But now, ah now… Finding a more or less unassailable spot (unassailable that is for two enterprising little climbers who have yet to master the art) where one can enjoy an unperturbed nap has become a daily chore for the adults. Except for Loup-Garou, who has ever been the undisputed Tyrant of Napping Spots and generally the tykes recognise him for what he is (an enraged meat-grinding machine when he’s suddenly roused from his slumber) and just cuddle up against him (for he does make for a great -though bony- pillow). The other adults however are fair game. The Mistress has discovered that Isegrim has taken up sleeping in the dirty laundry pile in the hind-kitchen because the kittens have not yet discovered the trick of passing through the cat-flap. Hrimnir and Freya have taken to sleeping high. Bean Sidhe has a hiding spot no-one else knows about.

Picture if you will, the blissfully snoring feline. Happily curled up on some prime napping real estate he had found not yet occupied. Then, enter the pitter-patter of tiny paws on the tiles. And the pitter-patter suddenly stops. Inquisitive little ears are pricked towards the hapless napper. Mischievous little eyes sparkle with sudden delight. A prey ! Two little furry behineys are simultaneously trust into the air, twitching with strain and happy anticipation, tensed muscles ready for the pounce… and Hrimnir finds himself adruptly awakened and beset by two tiny terrors. Can you fault him for lashing out in sudden panicked fury and making a dash for the safety of beyond-the-cat-flap territory ?

Not that it would deter the tykes from doing it again though. As the luckless victim of their latest prank leaves a small dust cloud behind his rapidly disappearing self the kittens sit back and proudly preen their ruffled pelts. Another job well done ! And then they start romping with each other again. Much to the relieve of Freya who has been watching the drama unfolding from the lofty safety of the top of a cupboard. She’s been a mum. She knows.

Interestingly it is Freya who had been the first to start entering the little ones’ play. One would have expected the youngest -Isegrim- or even Hrimnir The Peacemaker to have been the first adult playmates for Gorgor and Rikishi. But no, some deeply-buried motherly instinct must have been awakened and Freya has taken upon herself the dreadful burden of teaching the tykes to hunt, prowl, stalk, pounce and generally making a nuisance of themselves if you can believe the opinions of the local rodent and feathered populace who are already suffering from an overdose of very competent Isegrim (Freya’s son). These lessons would automatically draw the young ones to pounce on her of course, but she is cunning and manages to somehow sic them onto the big boys, cherished son included.

Yet it shouldn’t be said that Loup-Garou is an aloof and child-hating old grumpy one, no, he too has entered the children’s play from time to time. But mainly to take away their toys and hog those with a growl, a menacing look at the little ones, and a possessive paw around said toys. The tykes are subtly invited to come and try to take them back, and the one who does succeed gets… an affectionate nose-butt. Clearly it’s all bark and no bite, but don’t tell that to the old geezer. You see… he did intend to punish the stupid kitten who would try to take the toys back from him, but by the time either Gorgor or Rikishi has mustered the courage to do so Loup-Garou has forgotten that he took the toys in the first place and simply assumed the tyke came over for some affection. Mèh, the joys of encroaching dementia !

And then Isegrim proudly enters the House of Chaos with a freshly-caught and expertly-killed dove and the tykes’ attention swivels over to him. The poor dear has already discovered his mother doesn’t take kindly to her get clouting them kittens. He drops his prey before he’s attacked and looks on forlornly as the kittens tear into it, feather by feather, before proudly waltzing of with their prizes and expecting to be praised for being such good hunters. It just ain’t fair !!!

Picture below: Loup-Garou with the world under his paw… it’s Hiss.

Don’t forget to visit our other friends this weekend on the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats and Weekend Cat Blogging. They all have fascinating stories to share !

Enter some nice Simians from Kat Zoekt Thuis (Cat Seeks Home).

They caught the two kittens and the almost adult black lady who was taking care of them. The lady was called Merel (Blackbird, although the sweet Caretaker really wanted to call her Heksemieke or Witchygirl but that name was deemed too negative for adoption chances). The larger and more fluffy of the boys was called Rambo. The smallest (the orange tabby) was called Rösti (Potato Cookie). And while staying in the house of the Caretaker they were put up for adoption. Preferably all 3 of them together…

In the House of Chaos Grumpy Man had noticed that The Mistress was very much taken by the new kitten of The Cleaning Scourge. And so he decided that for Mistress’ birthday a new kitten should be sought. After some seeking, and some contacts, it was decided to go and take a look at the 3-some from Kat Zoekt Thuis. And off the Simians drove, more than an hour away, to seek out a sweet little kitty to join the 5 existing Feline Denizens of the House of Chaos.

The first contact was promising. The Mistress had brought that most fabulous of bribing instruments for furtive feral kittens: a feather wand. Blackbird was not interested in the ruckus, but the 2 boys launched themselves wholeheartedly into the game – albeit keeping a wary eye out for the Simians. After a while, and some talks with the Caregiver who secretly had hoped nobody would take Blackbird, it was decided to take both boys back to the House of Chaos. They were the most sweet, well-behaving and -most importantly- silent kitties we ever have transported by car !

New names were decided on, as Potato Cookie is just ridiculous-sounding and Rambo is a moniker more befitting a Bulldog. The fluffy one is therefore now known as Gorgor (fans of Lord Of The Rings might recognize it: Cirith Gorgor or the Haunted Tower, but there is a European Comic book -Chronicles of the Black Moon- with a main Character who is called Gorgor Bey and is a veritable fighting, feeding and feasting mountain of a … well… man… of sorts…) and the small tabby is learning to listen to the name of Rikishi (Strong Man in Japanese, the less-known designation of the Sumotori or Sumo-wrestlers).

As both boys are feral-born they still need to adapt to the presence of Simians. But their first introduction to the other Feline Denizens of the House of Chaos went more or less flawlessly… After cautiously exiting the Travel Cage both tykes made a straight beeline towards the feeding bowls and went exploring the -to them- most appealing feature of the house: food !! The Mistress had deducted -and rightfully so- that a Stinky Goodness feast would be the fastest way to cement a hearty friendship between the arrivals and the residents. And while they were munching happily away the contents of two tin cans a cat litter box was strategically placed under the couch, so as to keep the adult residents from availing themselves of it and having it overflow in the blink of an eye, and because the tykes have yet to master the cat-flap.

At first the adult feline residents felt resentment. Who are these interlopers ? Hissing and slaps were the order of the day. But the tykes have learned at very young age to cooperate so as to stand stronger and have developed this strategy to perfection. They bunch together, no matter what happens. That forced the adults to keep them in their sights from a safe and high vantage-point (the table, cupboards…). Even the youngest, Isegrim, is taken aback by the little ones’ energy and tries to avoid them. Alas, after having explored the House of Chaos thoroughly the little ones are now most interested in the inhabitants, starting with the smaller furry ones. And so they have set to stalking the adults.

