E's storeroom, patted firmly on the arse, and given equally firm instructions about staying put. I repeated this a further two times, but by this time we were starting to play in the traffic. I gave in and stalked home clutching a wildly ecstatic kitten (he's about three months).
Introductions to the others were brief: "You wanted this, you get on with it!" The hissing hasn't stopped. And he hasn't even met Fatnip who refused to leave his basket by the radiator. As I write, Newbie is perched on my shoulder... yet another tabby-and-white in the house. At least he's marbled with rich black and brown swirls unlike the others who have a variety of stripes and range from The Beast's muddy brown to Willis' slate grey.
6th Jan: it snowed last night so Newbie avoided that shock to his small system. I hurried up to the Shed as soon as possible as there are several of the Dwellers who've never seen the white stuf before. Certainly Toxi and her brood hadn't and I wasn't sure LBC and her two had either. It was deep and crisp and even both in the field and in the Dwellers' enclosure, which was predictably deserted. I stood outside and coughed loudly - that worked. I could hear frantic activity from inside as cats launched themselves from sleeping boxes. A scrum of multi-coloured fur erupted from the exits into the pen where there was a six-inch wide strip of snow-free ground. The leaders stopped dead and slower (fatter,) cats cannoned in to their rears popping them like corks into the snow. Panic ensued as they leapt for the planks, chairs, and ledges of the enclosure, none of which were snow-free either.
Oh dear, it was all rather pathetic really! Once they'd calmed down enough to investigate this new phenomenon they even managed to play in it for a while.
8th Jan: in a vain attempt to keep the house warm (it's been down to -12 some nights) I've been experimenting with keeping some doors open, some closed, radiators on in different rooms on different settings - none of which has been particularly successful. Last night I tried having the bedroom door open in the hope that warm air would circulate up from the lounge. A mobile rad was wheeled in from the bathroom to support this idea. The cats had a field day... or rather, night.
Newbie curled up on a pillow adjacent to mine; Fatnip selected a spot near the small of my back that offered maximum support for his washing ritual - that can last anything up to two hours and sounds like a drain being unblocked! The girls have no problem in getting comfy quickly and the tomkits joined them in a gently rumbling heap down by my feet. That left The Beast. This idiot has already been banned from the bedroom after pouncing on my beard from the top of some shelving and loosening two of my teeth in the process. To give him his due, he behaved remarkably well, neither attacking me nor the others when we moved. The only one to have a bad night was me - it was too damn hot! There were far too many warm furry bodies wedged against me - and under the duvet it felt like a boil-in-the-bag. And at half past four, Fatnip managed to wake me for good by hacking up a furball (that's what two hours washing gets you, you sod) and fighting his ejection from the bed. Come the morning the bags under my eyes were so low-slung you could've put wheels on and coloured 'em tartan!
18th Jan: this morning's sleep was shattered by enthusistic bell-ringing. It sounded like the Germans were back for their towels. It must be Sunday and L'Isle's turn to host Mass - and the wind must be blowing directly from the bell-tower. It was gloomy and overcast, and threatening a downpour - which struck as I crossed the road bridge Shed-bound. I was carrying a 20lb bag of cat litter that was rapidly on its way to being a 50lb bag of cement . The handle tore first which meant I had to cradle it in my arms. As I reached the chemin the bottom gave way coating my duster in a fine white powder - within seconds this was a fine white paste which set like concrete. I have the word "indelible" in my head which isn't the right word but I'm at a loss for a better description at the moment.
Newbie, the kitten, arrived on the 5th; by the 14th Hardy was still hissing and growling - something of a record this, even Fatnip and The Beast had given up being snotty. Hardy however never missed an opportunity to beat up the much smaller cat. It was bound to happen and, of course, Newbie snapped the following day. He was ambushed passing a curtain and suffered a serious sense of humour failure. There followed a chase that an action movie director would've drooled over - complete with falls, leaps, swearing all in Technicolor and Sensurround. I resisted interrupting, it was something only they can sort out. And now they're best friends...ahhh, again.
Tim Hurrell is a Brit living in the Poitou-Charente area of France. He's the confidante to seventeen (or so) cats, most of whom have been rescued. Tim's been battling bureaucrats to set up a cattery (a feline hotel) in his area. If successful, he wanted to expand it to include a rescue, rehab/re-home operation. The name is Maison Miaow, but construction has stopped and the property is for sale. (Ed: Idiotic bureaucracy defeats kindness to animals - for now.)
