"C'EST LA VIE," SAY THE OLD FOLKS, "IT GOES TO SHOW YOU NEVER CAN TELL."

Ian happily acknowledges rock'n'roll genius Chuck Berry for the title, the significance of which will become apparent at the end.

George-

-had been on his own for at least two years, surviving by being fed regularly by an elderly lady who lived in a ground floor flat just round the corner from Sunderland's bus station on the edge of the city centre. The lady -let's call her A- had been helped by me some time ago and got in touch with me again because George had been in a fight and come off badly. I was able to check him and arranged for for treatment at the vets. He seemed friendly enough and the more I thought about it the more I realised I could do for him. The wound on his leg wasn't too bad and easy to treat. I then had him vaccinated and neutered and took him home with me.

My intention was to keep for three weeks until his vaccination and then move him to our re-homing centre where he would find a permanent home. That night I wrote on Animal Krackers' Facebook page that he'd spent his last night out on the streets. Next morning those words came back to bite me on my bottom. George had burst through a locked cat flap and disappeared.

I borrowed a cat trap from a fellow cat rescuer, more in hope than expectation. But basically I felt like shit about it and never expected to see him again. I moped about for the morning then around one went upstairs for a nap.

The phone woke me after about half an hour. Social Services. A woman had been found dead in her house that morning. She had no relatives nearby and there were no friends to take her cat. Half asleep and a little depressed, I agreed to come and take him. The location was Hetton-le-Hole on the outskirts of the city about five miles from me and where I'd once managed their branch library. When I got there there were a lot of people milling around including a nurse and policeman. She'd been ill for a while and regularly visited by Mari, the nurse. Only 53, she'd been found that morning, the cat sitting outside wanting to be in. He was about 7 and called Hitler because of his moustache and, I was told, very friendly. He also only ate sliced chicken and some cheap cat food.

They were right about him being friendly but, far from picky, he ate pretty much anything I put in front of him. I had him checked out, vaccinated, given flea and worm treatment and had his knackers removed -sorry, I mean neutered. I also became very fond of him very quickly. He loved being cuddled and would snuggle into my shoulder. I would have kept him too but he was frightened of my other cats, though never aggressive towards him. 

I decided not to change his name, hideous as it was, because he'd had it for so long. I regularly posted on AK's Facebook page about his progress and got feedback, specifically (words to this effect): Change his name, you stupid sod. So I did, following a cat cuddler's suggestion of Tash.

Incidentally and much to my surprise, George turned up back at A's place. How he found his way there is beyond me but he did. I just left him where he was happy until it was time for his second vaccination when I got him done and took him to the re-homing centre where's he's been now for a couple of weeks.

Eventually the time came for Tash to go there too, the day after George as it happened. I didn't want to let him go but I had no choice. While he liked me he wasn't really happy stuck in the conservatory watched by other cats. On the sheet at his pen, I wrote that he would be best off as the only cat in the house, no kids, and best with an older person or couple. Mari, the nurse who had visited his owner and knew him, kept in touch through Facebook and asked about him regularly. Eventually she offered to take him home.

As she was youngish with another cat and a ten year old daughter, I didn't really think her home would be an appropriate environment for him. Eventually I thought, what the hell. I didn't ask for a donation or to fill in an adoption form because I was sure it wouldn't be long before Mari brought him back.

During the course of the same evening, Mari posted a series of photos of Tash in his new home. Tash eating cat treats next to Mari's other cat. Tash snuggling up to Mari's daughter. Tash resting against Mari's husband's chest. Tash not going anywhere.

This is the second time this has happened recently. Another cat I fostered went to a home I didn't think was suitable (a nice home but wrong for the cat) and she settled in immediately. It was my conservatory that was the wrong environment.

So, a certain 66 year old old folk says, "C'est..."

I'LL THINK OF A TITLE LATER*

The day started slowly. I woke at five having slept all the way through the night, blissfully uninterrupted by the needs of my bladder until then. That done, back to bed and went back to sleep again, dragging myself up at six thirty and getting to the baths by seven forty. Some swimming sessions are better than others. Last week I made all five weekday sessions, often doing more than the minimum distance I'd set myself of twenty lengths something I never succeeded in doing this week. Getting home and being unable to summon up enough energy to do anything significant, I went back to bed and flaked out for a couple of hours only to be woken by the phone ringing. 