Loup-Garou has made a point of establishing his authority with a few slaps and hisses, and will watch the tykes bemusedly when they push him away from the feeding bowls. Clearly he feels that terrorizing them would be beneath his dignity. But when they were playing with a toy world globe he took it away from them and played a bit with it – demonstratively. So, who’s your daddy then ?

Bean Sidhe is simply too big and lazy to be bothered much by the tykes. As long as they don’t pester him he won’t bat them. And a bat from his big paw is akin to a kick from a mule, as far as Gorgor and Rikishi are concerned. They leave him be.

Hrimnir is confused. They hissed and growled at him ? The Peacemaker Himself ? A bit more time is needed here, methinks…

Freya has her priorities straight: anyone who comes between her and food is ENEMY. The tykes, however, have learned at the earliest opportunity that her growls are all show and no substance. After 5 days she was seen cuddled up with Gorgor.

Isegrim has understood his days of the cute youngest one are over and he is looking for a new role. The first days he’s frantically brought in some very dead and very fat doves. But he’s still not decided as to what the tiny intruders could mean to him: playmates or boxing bags ?

After a few days of hiding and scurrying away at first movement Gorgor was the first to allow himself to be petted and cuddled on laps by the Simians. Rikishi, having the assurance from his “older brother” that there is no danger involved, is slowly following suit. But they must be daily cared for which doesn’t really help to reassure them: each has an inflamed eye which needs a medication to be put into it. They allow the ministrations though. As long as there is food to be had…

Picture: Gorgor and Rikishi… brofurs forevvur ! !

Don’t forget to visit our other friends on the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats and Weekend Cat Blogging.

Extra Mews: The Mistress has had a motorbike accident on Friday October 14th 2011. Fortunately nothing serious, but enough to keep her home a few days. She’s cuddling up with the old ànd new kitties full-time. The bike has less damage than its driver though. Sturdy bike. The Mistress’ face is not so sturdy and required bandaging. The right side of her body is bruised and she’s walking -well, hobbling- on crutches.

The Feline Denizens wish to report that they are happy she is spending more time at home, and no, they didn’t bribe the car driver who so stupidly swerved his car to the left without using his signalling lights in order to see what had caused the traffic jam he was in when she was driving by. Causing a whole new traffic jam of his own. Blèh.

Anyways, The Mistress wishes to thank the driver who was kind enough to immediately call the ambulance, the nice person who put her motorbike safely out of the way and chained it to a sturdy fence for Grumpy Man to find later that night, the kind lady who warmed The Mistress with her own coat which has now blood splatters all over it… The Mistress also wishes to wholeheartedly curse the lorry driver who insisted on driving past, passing with his biiig wheels just two centimeters from The Mistress’ head. While everybody else was angrily yelling at him to at least wait for the ambulance to pick her up first. There are bloody insensitive and uncaring idiots everywhere. One of them is driving a white truck.

Cats are not truly solitary creatures. They can perfectly live on their own, but do need the occasional social contact with either neighbours belonging to their own species, or anything else they can meet and greet without a automatic fight being involved. The challenge of finding out who is friend and who is foe keeps them on their toes, of course, but it is also the friendship and companionship that counts. Basically, a cat is happy with a buddy now and then.

As any farmer, or other caretaker of larger feline populations, can tell you they form perfectly good little societies of their own. They quickly sort out who is boss, who is under-boss, and who is under everyone else. The hierarchy may change at the weirdest moments and with the strangest results for the most ridiculous-seeming reasons, but you can be certain that a modus vivendi is always in place or will be soon and that the feline members of the community will usually get along fine give or take the occasional hissing fit. Until milking time. Then it’s a scramble-for-all with the nastiest coming out on top.

Kittens are wont to huddle together for warmth and safety. Full-grown queens may huddle together for warmth, safety and companionship, not to mention to literally share the burden of having litters. Toms usually don’t form part of this picture, but you bet they too may have a buddy somewhere they can spend the occasional and short entente with. Neutered toms are a bit more laid-back and enjoy the occasional close encounter – or rather: lie-in. All cats are capable of forming lasting friendships and do feel a need for physical contact. And they have an extensive range of signs and postures with which to show this appreciation of each other.

Cat-caretakers may or may not stumble across the endearing scene of two or more of their feline overlords snoozing together in a complicated puzzle of limbs, whiskers and tails. And one does have the chance to observe from time to time how two cats will just sit together, maybe even with tails draped over the other’s back. When a kitty is comfortable with another kitty there is much touching about.

So it shouldn’t surprise you -really- that cats can form meaningful bonds with humans or other animals. Anyone who has ever been greeted in the morning by a sweet and happy chirrup from a furry friend knows all too well that the chirrup is a greeting and not a demand for food. The imperious “MEOW” that comes after the chirrup is a demand for food. But the chirrup is to let you know that hey! the kitty is happy to see you, recognizes you, and sends you friendly greetings with the happy expectation that more fun things will follow – like food. More often than not the chirrup is followed up with a head-butt, maybe even a body-rub, but you’ve really hit the jackpot with a tail-by. The tail says it all really: if it gently strokes over any part of your body (usually the ones in reach) it’s a sure and certain sign that you are his beloved friend and companion.

Yet the feline bodylanguage is not limited to the tail-by alone. Just sit somewhere and read something (a newspaper, a book, a computer…) and not before too long you will feel an entreating paw softly tapping your knee. A purr may ensue, emitted with hopeful anticipation. And when you relent with a sigh you suddenly feel 3 kilos of solid affection entering your personal space, occupying your lap, and grabbing all of your attention. Forget what you were just reading. Quality time is in order ! Of course, after the necessary ministrations you may resume whatever activity you were engrossed in. Just take care not to disturb the by now napping kitty… or to continue with the scritchings of the not-napping kitty !

And when night falls and you retire tiredly towards your bed, you may feel the sudden thump! that heralds the imminent arrival of someone hoping to get cuddles. They just love it when you allow them a little space to snuggle up in, close to you, close to your hands with those marvellous appendages which can scritch and scratch all over and take your feline buddy straight up towards Nirwana. Because for the cat cuddling is utter and total bliss. The one moment in the day when she absolutely forgets all instinctive self-preservation, when caution flies out of the window, and when a little furry body is given over completely to unlimited levels of sensuous togetherness with a far far larger one.

If that ain’t love, I don’t know what else is.
It sure implies complete and utter trust.

