Double the trouble!

It's been a few weeks since I've updated this blog, but it's not been uneventful for Austin and his mate. They're joined at the hip these two and if the tabby disappears without giving notice then we have a very grumpy little cat on our hands! We don't think he is a stray, as he seems well fed and smartly turned out. We have to be careful though as their relationship is based on that blokie male bonding thing - you know, they slap each other on the back alot, tell dirty jokes and laugh loudly and rather inappropriately!

It is very difficult keeping one in and the other out, so we've had a few near misses with great auntie Amelia's vase. Also, when doing the final night time call-in, I can never be sure which one is going to turn up. I opened the door the other night and called for Austin, turned away to pull the blinds, only to turn back to see the tabby eating the food and Austin nowhere! I've sat them both down and given them the bottom line with regard to who lives where (Austin here, Tabby not) and Austin said "yeah ok" and then proceeded to put in a request for a sleepover as "all the others were doing it"! It breaks my heart to say no, but have had to firm my resolve as the thought of those two let loose ..... well the words "thundering" and "wildebeest" frequently come to mind.

I don't think Tigger the tabby has too much quality time with humans as he doesn't interact too well with us. Whereas Austin has to tell me all about his day in great detail, Tigger is the strong silent type and keeps his cards close to his chest. Anyway I think if we encouraged him he would stay and quite quickly the two of them would take over the house completely and we'll have no option but to move out into the summerhouse!

The upside to all of this is we've not seen sight nor sound of a ginger cat for weeks!

Fantas .... Tick !!

Caught the first one of these .. on Austin this morning - wasn't attached, just passing through! Think he must have discovered the sheep in the field opposite. Being the time of year it is and the kind of company he now keeps (see last post) I suspect he's caught all kinds of things. OK OK scrub all that. I've since discovered that it probably wasn't a tick but a small beetle! Well that's a relief, at least Frontline is working.

Of course administering the flea and tick deterrent is a hit and miss affair when you are confronted by an affronted cat. The upside of this is at least I am unlikely to have any creepy crawlies, jumping, or biting things living long and prospering on my person. He is funny though. Once the stuff is applied he looks like a greasy punk with his fur spiked up on his neck, and then he almost does himself a mischief trying to lick it off. If he unfortunately manages to get some in his mouth, his face creases up so he resembles a wizened old lady sucking on a lemon.

His new pal the Tabby, we've discovered, is "entire". So it is amazing they get on really, but Austin is older and has the more impressive set of whiskers! Between them, they have devised a cunning plan so that the tabby (who we’ve called Tigger) can get into the house. Having tried every other way to gain entrance (including all the windows) they were finally successful (momentarily)!

It goes like this. Austin meows plaintively and scratches on the door. I glance out the window and see him sitting looking innocent and solitary on the path. I open the door. Austin stays absolutely still and just smiles sweetly, Tigger shoots out from behind the hebe and is in with his paws under the table before I can complete my gasp of shock/horror. Austin strolls in looking smug. Both miscreants are then unceremoniously dispatched from whence they came, only to try again at another door.

Breaking News ...... !!!

Austin has got a buddy! In his ongoing war against the Ginge gang, Austin has recruited successfully from within the Tabby Tribe. We are highly delighted with this development and, of course, will keep you posted as events unfold.

An added bonus is that Austin has now found someone else to play tag with and thus leaves his poor pierced human to tend her many wounds.

Am wondering though whether feeding and cuddling was actually included in the original contract, or if young “Tigger" is taking shameless advantage??!!

Hairy Potty!

Despite his little pecadillos Austin's a very convivial companion, but much to the elderly maternal relative's disgust, he does not like being picked up and cuddled. It seems to be a bit beneath his dignity to allow himself to be squidged and squashed in this way. Could also have something to do with his wonky hip, but I'm not so sure, seeing what he gets up to (and "on"). Apart from that he is a very affectionate little fellow. So when he's not attacking my ankles, he actually likes to lie on them - or better still next to them with his paws proprietorially laid across as if he's the conquering hero who's finally subjugated his foe. Of course if I try to move even a millimetre, the claws are out quicker than a politicians excuse on polling day.

And then there is the chattering! I mean I'm a woman, I like to talk, it's what we do. But he does more talking than the UN, EU and NATO put together. And he knows how to get what he wants, from the pitiful pathetic I'm-just-an-orphan-left-starving-and-injured "mew" right up to the full blown I-will-get-through-this-door "yowl" that somehow manages to have me rigid with fear and tremulous with agitation all at the same time.

He is still suffering at the paws of Ginge Secundus as we heard last night - another symphony of sound from his vocal repertoire. Consequently, for him, "going outside" in the daylight is still fraught with danger, so if he feels he absolutely must venture out he first puts in a request, in triplicate, to myself as the most loyal member of his staff, that I should accompany him on his sojourn around the exterior - well I do need the exercise, it's really for my benefit to be brutally frank. I'm a bit on the paunchy side of lissom.

So while I am struggling into my fleece and shoes, he stands at the door muttering to himself about the inadequacies of the human insulation system. I mean, surely the evolutionary process could have come up with something a bit more efficient for the individual biped human than skin without built in lagging. It was just grist to the mill for that first entrepreneur who saw the future and it was called the "retail clothing outlet". Just think of the money you could save if you didn't have to change your clothes!! There would be no need for washing machines, or dryers or worrying about colour co-ordinating, or M&S or Primark or, heaven forfend, Vivienne Westwood! In fact the term "retail therapy" would never have been coined, and there would be a queue outside the Samaritans as long as the M6. So let's just leave it shall we and count ourselves evolved. Anyway do I really want the kind of tongue that can exfoliate? Hmmmmm! But I digress.