A lady wanted to come and see the cats so I arranged a meet at Ferry Farm. This was promising and I suddenly felt energised. I'd homed one cat last night. Could this be two in less than twenty-four hours?

The cat I'd re-homed last night came as a surprise. A lady had rang yesterday lunchtime and I asked if I could bring a cat to her house about teatime. In between I had to take Wendy (not the vet) and her cat to the PDSA, pick up Arya (otherwise known as Arya the cat I'm not keeping) from Wendy (the vet), drop Wendy (not the vet) back home, and head off to Morrisons at Doxford Park to empty the food bin. All of which I did. I decided to try Caitlyn, the long haired temperamental ginger cat I'd had for a couple of weeks. Caitlyn doesn't like other cats and spends most of her time behind my fridge. She's not very keen on being picked up either, though she does like being stroked. I emphasised on the phone not to be embarrassed if the lady didn't take to the cat. It was a long shot anyway.

I duly turned up at the agreed time, not far away. As I entered the living room, I said they shouldn't be surprised if Caitlyn bolted for cover. There were two other people there, the lady's brother and late teenage daughter. I opened the carrier lid, Caitlyn popped out and proceeded to sedately wander round the room, tail erect, pausing for people to stroke her. That was it. Sold. I went home alone. The unlikely ones are always the most satisfying.

Off to Ferry Farm to meet the new lady interested in a cat. Her and her male companion turned up just when I was starting to think about heading home -they'd come on the Metro. I showed them all the cats, thinking it narrowed down to three but I was wrong it was just two and even then one was more likely than the other. The cat she chose was Rasputin, the badly named sweet-natured two year old torty. We did the paperwork and she's coming to collect the cat in the morning.

I was back there another couple of hours later to meet the new owner of Shappi, Miranda, and Sox. They'd been picked a couple of weeks ago but the young woman and her partner wanted to wait until the start of their holidays so they could spend a lot of time with their new cats.

So, five cats re-homed in 24 hours, though it's really only two. Nothing makes me happier than finding a home for a cat or a kitten.

As things stand now the only cats available for adoption in my house are Bob and Bo Fluffy (I've changed their names again) who'll be going to Ferry Farm after their second flu jab in ten days, three kittens, and Arya the cat I'm not keeping no matter how often she jumps on my knee and rubs against my face.

You're going, cat, sooner or later you're going and don't think you aren't.

*I didn't (think of a title later).

JEFF'S KITTENS; THE LAST PHOTOS EVER (THIS WEEK)

I'm sorry. I'm trying to give up. Really I am. It's just so hard. I can't help myself. Every time I see one I want to do it. Just one more and then I'll stop. I mean it. But, well, just see for yourself. You can't really blame me for being so weak.

TINK, FLOPPY, AND THE CATMOBILE

I made three acquisitions today and here are photos of them.

Tackling them in reverse order-

Susan initially wasn't keen on my intended vehicular purchase (see previous post) but when she came with me to actually look at it she was won over. My funds were all in place by today so off I went and, after a test drive, completed the purchase. I've decided to affectionately call it The Catmobile. Yes, that is a pretty crappy twee corny name for it. How about The Feline Flyer then? Catcatcher?  Or how about some of you coming up with a good name and letting me know? My Car seems rather mundane somehow.

The honour of being the first cat to ride in it went to Tink. As regular readers may remember, I usually go swimming about three-four times a week at the local sports centre. One of the regulars I chat to is an oldish guy who I helped a few years ago with his cat. A couple of days ago he told me of a nice friendly cat that had been thrown out of the house by its owner because she'd got a kitten for her daughter. I said I'd check it out and probably take it in. It's difficult to exchange details when you're standing in water and just wearing swimming trunks but today I remembered I had my Animal Krackers card in my wallet which I slid in his locker on my way out.

I got a call at lunchtime and agreed to go get it. (Here's another photo).

He is a handsome boy, isn't he?