Picture below: the feline denizens of the House of Chaos rarely snuggle together, but these two (Hrimnir and Isegrim) are the only ones more or less comfortable in each other’s close proximity. When one of the simian denizens (or both) are in the Nest, it’s more a matter of careful distribution of kitties and then the snoring starts.

(bad quality of piccie due to low lighting and the use of a mobile phone camera)
Weekend is approaching fast and that means we can start partying again with all of our buddies over at the Friday Ark, the Carnival of the Cats and Weekend Cat Blogging. Please visit them and join the fun !

First of all there is the tiny little problem of failing almost every jump he tries to undertake. It had Grumpy Man and The Mistress worried: watching the old black geezer gathering his haunches for a mighty leap, witnessing the power explosion that’s supposed to bring the wiry old body on top of the desired surface in a soaring graceful arc, and observing how he crashes back down to the floor in an ignoble fashion because he… missed his jump.

He hates that.

And then there is the deteriorating condition of his once lustrous and shiny pelt. It used to be all black, with a tiny tuft of white just on the chest, making for a dignified coat that inspires fear in the prey (who most of the time don’t even see him coming) and admiration in the simians (who almost invariably want to stroke said lovely fur). But now the white has been turning up just about everywhere – more and more obscuring the black, the hair has become coarse and brittle, the skin underneath less supple and far more susceptible to injury. No matter how hard he tries to groom it into perfection, his pelt will never attain the same luxurious splendour again.

He hates that.

At the same time his body seems to have lost quite some fat. He looks more skinny than ever. And he must be feeling skinny too, because lately The Mistress has observed him crawling into whatever warm spot Loup-Garou can find: lying under or next to the little wood-stove in the Work Den, sleeping on top of the cooking plate in the kitchen next to a nicely simmering cauldron of soup, snuggled up close to the orange-hot coils of the stone grill on the festively bedecked table… This new habit has a dire consequence, since fur can singe and skin can blister. And the old geezer just can’t understand how his proximity to the desired heat-source is connected to the new hurts on his back and tail. All he knows is that his simians yell at him just when he’s comfortably ensconced in the tray with hot ashes under the stove.

He hates that too.

Finally there is a new danger to our beloved old feline, the éminence grise of our little bewhiskered tribe… last week The Mistress, still grieving from the sudden and dramatic demise of Frankette, noticed that the drool coming out his muzzle was quite stinky indeed, and his front paws carried a noticeable pong that told of dire happenings the run-off of which he tried to clean. And so Loup-Garou was swiftly transported over to the Man In White (who surely must be thinking of charging discounts, the way I have been visiting his practice lately) where he was politely asked to come out of the travel cage and on to the MIW’s practice table. Which he did with a dignity rarely witnessed by the vet. He may be a crybaby constantly meowing his furry little head off whenever he’s in the cage, but he has no inhibition whatsoever on leaving it on his own, even not into the presence of the dreaded MIW. I hesitantly told the MIW that Loup-Garou may have lost a tooth or two, one fang that I was certain of, and that he may have some kind of infection in his mouth. The MIW deftly opened Loup-Garou’s muzzle, took a peek inside (much to the annoyance of our black baby who tried to claw him), and smiled back at me: “One or two ? My dear lady, it’s more a matter of one or two being LEFT…”.

Indeed, a forlorn tooth here and there… and way back in his mouth were a few wounds which were infected and one tonsil which was inflamed as well. How in the name of Bastet did he get clawed THERE ?

Well… see… we have the following theory: there is a feral entire tom trying to enter the House of Chaos, who has earned the undying enmity of both Bean Sidhe and Loup-Garou. There must have been a fight. Lou-Lou must have gotten hold of the other one’s paw and must have though: “a-HA ! Now I can bite him truly and well !”. And found out subsequently that it’s hard to injure a foe without proper utensils, and that when said foe has his claws inside your mouth he might be inclined to use them.

He hates that.

But for the rest he’s a very -extremely even- healthy specimen who is bearing his almost-13 years quite well. His lungs and heart are in perfect working order. His eyes, thought to be the cause for his mis-jumps, are still seeing perfectly. And his overall health is just splendid. It’s just that with old age come less strong muscles and those cause him to make mistakes when gauging the trajectory for his jumps. He’s simply not able to understand that he’s not as powerful and strong as he used to be, just like he had not taken into account that the lack of sufficient tools in the dental department would make him vulnerable.

But I suspect he hates it.

Picture below: nice and hot ashes a soft warm bed make…

Sorry we haven’t been visiting the Carnivals and Friday Ark lately… too much grieving had to be handled. And The Mistress bought a lovely little motorbike (Skyteam Bubbly) and got entangled in Belgian bureaucratic mazes and rat-traps so she had to run to and fro’ in order to get her paperwork in order which took her 2 weeks !! The good news is: she can now ride her bikey to her job. The bad news is: the winter isn’t over yet.

Wrong.

Oh, Bean Sidhe is doing mightily fine now. He’s still got a slight limp, because the torn ligaments in the knee of his left back leg may take a lot of time to heal or may never fully heal at all, and has trouble jumping. It might last for the rest of his (hopefully long) life, but at least he’s been seen climbing the garden fence several times now. He’s reverted to his usual noisy and complainy self again, reclining in splendour on whatever surface he chooses, daintily picking up titbits whenever they are offered to his august purrson, and loving the scratching post to death when I spray some liquid catnip on it. He still does avoid the road though.

But lately the simian denizens of the House of Chaos have started worrying about Frankette, who has started to lose weight at an alarming rate. We also wondered which of the kitties was taking leaks on the kitchen counters and sometimes on the cupboard/desk where our computers are.

When The Mistress finally decided to take a rake-thin and lethargic Frankette to the Man In White a lot of answers were answered all at once. But they are not happy-making answers.

He checked her heart rate and temperature first, which turned out to be quite fine. Then he took a look at her nose and mouth, which were far too pale, and that pointed towards anaemia or serious lack of red bloodcells.Then we had to struggle mightily in order to get a sample of urine from the poor little kitty. She was actually resisting the probe, clamping shut to the MIW’s dismay. Ultimately though he managed to get it through and out leaked a liquid that I recognized as having found on the kitchen counters. It was too light of colour and too odour-less to call “urine” but there it was. The MIW daubed a stick in it, then compared the slowly emerging coloured patches with a list on the box he had taken it out of. “At least, and be very grateful for that, it’s not diabetes” he remarked with a sigh of great relief. “But the protein count is way too high and that, together with the anaemia, is very bad.”

Frankette suffers from renal insufficiency.

