ALL THE CATS NOW AT THE RE-HOMING CENTRE

All these photos were taken this morning, Sunday, 23rd June, 2013.

18 cats in all. I did include the name, age, and character of each one when I edited the photos in Picasa 3 but they haven't transferred. Most are three or under and most are friendly.

Kitten Update.

Aoife, the mother, could not settle in the cage and wanted out so I left the cage door open.  When I saw her carryingthe grey kitten to the closed conservatory door, I took the hint and put the two kits in the basket where she'd give birth to the first one. So far the other kittens have ignored the newcomers, though I just found Tiny cuddled up in the basket next to her mother and the babies. As long as Aoife's happy and the kittens aren't being bored and are getting fed, I'll leave the situation as it is but, trust me, I'm watching them.

KITTEN PHOTOS/KITTEN UPDATE

Things are more settled now some 26 hours after the birth of the second kitten. Aoife and her two babies are fine in the cage in the living room and she seems to be looking after them. It is confining in there so I've let her out while the babies, Finn and Fiona, are sleeping and opened the conservatory door. Aoife immediately went inside to use the litter tray and smacked on of the older kittens who got too close, the first I've seen her do that.

The older kittens are managing fine without her. They've been eating Iams dried kitten food for several days now and I've substituted Whiskas cat milk for Aoife's and it's going down just fine. When they're awake they run around the conservatory like, well, kittens as they climb, jump, play fight, and run. The two oldest should be ready for homing in two weeks with Tiny, the youngest in three.

I did find some bloodstains on Aoife's blanket this morning and rang the vet. Thankfully there's nothing to worry about as some leakage is normal for a few days after giving birth. All the same, I'm going to keep a close eye on her to make sure it is just a little spotting.

And now, what you've all been waiting for, kitten photos. But first a-

Warning! 

Some of the following photos contain images of an unsightly unshaven human with an excess of nose hair. They are not recommended for people of a sensitive disposition. Having issued this warning, your humble blogger is deemed not liable for any adverse effects. The only excuse I have for including these stomach-churning pictures is that they also depict the friendly Tiny (who will sit on my chest for as long as I let her) in close-up.

These are probably going to be the last photos of Finn and Fiona for a week or two because, to be honest, at this age they aren't really very interesting to look at.

And lastly the big kits who were photographed just a few minutes ago.

NEW KITTEN UPDATE

7.00am to 4.15pm

When I got up this morning I found that the new kitten had been pushed out of the cage and the other three were snuggled up to their (not biological) mother. So the cage went into the living room. The kitten was cool but otherwise okay. 

I contacted the vet around nine and was told to keep an eye on the mother to see if she gave birth to more kittens or was straining or other. Neither happened.

Shortly after eleven I received a welcome visit from Jean Frost, an experienced cat rescuer who had organised the whole cats and their kittens care in the first place. She reckoned that Aoife (ee-fuh) as I've called her still possibly had some inside and arranged to take Aoife and her new kitten and me to the vet's. I'm summarising around an hour's efforts here.

Once there, Wendy the vet checked her out and then scanned her and I could actually see what I was told was a tiny kitten's heart beating. Wendy kept mother and kitten in and gave Aoife something to stimulate birth. I went home for lunch and a nap.

Just under half an hour I got a call to say that Aoife had given birth to one more kitten, that both were larger than is usual, and she didn't have more inside her. Now I'm off to pick them up.

4.15-5.15pm

And off I went. 

Carole (see many many previous posts) had been there all afternoon helping Aoife and some tiny underweight puppies. Wendy brought out the mother and kittens and the new one was, to my delight, grey. Aoife was, apparently, conscientiously nursing her new babies which is a good start. 

The bad news is that Wendy discovered that Aoife has enlarged kidneys which might mean a shortened life span. I'd been vacillating between keeping her, putting her in the cat re-homing centre, or letting her go back to the shed and the two ladies who'd been looking after her and the other strays. Well, now that's been decided once and for all -she's staying with me.

I've provisionally named the kittens, assuming one male and one female and in keeping with the Irish name I've given to their mother, Finn and Fiona. And here, with apologies for the crappy images -I promise to do better next time, they are.

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.