However, things weren't quiet that simple. The day before I'd received a call from the local branch of Pets At Home asking if I could take in a stray that they'd found. My initial response was no because I'd already agreed to take Tink and keep him in the conservatory. But then I had a think. Pets At Home have been very very supportive of us -they paid most of the cost of the new van for example- so I thought what the hell, the two would have to go in together. I got in the van and drove round to get the cat. They also had a cheque for £150 for us and a binful of cat and dog food. I took the cat straight to the vets where Wendy declared it an unneutered male around three and a half years old. She agreed to keep him overnight and neuter him today.

I decided to call him Floppy because, if you look carefully, one of his ears partly flops over.

To cut a short story shorter, I picked up Tink, Holly the vet declared him a nice neutered male about four years old, and I brought them home in Catcar the First.

Floppy who, having had an operation to remove his dibbles, was very hungry and munched through a bowl of dried food before demolishing a sachet of moist. Tink, so far, is keeping out his was by sitting on the windowsill. Floppy appears to be standing guard over the now refilled bowl of dried munchies.

Okay, that's yer lot. Time to go do a homecheck.

YOU AREN'T GOING TO BELIEVE THIS, BUT...

Cat cuddler Audrey and her husband came to visit the kittens, specifically the grey and white girl who is going to their home in a few weeks.

"You've got four kittens," he said.

"No," I said, "three."

"You've got four," he insisted, peering at the blanket covered litter tray underneath an armchair.

I looked and this is what I found.

Which explains why Aoife (ee-fuh) the mother cat was so big with so much milk. She was pregnant and the none of the kittens were hers. I rang Carole to let her know and Susan arrived unexpectedly at the same time. I tried to formulate my thoughts while trying to take on board the advice I was getting. 

First, off, I had to separate the older kittens from Aoife and put them in a cage in the living room. It took about two seconds for them to squeeze through the bars and run frantically back to the conservatory.

Okay, I took Aoife and her new-born kitten (at most a couple of hours old) and put her and the kitten in the cage in the living room. Then back in the conservatory so the older three could still see her and partially covered the cage with a blanket.

At the moment Aoife is resting in her litter tray basket and presumably feeding her new baby. The kittens are wandering around the basket looking but not going in. There probably are more kittens inside her but all I can do is keep a quiet eye on her but leave her alone so that nature takes its course.

Expect at least one update on the situation tomorrow.

CAT RE-HOMING CENTRE ON VIDEO

A few weeks ago I mentioned that Nisha of Sky had done a video piece about our new re-homing centre which would appear on the Sky News website. She was supposed to let us know when it was up but she forgot and I only heard about it ten minutes ago when I got a call about something else and the person mentioned he'd seen it.

Well, now I have and you can too at-

http://tyneandwear.sky.com/news/video/50468

Be warned though, I'm in it.

AK'S CAT RE-HOMING CENTRE HAS JUST RE-HOMED ITS FIRST CAT AND IT'S-

-Tess, the lovely soft-furred black cat.

I got a call from a retired couple in Barmston and I met them at Ferry Farm. They'd been on my blog and had taken a liking to Leona, who arrived yesterday, and Tess from the first arrivals but when they met the cats there was no question as to which they'd choose.

From my point of view they were perfect, retired, around my age I guessed, experienced cat owners with a garden.

So, one down, lots more to go.

Post Script.

 

About fifteen minutes after I got home, received a call. Two year old female, neutered and vaccinated. That's Tess's pen taken up.

ROSIE'S STORY (AND LOTS OF KITTEN PHOTOS)

1. Rosie's Story.

This isn't a happy story and it doesn't have an ending yet.

Last week we got a call from a couple who wanted rid of their seven year old cat because they fancied a change. They wanted a kitten or a puppy.

Yes, take a breath and let that sink in.

There are several responses with the first being a torrent of bad language which is inappropriate in a Parental Guidance (PG) rated blog like this one. The second is to ask: are they adjective deleted stupid?  Sadly, the answer is yes. Fearing for the cat's safety if we didn't take it, Carole asked me to go get it. 

It was a bit of a drive, by my limited standards these days, a round trip of over 40 miles down to the coast and east of Peterlee to an old pit village. And, yes, the owners were thick. They clearly didn't understand that throwing a cat out of its home of several years was a bad thing and there was no point in me trying to explain it to them or showing how I felt. I just took the cat and set off back up the A19, hoping against all hope that her previous owners don't get their hands on another kitten or a puppy. 