And she is way too young for that ! At the age of hardly 4 years, when the onset of this deficiency is usually a year or 2 later, it points towards either a recent poisoning or a congenital defect. Now, taking into account that all of the Frankenkitties who had entered the House of Chaos had died very young (1 at 6 months, 1 slightly over a year old, 1 probably two years old), given that her sibling Franky disappeared before his second birthday, and also with the knowledge that at this moment only one other Frankenkitty seems to be around -and Frankette was one of the original 5 which had spawned the rest- the MIW concluded that the original 5 were born with a serious defect the 3 fertile ones had passed down to their offspring. Frankette has always been the most petite, she almost bled to death from an injured paw a year or so ago, she was never one for games and play-fights, and that too could be a sign of bad health.

So what was happening to her ?

She is literally peeing out her life and becoming a living skeleton. Because her kidneys are no longer functioning properly she drinks a lot of water and loses all the nutrients her body needs when all of that water is evacuated again. Hence the pale colour and lack of odour of her urine. And she has lost bladder control (hence the leakage on the cupboard and the kitchen counters) because of the amount of water she drinks. Her body also fails at producing new red bloodcells and is trying to get nutrients from any source possible – her muscles for instance, hence the dramatic weight loss. By the time we visited the MIW she had only 4 pounds of weight left.

And now ?

First thing was to rush to the pharmacy and get some food supplements Frankette absolutely had to have. There’s been a recent one from Bayer which would bind phosphor and thus allow her body to retain more nutrients (or something like that, the name is Renalzin and it’s a kind of paste you can mix in the food). Another supplement, VMP which I was already giving to Bean Sidhe, is on her to-feed-list as well. The MIW also told me to go to the market and get some chicken and rabbit livers. I was to avoid feeding her “normal” cat food and other stuff rich in protein but had to give her full milk (cow’s milk, and here I always thought it was bad for kitties… turns out she needs the fat in it desperately…).

The first time I offered it to her she would eat the liver, with the Renalzin mixed in. But after that she started refusing it. I tried to give the liver without the supplements, but it got refused again. At wit’s end I hurried over to the specialist pet store and got some Purina One food specifically for cats with renal problems and this she would finally eat and continue to eat. But the Renalzin was more appreciated when I mixed it in with her milk. On the 2nd of February she weighed 4 pounds 2 oz. On the 6th it had climbed to 4.4, and two days later we celebrated a nice 4.8 ! Frankette clearly thrives on the new cat food and the supplements. Her urine has become more yellow and stronger in odour as well. But she still remains too weak to hurry over to a proper place to deposit her waste and we have a busy time cleaning up after her.

The other feline denizens grow jealous. Too much fussing of our little patient makes them feel neglected. They try to shoulder her aside when she is eating – not too difficult a feat when you realize that for instance Isegrim weighs 3 times as much as Frankette does. Even Freya is twice that weight. Although I must confess that Izzy is currently the largest of our kitties… at slightly over 6 kilos he’s developed quite the paunch and we are wondering where he got it from. Couldn’t he share some of his largesse with Franketteke ?

Loup-Garou, approaching his 13th birthday, is also expected to develop renal problems by now. His recently acquired gauntness and more coarse fur are signs of ageing, but could herald a lesser functioning of his kidneys as well. So he too will be put on the new diet. Although we can’t keep him and Frankette from sampling the food of the other feline denizens, we can try to offer them the better stuff and thus prolong their lives. It’s the best we can do. We must accept that Frankette will never see that venerable age herself, but we can make the rest of her life a better experience.

Picture below: Oh, how mightily satisfied one can look after a nourishing meal…

Update February 14th 2011: Sadly Frankette didn’t make it. After an initial positive phase she started again to refuse food, would drink only water and just a tiny bit of milk. She lost more weight and started to call out to us. The Man In White noticed that, next to renal insufficiency and anaemia, her liver started to fail as well and jaundice had started. I had to make the difficult decision and allowed him to gently nudge her onto the path over the Rainbow Bridge, where for sure her siblings, cousins and my faithful woofie Critter will be standing ready to give her the best welcome ever.

We will miss you terribly Poppemieke. You were such a coy and lovely thing, it was hard to believe you were a kitteh and not a superstar !

Last Saturday evening a neighbour remarked: “Don’t you guys have a white-and-orange cat ?” The way he asked it stopped our hearts. Then he continued: “My brother told me there’s one who had an accident, he got hit by a car…”
That immediately set Grumpy Man and me grabbing flashlights and scouring the field opposite our house, frantically calling for Bean Sidhe, whilst the neighbour went to look for his brother and get more details. He called us back: “people of a few houses further had seen it happen and took him in.”
Of course, I made a dash for said house, rang, and got invited in by a nice young couple… to find in the living room a shopping basket filled with a very subdued and sorry Bean Sidhe.

Their doubt whether this kitty would belong to me was lifted immediately when it plaintively meowed to me, and lifted his head for scritches. They have seen him often in the street, begging food from neighbours (we actually have neighbours who buy cat food to give to him, he’s THAT good at begging – even though some of them know he’s ours) and wondered whether he was a stray or not. After making sure the poor wounded kitty was comfortable they had asked their neighbours, they had tried knocking on doors or ringing doorbells… Grumpy Man was out working and I was fast asleep… so nobody could tell them who this lovely animal belonged to.

Eyebrows were raised when I told them we had six of them little tigers running around. Hands were raised in gentle refusal when I proposed to pay for the vet costs. “The vet did it for free.” I immediately knew which vet they were talking of – the Man In White ! Sweet goodbyes were said and best wishes for recovery uttered when I took Bean Sidhe back to the House of Chaos.

Where he was gently installed in a more cozy and comfortable bed: a soft pet’s bed with towels for insulation. The other feline denizens went over for a little bit of nosey-nosey, but he growled when they came near his backside. He had good reason to, as the Man In White was later to confirm to me.

The story: On Friday evening these nice people saw a car speeding up the street from behind the bend (you are only allowed 30 km/hour in our street due to 2 schools and a sportshall, and there’s a bend in the street prior to our row of houses so you don’t see what’s on the street behind it when you approach that bend). Bean Sidhe had this annoying habit to install his august self in the middle of the street and await the reactions of the drivers – who usually stop or give him time to get away. But this one didn’t. This one didn’t even slow down. Our poor kitty was bashed in the head, scooped up (whew ! not crushed under the wheels !!), slammed with his back against the car and got slammed again in his backside for good measure before landing on the street again. The onlookers, seeing that he wouldn’t get up, immediately came over, scooped him up, and brought him to the police station just a street away. They in turn took them to the Man In White (who couldn’t tell them who owned this cat – he doesn’t have our number/address for one thing).

