He’s made the transition to outdoor cat beautifully and now spends all day poking at things outdoors and and all night poking at our feet between comfy sleeps on the end of our bed. I’m excessively grateful he’s only brought one other living thing into the house and it was a) still living and b) apparently undamaged. I set said creature – a tiny bird that was tweeting IN HIS MOUTH before I made him drop it – free, and pretended that it was probably fine and didn’t do what mostly happens in these cases which is, distressingly, to die of a heart attack shortly afterwards.

It’s been a long time since I specifically wrote about cats and babies, though. I rambled on at length about how a cat shouldn’t get its marching orders during a pregnancy, but I was still curious to see how the cats would cope with the baby human once it made an entrance. Snaffle was spooked, but sadly did not live long enough to get much past giving her a wide berth, but Casper was curious from the outset, and – despite being a nervous sort – has turned out to be supremely tolerant where Ramona is concerned.

Naturally, for both their sakes, we oversee each interaction carefully, but now she’s 15 months old and very quick on her feet, she has been known to potter over and ‘stroke’ him before we can stop her, which usually results in a few strands of fur between her fingers. I should stress it’s loose fur – she’s not actually grabbing his skin and he is clearly not in any discomfort. She’s just really cack-handed at stroking, which I think is fair enough at her age.

His reaction to this 99 times out of 100 is either to go back to sleep (if cats could roll their eyes…) or simply leave. She understands ‘leave Casper alone’; when commanded to do this she waves her finger at him and announces ‘no’, which is what she does with anything she realises she’s not supposed to touch.

Just once he did react, which was a very light tap  from his paw onto her hand. She laughed, then looked affronted, then mock-cried, then ‘no-no-noed’ at him when we simply moved her away saying ‘leave Casper alone’. And she did.

And so their friendship develops. He tolerates her suddenness and loudness, and occasionally headbutts her, or goes and flomps down a foot or so away from her if she’s napping on the floor, thereby joining her for a companionable sleep. For her part she’s constantly asking about him; “eh Capi? Eh Capi?” is a regular refrain, especially when she’s out in the garden. (“Where’s Casper?” in case it wasn’t obvious.)

I remember talking to the vet about this when Casper went for an annual checkup and jabs, and said vet saying: “Oh yes. Cats have a mental category called ‘human kitten’. She’ll get away with things you never could.”

I’m very proud of my human kitten for responding to our training around the cat so well; she does seem to be starting to respect him as a real creature, not a toy.

But I’m even prouder of our Fat Kitten*. Well done, Casper. We love you.

*Our nickname for him. He’s not actually fat – we checked with the vet – just very, very large and powerful. And a total wuss. It’s brilliant.

April 3rd 2011

I’ve found myself rather missing this blog. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve crafted blog posts in my head lying in bed at night but not actually released them into the world. Mostly it’s just plain tiredness; sometimes it’s because I save it for BitchBuzz. I’ve been so terrible I haven’t even linked over to my posts there, but I am still writing about babies and parenthood and stuff bi-weekly on a Wednesday so if that interests you a post will be up tomorrow. I have two ready for publishing, so it’ll either be on things to keep in your nappy bag or dealing with phases.

The latter is what my reflection is all about today. Phases. Specifically, shrieking. I’ll leave the details to that post, but basically she’s in full-on screamy phase where everything seems to need to be accompanied with high-pitched, ear-damaging yowls. There are all sorts of reasons but primarily I think it’s teething. We’ve given her frozen rubbery teething rings and have been recommended chamomilla (haven’t tried it yet) and Anbesol liquid (reasonably effective). To top it all she has a manky cold, and teething makes her nose run anyway, so she’s definitely not her jolly self at the moment.

That said she still does manage to bounce vigorously up and down in her ‘doughnut‘. And we had a lovely first Mother’s Day together, which I will treasure always (that photo was taken that day). She got me a beautiful copy of The Hunting of the Snark, illustrated by Tove Janssen. Amazing taste in one so young.