We set off up the garden, Austin is in front just enough so he can leap to my defense should it be necessary. After an exhausting 30 second hike into the wild and untamed landscape, I pause to get my breath and perch on the stone steps by the summerhouse. He satisfies himself that I am comfortable and not likely to come to harm and then proceeds with the onerous task of stalking, trapping and subduing the resident flora, safe in the knowledge that the fauna can be left to muggins. He looks at me from time to time to check that my attention is not wandering and if it is he effects a rear guard action by employing the strategic pouncing manoeuver. If by some fluke I should turn round and catch him "in flagrante", without missing a step he executes the perfect u-turn, so the front end is retreating while, it appears, the rear end is still advancing.

It's not cricket!

I have taken to wearing thick denim jeans and shin guards of late! He, who must be appeased, has devised a new game. It's called "screeching like a banshee and hurling fur, tooth and claw, onto the leg of innocent passing human, who's just minding her own business".

I don’t know why he does it? It's not nice. It's not cricket. It hurts. I end up looking a bit like Quasimodo dragging his hunch back and misshapen leg around the Notre Dame! He thinks it's great fun and tries again from another angle - just to even out the damage I suppose. I put it down to too much protein in his diet, or possibly it's his TV viewing habits. He's gone off Fiona Bruce. He's discovered Extreme Furballing on Sky Sports. So I have had to restrict his channel hopping activities to CBBC and CeeBees (or whatever it's called) by utilising the parental control facility. It will only last as long as it takes for him to work out that the pin number (that's personal identification number number, so why do we say it? It's tautological) is three digits from my mobile number plus one other taken at random from the telephone directory (have to be careful you know!).

Austin is most likely to indulge in this antisocial behaviour when he's come in from his nightly rampage around the neighbourhood. So I have taken precautions when opening the door. Armed with a tea towel in one hand and brandishing a plastic water bottle in the other I approach with trepidation but proclaiming loudly that if one iota of my life blood is shed during this encounter then it's back to the car engine from whence he came:-

Open door, he shoots in, I scream, he screams, I step back, he advances, I retreat into corner holding tea towel like some neophyte matador first time in the ring. He edges round me, I start whimpering. He loses interest, sticks his leg in the air and starts cleaning his fundament with contrived indifference. I'm a gibbering wreck! He's king of the castle. We move on ...... ..

By the way is there anyone else out there in cybercatland who also has a cat that won't eat unless they're chaperoned?

Some more wittering .....

I knew that as soon as the neighbours turned up with their dog that it could get interesting. It's a holiday home next door (but don't tell the locals, unless you want me to be entertaining firemen for the next few weeks. .. ! Why they (the neighbours) only come every couple of months or so is beyond me. The view here is breathtaking, well it is when it isn't white with mist, or black from the Friday night drugfest fug drifting over from the mainland. The air is pure - well except for the fug, oh and the car exhaust fumes. It is quiet and peaceful - well except for the boy racers who use the road as a practice run for Silverstone. Oh and then there's the gentle melodious cacophony of the fighter jets from RAF Valley doing flips and wheelies over the Straits! Sits down slowly, takes deep breath. Where was I? Oh yes. So when the neighbours turned up for their bi-monthly 2 day visit, I didn't mention it to Austin, I just sat back and waited!

You see he'd got used to the empty house next door, he just assumed it as part of his territory, which he'd fought hard to acquire in the first place. It was land that had been under occupation for centuries, from the time of Rameses the Egyptian Mau through Eric the Norwegian Red, right down to Big Ginge and his rebel gang of feline hoodies of the present day. The conflicts and turf wars have been bloody and sometimes prolonged. That land is of vital strategic importance for the inhabitants of Catastrofia who are involved in the much larger conflict of the War of the Eleven (now Twelve) Spitting dogs.

Austin, who in the scheme of things is David to Ginge's Goliath, had achieved a massive military coup by disguising himself as a silhouette, lulled Ginge into thinking it was his shadow, then leapt onto his fat and overindulged back and toppled him off his seat of power.

No sooner has he dealt with one foe, but he has a new enemy to contend with! What to do? Standing uninvited, on his land were two alien (and probably unsubmissive) humans and one yapping Tibetan Terrier who answers to the name of Toby! Well! I ask you! What kind of name is that? Obviously a pampered and mollycoddled pooch, used to the easy life of cordon bleu cooking and mink mufflers. They glared at each other through the slats. Austin adopted his low slung cat posture, his head very still. He crept stealthily through the undergrowth, his legs half the usual length. It would have made the SAS proud. Toby? well he has no finesse or sense of occasion. He just barked his head off and ran crying to his mummy! Round one to our side I think.

Stumbled upon .........

.... ..... Austin playing with one of these ......

… it was absolutely massive! He had it holed up in the corner of the conservatory. It was, no doubt, planning its bid for freedom. My shrieks were heard throughout Wales and the west as I wrestled the cat to the floor and shooed the infiltrator out of the door. He (the cat) took my intervention as a personal criticism of his military tactics, came back with a counter attack (on my ankle) and finally retreated behind enemy lines to lick his wounds, while I took refuge in antiseptic and a plaster!!

Anyway this is where I found him... ....

that's my bed grrrrrrr ;)
 

He now officially has the 'ump and has put in a call to the feline defense league, specifically to the on call social worker in order to start proceedings to get me put on the register of cat offenders.  I guess my days are numbered.

*wonders if Relate could help?*