Our local police officers often take wounded animals to him: they know him because he takes care of their own dogs, he’s located nearby, and he’s always ready to help any animal. Most often though, and sadly, he has to put them down due to too horrible injuries. So he’s always overjoyed when he can save one. Like this time.

The injuries: a sore head, a very sore spine with a spectacular bruise, and some intestines hanging from the anus (pushed out by the force of the final slam). The MIW deftly inserted them back where they belonged, gave Bannikins a painkiller and another shot for the shock. It’s been freezing outside, without those sweet good people he would have died within the hour.

The aftermath: all the time during Sunday and Monday Bean Sidhe would just lie there, wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t even drink. I dribbled some water in his mouth with a special bottle, and changed the towels when he soiled them. I bought a big bouquet of flowers for the nice people and washed the towels they had lend us. Monday evening we went back to see the MIW. He ran a finger across Bean Sidhe’s spine and -wonder of wonders- his skin/muscles reacted: no lesion, no paralysis. He prescribed some more cortisones, and a food supplement: vitamins, minerals and proteins all in one pill (which Bannikins loves to gobble up). He said we could only wait, it would take at least 10 days for the kitty to heal.

So now it’s Wednesday. Bean Sidhe did manage to produce some doo-doo’s yesterday, proving that his intestines had recovered and were working normally. He has started to eat again. He walked around a bit today, wobbly and gingerly, and went over to the foodbowls in order to have a good munch. He’s slowly turning into his old self again: complaining bitterly about the service and trying to get as much attention as possible. But he still needs to sleep a lot. To sleep and get better.

And the driver ? I’m not the swiftest person to curse someone, mindful of the Witches’ law that everything you do returns thricefold, but this I must pronounce with the most heartfelt feelings of disgust: I hope you get what you deserve.

You didn’t slow down for a cat.

It could have been a child.

Picture below:

*sigh* All the comforts of home… a cozy nest, a litter box, food at the paw, a bowl of water… but where are the scritches and cuddlings ?!

There’s more fun places to be: the Friday Ark for instance, and the Carnival of the Cats or Weekend Cat Blogging or the Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos…

Update: Visited the MIW again this morning (Dec 4)… the swelling of the bruises has lessened enough that he could perform a more thorough check of Bannikin’s chest, back and pelvis: no broken bones, no joints out of kilter. Phew !!

The only injury that’s left and must still heal: the Cruciate Ligaments on his left knee seem to be torn, which is why he can’t walk normally but has to drag his left hind leg along and that’s also why the leg is still swollen. Packing it in plaster would only result in a permanent stiff leg so the MIW has advised us to let him be, given that Bean Sidhe is by nature quite lazy, and to return next week for a follow-up shot of anabolic steroids (first shot was given the night of the accident and lasts for 14 days…) which would speed up the healing.

So, for at least one more week, Ban-Ban is still confined to the House (not that he terribly minds, mind you, it’s freezing dead birds out of the sky right now and as I’m typing this we’re having a nice little snow storm) and has to rely on the helpful service of his new friend the litter box. He can’t leave the House due to having to negotiate two steps up and down if he does so – which he cannot with that bad knee.

And one strange occurence: Isegrim, Freya and Hrimnir had this bad habit of streaking out of the House and onto the street with high speed whenever one opened the front door. They do so no longer. Ever since Bannikin’s accident. Coincidence ?

When Frankendrolleke was still alive and frolicking, he had a play-mate, possibly a litter-mate but we weren’t sure. It might have been a member of the Frankenclan, with its distinctive markings, were it not that the black-and-white of the Frankenclan was in his case grey-and-white. Grumpy Man has seen a magnificint grey tom in the Neighbourhood of Chaos, who might have been the sire, who might even have been Isegrim’s sire, thus linking Freya and Isegrim to the Frankenclan. After ‘Drolleke’s demise this tyke came in, more and more frank, in order to eat, in order to have a warm, dry and safe spot to sleep, and gradually he got used to having simians around and would permit us to pet him.

His name was Frankenschwartz. (If you really want to know the reference… look up “Spaceballs”.) He was tiny. He was, like Frankendrolleke, not really healthy. He had this diarrhea that would scare off angels. But we allowed him in and tried to nurse him to better health.

I gained his trust well enough to be able to put him into the travel basked and bring him over to the Man In White. Who gave the tyke a shot against the diarrhea, with some antibiotics mixed in, and prescribed a de-worming med and anti-biotics. “How much should he weigh (for the correct amount of antibiotics)?” the MIW mused, “he’s a lovely fellow for a 3-months old…”
“But”, I responded, “he’s not 3 months old.”
“No ?”
“He’s been around from before Christmas !”
The MIW quickly grabbed Frankenschwartz, worked open his tiny mouth, gazed inside and turned towards me with an unbelieving expression: “He has a yearling’s teeth !!”
He allowed me to have a look. Ever seen an ancient graveyard ? Tombstones crooked and swaying ? Schwartzie’s teeth.
“But,” the MIW said with a bemused expression on his bearded face, “he’s so little…”
I smiled sadly and said: “One word. Inbreeding.”
I had told him about the Frankenclan. He was touched that we would try and take care of kitties not our own, to gain their trust and have them neutered. He has given me a discount at times when I brought in a Frankenkitty. And he agreed that inbreeding would play a major factor in the bad health of the Frankenclan members.

In any event, Frankenschwartz was brought home again, given the meds and got well. More or less. He didn’t like the meds, you know, the kind that has “special flavour” for the pets. He refused it. Until I brought out the ham and wrapped the pill in a piece of it. I couldn’t give it to him fast enough. Before I knew it his teeth were at my elbow. But they caused the diarrhea to stop. Only, the filth had built up, beyond his ability to clean himself, and had started to cake around his behiney and tail. So I was forced to catch and wrap him up in a towel, carry him over to the washing basin in the bathroom, turn on the tap with nice warm water, position his behiney under it, pick up a cleaning cloth and start with a hearthy “sop-sop-sop” in order to try and remove the filth. The water turned brown. The tyke started screaming his little head of. But the filth gradually started to come loose and disappear down the drain. Then the water turned brown again, but not of me cleaning him, oh no, but because Mister Schwartzkins had started to panic. *sigh* Fortunately that dissolves nicely in water as well.

When I let him go he was 95 % clean and could get on with doing the rest of the job himself. But he was a bit angry, and wouldn’t let me near him for at least an hour or so. He did allow two other -female- members of the Frankenclan to approach and clean him though. Frankinneke had come to live with us, but Frankeminneke remained elusive and skittish. Until her pregnancy got close to its end and she discovered that the House of Chaos would make a safe place to have kittens in. We even offered her a cardboard box lined with old towels, which she promptly made her bed. All was going well. The poor thing was as thin as a rake, and I tried to fatten her up a bit which she heartedly approved of. When I saw her munching happily away I noticed some bloody discharge coming from her behind. Birth due for any time now, I figured.