The frustrations I’ve spoken of before aren’t quite gone. She can feed herself some things, use her cup independently to drink water and eat more complex food, which is great. She can stand, wobbling, holding on to the sofa. She can right herself if she’s slightly reclined. But she can’t crawl, doesn’t enjoy being on her tummy for long and is not quite able to sit up from lying down flat. This leads to a lot of grumping, and I have to balance helping her out with encouraging her to try and do it herself. She’s a bright spark – alert and observant – and that can be the problem sometimes. There’s so much she wants to get into and she can’t yet, and it makes her grizzle.

On the other hand, she’s yammering away now – da-da-da, ba-ba-ba, ma-ma-ma – and imitating sounds she hears. “Casper!” I called to the cat. “Ath-puh,” came a little sound from beside me as she played peacefully. I’ve started to get more consistent with certain signs, such as ‘milk’, ‘drink / water’, ‘cat’, ‘hello’ and ‘finished’ and although again she mimicks them from time to time I don’t think she’s really got it yet. Still, it should help with the communication. And said cat is very tolerant of her and hangs out with her, even going so far as to curl up on her feet during one nap time.

Speaking of cats…

Snaffle May 2008 - March 7th 2011

When I wrote my last post, I was still too distressed from the events of the day before to focus on what had happened on here. Our first cat, Snaffle, a little less than three years old, collapsed suddenly. Despite my rushing him to the vet within 20 minutes, less than two hours later he’d been euthanised. The cause of the collapse had been a very unexpected heart attack, complete with blood clot cutting off the circulation to his legs. There were no prior symptoms and he had always seemed the epitome of a healthy cat.

We miss him a lot.

It makes me sad that Ramona will never know him. But she’s already developing a sound friendship with Casper, which I’m enjoying watching.

Right. Nap time has already been disturbed once for a milk top-up and soothing, so I’d better stop with the clattering typing…

If you’re pregnant and you have a feline presence in your house, you can guarantee that the first thing you’ll get asked is “what are you going to do with the cat(s)?”. The person asking is always a little purse-lipped when you say things like “erm, feed them, stroke them, take them to the vet when needed, you know, the usual…”. Apparently a cat is only considered a member of the family until another human member of the family turns up.

This is largely because of fear caused by misinformation, or at least a rather panicky take on the facts.

Read more: http://life.bitchbuzz.com/pregnant-you-dont-have-to-evict-your-cat.html

The photo is of one of our cats, Casper, who has taken to Ramona rather well, sniffing at her and occasionally flomping (the act of flopping down dramatically) nearby to watch her. She sometimes smiles at him.

I have been blogging about it; just not here. If you like rants about cats and toxoplasmosis, the myths surrounding morning sickness and the way gender stereotypes are reinforced before the womb has even been exited, you can find them in my other, oft-neglected, more personal blog.

Mum is currently brewing up some dyed eggs (the traditional red, but also some yellow and green) so we can introduce my in-laws to the concept of egg-smashing on Sunday. They, in turn, took my parents through the world’s most abridged Passover Seder night ever. The eggs were always my favourite part of the post-fast fun, but funnily enough it’s not the memories of obliterating eggshell that always come to mind when I see them, freshly coloured and polished with a little olive oil, heaped in an obliging pile on the table. No, those memories are upstaged by a cat.

One of my parents’ late cats, Zoey, was an absolutely brilliant footballer. No kitten ball, rolled up bit of foil or bottle cap was safe. And one pre-Easter morning, we awoke to find strange patches of blue on the carpet. Even more bewilderingly, we found strange patches of blue on Zoey. It was only after a few minutes, when we saw her leave the room and then heard a rhythmic ‘tock… tock… tock…’ down the corridor that we discovered she’d nicked a blue-dyed egg from the table and was enthusiastically dribbling it down the hallways. Luckily the dye was non-toxic, but we learned to always keep the eggs tucked away from the cats after that.

God willing, this is my last Pesach and Easter without a child. Next year, my daughter will still be too young to know the stories, but I’ll make sure she gets used to the sound of matzo cracking and eggs smashing, and the tastes of sweet haroset and rich roast lamb. I look forward to her developing her own memories of both, and telling me one day what Easter eggs make her think of. And I’ll tell her all about Zoey, too.

Happy celebrations, if you have them. And if you don’t, then just enjoy the time off!

Spotted on Under the Paw.

I am a volunteer at Decoy Kitten Rescue.