I decided to take the cat to our new vet. This is King's Road Practice run by a lovely person and talented vet called Wendy whom we new from her days at Roker Park Vets. She's just set up on her own on the site of the old PDSA clinic at Southwick which is conveniently a five minute walk from Carole. Wendy thought she was older than seven and it was obvious even to me that her teeth needed seeing to so I left her in Wendy's tender care. I should add that Wendy has adopted the three-legged cat as her practice cat (as in veterinary practice not a cat to practice on) and it's very happy.

While her teeth have been fixed -she was also covered in fleas- Rosie is stressed out by the change in her fortunes and is clearly apathetic and unhappy. She desperately needs a new quiet home and a lot of love.

2. Five Kittens.

Another phone call and a quick trip up the road to pick up five kittens. The owners were having their male cat spayed but weren't going to neuter the kittens' mother because she never goes out. Somehow I don't think that will be the end of the story. Anyway, the photos are in sequence: by the fire in their home, in a box on arrival at Carole's, the next morning at Carole's (this morning). The grey kitten is from a separate litter.

3. One More For The Road.

On the way to collect the five, I also had to pick up a stray kitten (actually a young neutered male). The lady who'd taken it in has put a card in a local shop window so I'm hoping its owner might claim him. Wherever he came from, he's socialised with dogs and other cats and is friendly with people.

LAST CAT RESCUING POST OF 2011

Not surprisingly it's been very quiet since the last post eleven days ago. I've been grappling (a singularly inappropriate choice of word if ever there was) with the physical limitations imposed by the strained shoulder muscle which, for much of the time, severely limited the used of my right arm.

All bar two black and white kittens have now been re-homed as well as a couple of adult cats though these were replaced almost immediately. We've been doing well for donated cat and dog food, not only from the donation bins at Asda, Morrisons, and Sainsburys (my thanks to their generous customers) but also from individuals and in one case a collection from a local church (again, my thanks to everyone who contributed).

My shoulder now seems to be on the mend and I'm psychologically gearing up for whatever the new year brings. Susan and I will be having a fairly quiet New Years Eve but that suits us. Hope you all have a good one and that your hangovers aren't too severe.

Images from Google.

FRED THE FERRET

So I normally deal with cats which is what I did on Tuesday morning. I picked up a lady and her young cat who'd caught her paw in a door and had been limping ever since and took them to the vets. Luckily it was just a broken toe which would heal with rest and a regular doses of Metacam painkiller. 

That, I thought, was my lot for the day but I got a call from Carole about a guy we know and regularly help who takes in animals in need, when he can, and he'd just taken in a rat (which was fine) and a ferret which wasn't. Indeed he thought it had a broken leg. So I picked up him and ferret, which he'd got in a hamster cage, from the north side of Sunderland and took them to Roker Park vets. While in the waiting room, he got the ferret out to show the receptionist.

The ferret was obviously used to being handled and our rescuer was more than familiar with them. I did learn something though. No matter how friendly a ferret is, it's tempting fate to put your fingers next to its mouth. In this case it was my thumb which the little sweetheart duly nipped but without drawing blood.

The vet checked him out and said his leg wasn't broken, though the skin was inflamed. It was just in a poor condition which antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, and some TLC would take care of. I like ferrets and rats, though I don't have much experience of either. I just think they're cute. If I couldn't have cats (or a dog) a ferret would be third on the list, maybe second as I wouldn't have to take it for walks in the pouring rain on a winter's day.

Here are some more photographs of Fred (which isn't his name as he doesn't officially have one, I just like alliteration). I noticed that when he curled into a ball, a bit like cats, he didn't go to sleep immediately but rotated his curled up body like a wheel until he decided he'd got it right.

When I dropped them off I had a look at the rat which he'd taken in. Just your standard pet rat which is to say an intelligent playful friendly little animal.

In addition to these and some more conventional pets, Gary also had a rainbow crab. It was in a fish tank which was quite dark so I had to lean over, press the flash to find out where it was then take a few snaps to get a decent picture. As far as I could tell, all a rainbow crab does is sit in damp sand and occasionally snacks on cat food.