She disappeared and was never seen again.

And a few weeks later Frankenschwartz too went and vanished.

Then, two weeks ago, we noticed Frankinneke sniffling and sneezing. She had always had a kind of cough, whenever she got exited, like when purring: “pur pur pur AHIE! pur pur”. We never really saw her running fast, and she slept a lot. But now she became positively lethargic, sneezing and sniffling, emitting a sound like a vacuum-cleaner under water. Her nose was caked shut with discharge, which means she couldn’t smell any more. Now, a cat who can’t smell won’t eat. It’s instinct. They won’t trust food they can’t smell and check out. Frankinneke started getting thinner, she would refuse stinky goodness, she would sit near the water bowl with a disgusted expression, trying from time to time to take a sip but then finding it impossible. It was MIW-time again. And she didn’t even struggle when I put her in the travel basket.

The MIW gave his verdict immediately: “serious infection of the upper respiratory system”. Meds were prescribed, a shot was administered, and off we went again. After two days I was to give antibiotic pills with the “special flavour”. But she refused with a vengeance, spitting out the forced pill with a massive amount of saliva. She also started to have diarrhea. I tried to crush the pills and put it in some stinky goodness she had started to eat again, but at first she refused it, then started eating with long teeth (as we call it, eating with a thoroughly disgusted expression and wagging her head as if to get rid of the taste). After a few days, and with the diarrhea getting worse, we decided she reacted badly to the antibiotics and stopped it. The sniffling and wheezing had stopped anyway, and she was eating and drinking again.

We visited the Strong Woman Of Flanders on Saturday morning, came home Sunday evening, and found Frankinneke immobile with serious hypothermia, lying on the tiled floor near the cat-flap in the (unheated) veranda. When I gingerly touched her in order to check for lifesigns she yolwed. Grumpy Man swiftly wrapped her into a big towel and put her in the travel basked while I checked whether the Man In White was home. He was, and though it wasn’t his weekend to be on stand-by, he told us to come over immediately.

He heated a pouch with intravenous fluids in warm water and injected that straight into her body, in an effort to warm her up from inside. He dribbled warm water into her mouth with a contraption that looks like a bulb with a tapering end (which he gave to us). He gave her a painkiller and checked her heart-beat and breathing. There were no obvious injuries, he couldn’t tell what had happened to her and neither could we. He told us to take her home and put her between two bottles with hot water. “She would have a 50 % chance to make it”, he said.

Grumpy Man, working night shifts, would wake with her. I had to go to bed because a full-time working day was looming. I said goodbye to the dearling kitty and went to bed. When I woke up in the morning Grumpy Man told me what had happened.

He checked the warm water every 10 minutes or so, having the travel box on the couch behind his chair at the computer. At a certain moment he noticed Frankinneke dragging herself out of the box, dragging herself over to him, and the poor kitty begged to be picked up. When he took her into his strong yet gentle, warm, loving hands she snuggled down with a sigh and… died.
He buried her on a quiet spot. That was all he could do. And he has vowed we wouldn’t take in strays anymore. Ever.

So, yes, you might say that so far 2010 has been a horrible year for our feline friends.

And now it is All Hallow’s Day and I remember…

I remember my feline friends: Bar-Choc, Rhuarhi, Rhuarhuss, Ragnar, Rabauw, Misj Masj, Rataplan the Mobile Disaster Area, Zorro, Franky, Frankendrolleke, Frankenschwartz and Frankinneke.
I remember my canine friend: Critter.
I remember the feline friends of the Strong Woman Of Flanders: Monsieur Balthazar, Pinnochio, Poesie, Loup-Garou, Pinocchio II and Brass Balls.
I remember the canine friends of the Strong Woman Of Flanders: Sandy, Wodanovitch, Kaffer, Thor, Cora, Spock, Imboua and Fenris.
And her equine friend: Nuba.
I remember the feline and canine friends whom I’ve met through family and friends: Sheba, Twiggy, Babette.

And I’m praying for the canine friend Cartouche, who learned the bad way that horses are not always friendly, and is fighting for her life as I type this.

We can only hope there’s better tidings over at the Carnival of the Cats, the Cat’s Blogosphere,  Bad Kitty Cats Festival of Chaos, Weekend Cat Blogging, and the Friday Ark.

We, the Feline Denizens of the House of Chaos salute you and offer selected morsels of virtual tuna for your delight !

Ours is the honor to host the Festival this month and so we will set to our joyous task with happy determination. But before we can start revelling in the antics of assorted bad kitties we have one sad duty to perform, a duty which our Mistress felt unable to bear herself… she should have written about it two weeks ago, when it happened, but nooo… she was just too sad, and then too busy with her work, to do so, and thus…

*sniff* <solemn gathering of sad kitties>

We most heartbrokenly announce the untimely departure over the Rainbow Bridge of our youngest fellow denizen Frankendrolleke. One Saturday morning the simians leave us for some quality time with the Strong Woman of Flanders and depart with the memory of little Frankendrolleke blissfully snoring in the hammock, the next Sunday evening we await them with alarm written all over our furry faces and burdened with heavy hearts, for the simians to find our little brufer all stiff and unmoving under the couch. We can’t tell them when it happened, but Bouncing Psycho has visited us that same Saturday afternoon and he could confirm that Drolleke was still alive and well then.

We don’t know why it happened. We only know that one time he was fine and frolicky, the other time he wasn’t. We can’t understand. He has always been ill and sniffy, always in trouble with his health, but he had started growing recently, and playing, and finally got around to being a normal-looking kitty-baby…

*Sigh* It took us days to get used to his absence. Oh, how can we express ourselves, except with forlorn faces and many head-butts seeking reassurance from our simian friends ? Well… with the last piccie The Mistress has made of little Frankendrolleke still alive, and the one we will always remember him by:

Sleep well little Brufer.

And slowly we get on with our lives, we start to play again, and to tease our simians, and to curl up on our preferred spots, and we host the Festival, which cheers us up a treat I can tell you !

So… without further ado… here are the bad kitties’ antics of the past month:

Meowza has his priorities straight… Easy Like Sunday Evening means you gotta nom !

Nom nom nom nom...

Nikita Cat too has the right set of priorities on a hot day, although a shady character sometimes she knows all about street cred:

Sizzlin' hot Slim Shady...

