Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Honey (written by Daisy's Mum)

Today is the tenth anniversary of the last day I shared with my beloved cat Honey.

I'd always wanted a cat of my own, and when my husband (-to-be) and I bought our first home together, I could realise my dream. We answered an advert in a pet shop window and went straight round to see a litter of five kittens. From the description in the ad, my man wanted the fluffy tortie one, but I fell in love with the ginger and white female who was racing around, and we took her home (for free! - those were the days!).

That was in 1981, and she was six weeks old. I thought I didn't have any kitten photos of her, but a couple of months ago I found a set of black and white neg's, and there she was: just one shot of little Hon.

She was a most beautiful cat, with blue eyes that matured to peppermint green, pink nose and paws, and fur that could look pale gold or deep rusty orange depending on the weather. I loved the way she seemed to be wearing long, immaculately-white gloves.
When she was 18 months old, she had a litter of 3 female kittens, who were given to friends. She was a great mother as regards feeding and cleaning - she would rugby-tackle a kitten to the ground and vigorously lick it - but she always wanted to be top in everything, and one day she and one of her kittens were running upstairs to greet me. Realising that the kitten would get to me first, Honey moved across the stairs and ran over the kitten with a well-placed paw in the middle of the back, thus ensuring her victory. That was Hon all over. She had an ego as big as a house. I think it's just a thing with ginger cats: I'm certain that personality traits go with certain cat colourings.

.... to be continued

Over to you, Mum

Mum would like to write something as this is a special day for her, she says.

(This was me as a double-jointed little kitten! I still like sun patches, but I can't do this any more.)

Sunday, May 28, 2006

A sunny day at last!

Here I am, having a wash in the nest I made for myself in the new grass next to the pond.

I don't WANT my picture taken, Mum! You always do this to me!

Oooooh, that's better.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Rain, Rain Go Away

It's been raining here for days! So I've been catching up on my sleep. Every time it gets warm and I start to lose my winter coat, another cold spell starts. I don't know whether I'm coming or going at the moment. So it's probably safest to stay asleep - apart from at mealtimes, of course. I'm managing to get some served in bed, which is pretty impressive. I think they still feel bad about The Vet Incident, and I'm playing it for all it's worth.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

The Evil Sophie

This is Sophie. You can see what a vile little beast she is. She’s always pushing her stupid tabby nose into everything in my garden and rubbing her horrible stripy face over the plant pots. I've even seen her back up to a shrub and vibrate her tail like she's a tom - hah! there's someone who's so stupid she doesn't even know what gender she is!

Whenever I hear her bell tinkling I am instantly on the alert and I track her down. What a waster! I wouldn’t let MY owners put a bell on my collar. Her owners must really hate her. And not without cause.

I don’t know what Mum sees in Sophie: if Mum thinks I’m not around, she makes a fuss of the little horror. I will only say that it would be as well for all concerned if they remembered that she’s NOT Mum’s little Sophie-Wofie, I am Mum's little Daisy-Maisy, and that’s the end of it. Actually, I think even Mum suspects Sophie of biting me on the head and causing last week's troubles...

Monday, May 15, 2006

This is weird, I'm going back to bed

Mum just published that posting for me, and the font is right. I've edited my posting from last week, and it doesn't show you the fantastic picture of ME any more, just a load of code I don't understand (cats don't need code, they're very DIRECT and very good at making things happen they way they want them to).

Hey Blogger, let's get some SERVICE around here!

(That's the sort of thing I say to my humans and it usually works, i.e. my supper appears.)

Well, my friends and admirers, you will not be able to see the evil Sophie for the moment. Hah! I'd be happy if I never saw her again. Ooh - Mum just reached for the mouse to spellcheck this AND YOU CAN'T DO THAT EITHER. Or justify the text (whatever THAT means). Aaaaargh! Why do humans make such a mess of things?

Is it me, or....