Anyone wishing to donate money can send a cheque made payable to: C.Hardwicke (Decoy Kitten Rescue) and send it to:

Decoy Kitten Rescue

40 Keyberry Park
Newton Abbot
Devon

TQ12 1DF

Please note that we never spoke to the daily mail or ANY of the tabloids.

NONE of our animals were going to be destroyed… we rescue NOT kill. [my emphasis]

All the cats that are ready for rehoming have been allocated and homes are ready and waiting for our little ones when they are ready too.

I appologise for people not being able to get through on the phone but we have been experiencing high call volumes.

We do have a Facebook page… just type Decoy Kitten Rescue in the search box to find us.

You can also message Claire Hardwicke directly on Facebook.

I hope this helps

thankyou

kind regards

Lisa

So, the upshot is, the kittens have homes (possibly, in fairness, thanks to the publicity afforded to them by the Mail, even if they did add a crucial detail the centre claims not to have told them) and they were not on death row.

Phew.

Look, I’m so serious, I’m even linking to the blinkin’ Daily Mail.

The Decoy Kitten Rescue in Newton Abbot is closing down and the likes of the RSPCA (who use it as an overspill centre) are obviously too full to take them. I have no idea if anyone’s been on to Cats Protection, but I can’t imagine they’re any less full (they’re brilliant by the way).

Call 01626 205755 to ask about a kitten – or a cat, for that matter, as there are some adult ones too. I can’t bear to think of them dying while there are homes out there.

I thought Snaffle was very obliging in the second shot considering he usually doesn’t sit still for more than three seconds together and generally doesn’t like me. But he seems to like the smell of my mineral foundation and even licked my chin. Kitten breath is not as cute as it sounds…

1. Children and Blogging

As in, why do people feel the need to align themselves into mommy or child-free camps. Why is there such a dividing line? Why does it matter?

2. Feline Asthma

One of my cats has it. Inexplicably (it isn’t my fault) I feel guilty.

3. Baking

I’m thinking cookies at the moment, and thus stole / borrowed a star-shaped cookie cutter from my mother. In fairness she’s had it two years and never used it. My sister makes very nice gingerbread, so I figure I should opt for a different flavour to widen the family skillset. On the other hand, I’m still thinking about artful cupcake icing so it might not be cookies at all.

4. Disneyland Paris

Having been back to the absolute pinnacle of the Disney experience, I’m now craving more Mouse. Perhaps a trip to Paris would assuage it? Husband thinks otherwise, and on previous visits it really hasn’t felt the same.

5. The Monster Book

Sickness threw me off balance, but I want Ashley to read it and give me some feedback. I know the tone has changed and need to keep writing before I’m tempted to wade in and start re-writing. Must. Get. Motivation.

*Also, isn’t that song horrible? Maybe I treated you appallingly but, it’s okay, I was thinking of you the whole time. Yeesh.

I’m not sure whether last night proves that charity is a small world, that online meedja is a teeny cluster or that both together make it completely certain that you’ll know someone who knows someone. Then again, maybe it’s just coincidence, but it felt quite weird.

After Helen Aspell of the Equalities & Human Rights Commission (which has said some very sensible things about reducing maternity leave for women and increasing paternity leave this week) told me she knew my sister – off the back of both being in that Female Social Media Guru thang – that provoked a small giggle.

Turns out she is in fact involved in all aspects of my life.*

When I was at Shiny Media, I made lots of video reviews, including their most viewed ever. I made them mostly with a cameraman and editor called Ray O’Neill, who’s a very sweet bloke. Last night he pootled along to join a group of my friends and me (no, it’s not and I; comment if you’d like to know why) at La Perla in Charlotte Street where it transpires that he too knows Helen. And he’d been doing work for eConsultancy one of the bloggers for whom, as you know because you’ve been glued to the My Online Life page, has interviewed me about Dogs Trust on Twitter.

Teeny planet indeed.

On another note, I made blueberry muffins and Snaffle destroyed most of them. He did try to eat them which made me worry they tasted of cat food, but eating the remainder that he didn’t maul put paid to that concern.

What? Blueberries are good for you.

• Yes, I exaggerate. Of course; have you not come to expect it?