And she doesn’t mind her simian meeting and pointing the All-Seeing-Eye towards other kitties on the street, like this meow-counter:

Yo ! How's this pose ?

Samantha and Clementine didn’t have much to say, it being all cold and snowy despite being February already, but a piccie can tell you more than a thousand meows anyway…

*shiver*

Kosmo, denizen over at This, That & The Other Thing, has a great anti-dote against the cold weather… snuggles !!! And he’s so lovable, all simians comply.

Hmmm... snuggles...

Of course, snugglings don’t always work, and simians with hurts can cause blog delays. Which the gang over at This, That & The Other Thing knows all too well… But will a little simian illness deter them from their duty ? Noooo…

Kosmo knowz...

And finally we have Cokie the Cat, who has all kinds of interesting things to tell us, but we could find head nor tail so you’d better read it all !

Heavy lecture, whot ?

And this conludes this month’s edition of the Bad Kittycats Festival of Chaos. We hope you had an enjoyable time (despite our bad news) and that you will eagerly hop over to the next edition which will be hosted by Samantha Black and The Orange Kitty , all your submissions would be welcome before April 2nd and you can submit here.

Purrs,

from Loup-Garou, Bean Sidhe, Hrimnir, Frankette, Freya, Isegrim and Frankinneke.

]]> http://thehouseofchaos.wordpress.com/2010/03/07/bad-kittycats-festival-of-chaos-113/feed/ 1 Babeth BKFoC header last shot of Frankendrolleke http://thehouseofchaos.wordpress.com/2010/02/07/patter-patter-tiny-feet/ http://thehouseofchaos.wordpress.com/2010/02/07/patter-patter-tiny-feet/#comments Sun, 07 Feb 2010 11:44:44 +0000 Babeth http://thehouseofchaos.wordpress.com/?p=367 ]]> With 8 feline residents the House of Chaos sometimes resembles a Mad House. Not that we simians complain so much about it, oh no, far be it for us to grumble at the regular ruckus and mayhem being caused by the fact that 7 of the 8 are still quite young (4 months to 4 years currently) and are thus inclined to be a tad frolicky. They, as our Flemish native language so succinctly puts it, “bring life into the brewery” and on the odd quiet day we simians can actually feel pangs of worry – wondering what our furry darlings are up to now.

Of course they aren’t causing havoc all of the time. Cats are energetic but like every other mammal on this piece of prime real estate in the galaxy they do need the occasional moment of rest and relaxation. During those peaceful moments our ears are gently tickled by the soft snores emanating from the weirdest places possible where one might find a feline reposing in slumber yet in a most uncomfortable-looking pose. Gently stroke such a sleeping form and the snores will turn into thunderous purrs and said feline will sleepily turn over the belly for some scritchings there. Ware the Venus-Fly-Trap though…

But the rest of the time ? A constant patter patter of tiny feet, the stumble and bustle of a quick play-fight, the groans and creaks of furniture sighing under torturous battles, the hiss and snarl of a game that’s suddenly turned into full-fledged war… just the usual sounds of 8 felines living under the same roof and loving it. Thus, there is rarely a moment of peace and quiet in the House of Chaos and that alarms visitors to no end but provides the resident simians with endless mirth and enjoyment.

We can imagine, though, the dire plight of our esteemed and beloved visitors… There you are, after a long day of hard work, finally stretching your weary limbs luxuriously on the bed, eyes slowly falling shut, mind gently drifting off into well-deserved slumber, a dream beckons… CRASH ! PATTER PATTER ! RUMBLE THUNDER *wrowl* PATTER PATTER ! tippity tippity CRASH THUMBLE *snarl*… ad nauseam.

It usually involves Hrimnir, who has not yet come to grips with a small but extremely densely-muscled body and a frolicky nature -causing him to misjudge his jumps and pounces most of the time, and Isegrim, who is coming to grips with his still-growing adolescent body (minus the testosterone of course, since some essential equipment is now missing) combined with the energy levels of a supernova on steroids. Couple that with Bean Sidhe’s occasional bouts of un-laziness and the massive bod of this Maine Coone mix and you’ve got the recipe for disaster. Fortunately Grumpy Man has done some sturdy home-improvements lately.

It is a joy to behold: since those three rascals are just about full-grown and thus rather formidable, but it is a fracas the female kitties would rather stay clear of. They aren’t so enamoured with the boisterous boy-play, preferring the swift and vicious pounce-claw-retreat of the female of the species, rather than the rambunctious pounce-flatten-gnaw of the males. There is also the fact that Freya and Frankette do possess a rather delicate physique, although one cannot help but admit that Frankinneke has the elegant lines of a sausage, and this keeps the lady-kitties distant from any wild adventures. But Frankendrolleke, the 6 months-old kitten, is another story altogether.

He’s currently experiencing a growth-spurt of titanic proportions, meaning that the tiny tyke isn’t that tiny anymore, but he still has the body of only a 4-month old after all. Now, a kitten is elasticity incarnate, but there are limits even to the most of pliable bodies. Yet, it must be admitted, that when one beholds Frankendrolleke being dragged about by an adult feline denizen of the House of Chaos, one cannot help but pause and wonder and reflect… that these tiny furry fuzz-balls are far sturdier than expected, and that Mother Nature has mysterious ways in order to ensure that the young survive the curiosity and playfulness of their elders. Basically the kitten bounces. May get flattened for a moment, but will bounce back. May be thrown against an object, but will bounce back. May be bitten and scratched and gnawed upon, but will emerge from the horror with body and pelt intact, but self-esteem a bit lacking.

Now picture this: the tiny fuzz-ball is wriggling under the furry fat sausage that is his (probable) dam, hind legs furiously trying to scratch away at her belly but -alas!- accomplishing nothing more serious than tickling her. That’s an ample belly we’re talking about, you see. One may even wonder whether Mother Nature has endowed this probable mother with the belly in order to help her survive her kitling’s struggles whenever she wants to groom him. And groom him she will. Which our kitten clearly not likes. Motherly attention and care and all, he’d rather curl up somewhere cosy and quiet but Mom has other ideas.

And after the grooming comes the battle-lesson: being battered around the place by a walking sausage is not exactly dignified, and we can surely understand why Frankendrolleke tries to avoid this like the plague. Tippity-tippity go tiny legs and off he dashes. Unfortunately he’s not swift enough, the sausage lumbers over, and again the tyke is flattened. Tsk, the rigours of kitten-life…

And where is Loup-Garou in all this, you may ask ? Ah… the Old One Of Twelve Years will usually hide his august self in a remote spot, not easily accessible for the curious kitty in search of some fun, and glare away all who would dare approach anyway. Old Lou likes his tranquility, thank you oh so very much, and even Frankendrolleke has learned by now that it is not really a wise move, career-wise, to disturb the repose of the black elder. He has discovered that Loup-Garou makes for a cosy bed though. And strangely, Lou doesn’t mind the tyke slumbering on top of him. Of all strange bed-mates…

Picture below: MO-hom !