What's happening? I've just made a beautiful picture for you all, and when I say 'Create Posting', there are no icons. I can't use my normal font and I can't put any pictures up. This wouldn't happen if there was a cat in charge.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

I'm feeling much better now, thank you

Wow! I must be some kind of cat precog! No sooner do I write about the vet's than there I am - THREE TIMES IN TWO DAYS! I'd just popped home for a snooze on the sofa on a wet Monday morning when I was plucked from the cushions and stuffed into that cat basket I told you about. I had a few things to say about that, as you can imagine, but my protests were ignored and I found myself in the waiting room surrounded by dogs! That didn't make me feel any better and it was a relief to get into the hellhole with the black table where I underwent the usual indignities. So far, so familiar. Mum and I made it home and she gave me some choice bits of ham to apologise, which I accepted gracefully (I'm not one to bear a grudge, at least not where ham's concerned. She knows she did wrong, and she apologised: let's just forget it). Then, as she wouldn't let me out, I set off in search of somewhere nice to rest until lunchtime.

I slept for a bit in a box on the shelves in Mum's workroom, but when I woke up I felt terrible. I don't know why. Mum kept checking on me but I couldn't say anything and in the end I didn't even want to look at her. So she and Dad whipped me back down to the vet's where I was poured out onto the table and just lay there in a blob. I'd lost my sproinggggg, and what is a cat without that?

The vet did the usual (including that blinking thermometer again) and injected me with anti-inflammatories, then sent me home. Dad arranged me in a cat-shape on the sofa and I slept on. Eventually I came round and after Mum had moistened my lips with a little water I felt strong enough to polish off some Sheba and a side order of Felix sprinkles. Having forced those between my trembling lips I felt all woozy again and slept through the night on the sofa. As a final indignity I was forced to use a litter tray (there are woods near my house, and I'm with the bears on this one). But all in all my humans can't be faulted on their home nursing.

Then - who'd believe it? - Mum took me back to the vet's AGAIN. What is it with vets and that flaming thermometer?? They can't leave it alone. Anyway, he pronounced me back to normal, and I am. So here's a picture of me relaxing in my garden after a rather traumatic start to the week.

P.S. by Daisy's Mum: I initially took her in for her annual innoculations. The problem seems to have been an adverse reaction, possibly caused by combining the jabs with an infection incurred in a cat fight a few days prior to this (she had a couple of toothmarks on her head, but no abcess or other reaction to the actual bite).

Sunday, May 07, 2006

At the Vet's

It's always an awkward moment when the cat basket appears. What to do? Run? Hide? Fight? I'm usually still pondering the options when a strong pair of hands lifts me up and there I am, trapped in the basket before I know what's happening.

I make my feelings known all the way to the vet's surgery, but by then it's too late. At least the vet's isn't the cattery, and these days I don't get left there: it's just a quick visit, although that's bad enough. I mean, who needs it? They bend your ears back, point a light into your eyes, jab a needle in the back of your neck and stick a thermometer where the sun doesn't shine. It's humiliating. And when you do the sensible thing and try to claw your way back into the basket, there's always a laugh and a sarcastic remark from the vet. I ask again, who needs it?

Of course, it was worse when I was young. I had a few adventures and mishaps and I would regularly find myself on the shiny black table, then next thing I know I'm waking up in a cage feeling groggy, only to find they've shaved some of my fur off or tied a huge bandage round my leg. What a diabolical liberty! And you're stuck there with all these depressing sick animals until your human comes to rescue you. I made my feelings known by waving my claws, I mean my paw, through the bars at the vet every time he walked past my cage until he gave up and phoned my Mum. "I know I said she could go home on Monday," he said, "but would you like to come and get her now? I think she's ready to go home". Well done, genius - I've only been telling you that for the last four hours! Honestly, humans can be so dense sometimes.

Over time, I learned that vets have their uses, and when I plunged head first into a thorn bush in pursuit of something small and furry, I knew that I had to find my humans. True to form they rushed me to the surgery and then nursed me at home. I decided to be a model patient this time and so I accepted my eyedrops and confinement willingly. Of course it helped that I got a treat everytime I had those yukky drops that went in my eye and came out of my nose, but I was good with a capital 'good', and my eye healed and everyone was happy.

Thought for the day:
If the cat ain't happy, ain't nobody in the house happy.

- and that's the way things ought to be.

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