Oh ? Sunday already ? My my… talking about time hitting the faster-than-light barrier… time again to visit the Carnival of the Cats (hosted by IMeowza), Weekend Cat Blogging (hosted by Paaulchens Food blog?!), the Bad Cats Festival of Chaos (once a month, hosted by Nikita), the Cat Blogosphere, and the Friday Ark.

Extra note: please send your purrayurrs over to Osiris who lives with friends in Belgium and is struggling to recover from urine-tract and kidney problems. He’s a strong fellow, and the vet said this morning that he has started to eat again, but you know how it is…  Hang on in there Bruverr !

A few months ago The Mistress observed from the Guest Room (on the 1st floor) Hrimnir playing with something in the garden behind the Garden of Chaos. The Cleaning Scourge was watching too and she exclaimed: “Oh look, he’s chasing a rabbit ! Oh ! Oh that poor rabbit !”
But no, Hrimnir was not chasing it, he was actually playing with it. Imagine that… our fearsome feline hunter frolicking and romping with a rabbit ? Obviously he was having fun. Equally obviously -judging from the frantic hoppings to and fro- the rabbit wasn’t so thrilled about it but had decided to give back as good as it could. Rabbit chasing cat chasing rabbit. You had to have been there…

Cue the Wednesday before last. Again the Cleaning Scourge was present. (why do such things have to happen on Wednesdays so she is there ?) She was in the garden having a quiet satisfying smoke during a well-earned break from the hard work of getting the House of Chaos at least clean enough to not drop dead in. And then all hell broke loose. “Come !” she yelled, “Come and see what Loup-Garou has in his mouth ! Oh the poor little one ! He’s killed it ! Oh woe !”

Loup-Garou was looking immensely satisfied with himself. Every hair on his aging body was exuding a clear and terrible self-congratulation. And indeed his mouth was full… with something as black as himself. Something furry. Something that had one eye open wide and that was shivering. At first glance we though: kitten. But then, as we picked Loup-Garou up by the scruff of his nape -forcing him to drop his prey in the process- it set off hopping instead of running. A rabbit ?

Yah. A frantic, shivering, hopping-like-mad, long-eared, black-as-night rabbit. And cute too. Bleeding a bit as well. Miracle of miracles Lou hadn’t killed it, but had somehow decided to bring his prey home and finish it off there at leisure. Unfortunately for him we decided that a clean kitchen should remain a clean kitchen. And so The Mistress grabbed Lou again by the scruff, locked him up in the Kitchen of Chaos and went in search of the traveling cage. (With Frankendrolleke having been so ill lately, and Frankinneke having been sterilized the day before it was close at hand.) Grumpy Man made a dash for the little hopper but it proved rather elusive. And the Garden of Chaos proved to be full with interesting hiding places as well. While in the meantime the Kitchen was full with one offended -thus angry- kitty and no way out.

And so a very interested Freya was drafted for the catch. With her deftly flushing out the poor rabbit from where he could not reach it, Grumpy Man could soon catch it and deposit it into the traveling cage. Where it immediately crawled into a corner and sat there panting. The poor tyke. It was a sweet little thing, didn’t bite at all, thus it must belong to people. And because we knew the neighbours behind had rabbits Grumpy Man was sent off with the catch in order to find out whether it happened to be one of theirs.

Their reaction:
“Yes. It’s ours. But it was in its cage.” *unbelief*
“It isn’t anymore.” *shrug*
“But how did it get out ?” *shocked unbelief*
“Ask our boys I guess” (with ‘boys’ Grumpy Man meant our feline friends)
“But it was in its cage !” *really shocked unbelief*
*sigh* “How strong is that cage ?”

Yes. Sigh. How to deal with that ? Obviously our cats had discovered the presence of fluffy hop-arounds and decided to take a closer look. And even more obviously the hunters amongst them have discovered interesting ways of interacting with said fluffy hop-arounds. Like somehow getting them out of the cage and inviting them home for dinner. Free ride included.

Because a few days later I found one very dead little white rabbit on the floor of the Kitchen of Chaos. And one very smug looking Isegrim. Ain’t he the big boy ?
Wasn’t he surprised when I did praise him but then took the dead baby out and into the garbage can ? That floor was clean Izzy !

And several days after that we caught Bean Sidhe in the Garden of Chaos happily munching away at… the black bunny. Rest in pieces poor creature. Sometimes, it seems, Mother Nature is cruel. But animals are just animals and us simians should not anthropomorphize them too much – you can’t expect a kitty not to chase prey. You can, however, build a sturdy cage in which Mr. Fluffy can be kept safe. The cat is predator. The bunny is -alas for the poor mite- prey.

Speaking of appearances and disappearances, we had a worry during the same period. As mentioned above, the Tuesday before that Wednesday we had Frankinneke neutered. That evening she disappeared. She stayed away for a full week ! Fortunately the Man In White had used special stitches because he reasoned that she was too feral to be trusted for removal of stitches while awake. It had been difficult enough to give her a shot for the surgery (the poor thing clawed her way out of my arms and into his curtains when his phone suddenly rang) but a few minor scratches in my hand and on my coat later she was slowly nodding off in the travel cage. The Man In White said it was better not to repeat the ordeal. So the stitches he used will dissolve on their own. We figure she had been shocked by the strange events and the pain and had thus fled the House. But now she is back, a bit thinner and one of the stitches a bit inflamed (for which -thankfully- I have antibiotics which -even more thankfully- she actually eats), but still enormously fond of scritches and cuddlings.

Frankinneke is also the only cat I have every encountered who does NOT scream her lovely head off when traveling in the car. Weird.

Picture below:

Having seen how the simians praise enterprising kitties who bring home freshly caught prey, our youngest feline denizen decided not to be outdone and came home with an impressive piece of… boiled bone. Well done little hunter. As I am typing this he’s happily gnawing on it, but what you don’t see is the 3 female feline denizens of the House of Chaos keeping an eye on things around him. Protective ?
Naaaaah…. figuring out how to rob the tyke more likely…

And it’s weekend again… time’s not crawling here in the House of Chaos, it flees ! Let’s visit the Carnival of the Cats (hosted by Kashim & Othello and Salome), Weekend Cat Blogging (hosted by Julies Mind Over Matter), the Bad Cats Festival of Chaos (once a month, hosted by Nikita), the Cat Blogosphere, and the Friday Ark.