YET MORE KITTEN PHOTOS & CAT RE-HOMING UPDATE

The kittens are coming along nicely. While still dependent primarily on their mother, they're also eating Iams dry kitten food and drinking water from a bowl. They won't, however, touch sachets of moist kitten food. I've also stopped feeding them reconstituted kitten milk and my scars are healing up. They're running around and play fighting quite a lot. The smallest of the three will happily sit on my chest and in the crook of my arm where she'll sometimes bite and sometimes lick whatever bits of flesh she can reach and will stay there until I put her down; she's even started to purr.

After four depressing weeks without re-homing a single cat, six have gone in a week. Last Wednesday I re-homed Daisy the tabby I'd been fostering who'd started out as a savage beast I really didn't like and ended up a sweetheart I was sad to see go. On the Saturday, Crystal, a white cat with a ginger tale, went from the re-homing centre. On Monday and to the delight of everyone involved in the re-homing centre, sweet tortoiseshell mother and daughter, Amy and Annabelle, who had been with us since we opened at the beginning of December, went to a lady who'd met Susan and myself as part of her job a few years back. Then this Wednesday a young lady took two black and white cats, Felix and Tammy, from separate pens.

If only all cats weeks were like that. Re-homing a cat gives me a really special feeling; it just lifts me up. But then, re-homing animals is what Animal Krackers is all about, so here's a big thank you to everyone who helps out and to the lovely people who adopt the cats and the dogs.

Thank You!

STRESS AND THE SINGLE RESCUER

(For those much younger than me, the title is a play on Sex and the Single Girl a once controversial and very popular book by Helen Gurley Brown back in the 70's. It was made into a movie I believe. I rather doubt if that will happen to this blog.)

Despite the flippancy of the opening paragraph, this is actually a serious post which uses a personal problem to illustrate a larger issue.

A few months ago I was arguing with a friend (which, as we often have different opinions, is something we've been doing for over forty years) over whether or not I was obsessed with cats and I nearly did a post about it then. However something has just come up where I need to state my position on cats very clearly.

I insisted that cats were not an obsession with me. They did not encompass almost every waking thought and I did not devote my life to cats. Yes, cats are an important part of my life and I'm glad I have the opportunity to rescue and re-home a few being enabled to do this by the many volunteers who help Animal Krackers. But cats and Animal Krackers are only a part of my life. I read a lot, I listen to music, I watch films and tv, I keep up with current affairs, I write articles, reviews, and fiction, I go swimming, I see friends. All these things are important to me and are part of who I am and I'm not prepared to give any of them up to increase the amount of time and effort devoted to cats.

The reason I'm writing this is that I got a call from Susan who, with other people have decided to move some of the kittens and a mother (or, indeed, all of them) to my conservatory from the room above our charity shop and very shortly I'm going to call her and tell her that it is not going to happen.

If that sounds as if I'm being selfish then maybe it is but there is also more to it than just that. You see, like many of the population of this country, I suffer from a mental illness and I take drug to control it. The drug is know as Citalopram and I take,as I have for some time now, a mild dose of 20mg a day. The main use of the drug is to combat major depression but it also has other uses for problems such as anxiety which is the main reason for my taking it.

I've probably suffered from anxiety all my life, something which is obvious in hindsight, but only really came to the fore when, at the age of 50, I found myself in a situation where I was being consistently and deliberate bullied (though that word was never used then but these days it's quite obvious what happened to me) and the stress this caused forced me to see my doctor who, after a couple of months, put me on Citalopram and told me to stay off work. The situation was ultimately resolved (though I've never forgotten nor forgiven those who put me through it) but I continued taking Citalopram (there can side-effects to stopping) which keeps me on an even keel. I got through separating from my wife and setting up a new home without any real problems coping adequately with what seemed to me a very small amount of stress. 

I'm much more self-aware of my emotional states than I used to be and I know the warning signs of an anxiety attack. My situation at present is that I have enough cats to cope with. I currently have three cats of my own in the house, two adult females I'm fostering, plus the mother cat and three kittens. Two of the cats are stressed out by being with strange cats and urinate in places other than the litter trays and this is stressing me out somewhat. This morning I am going to go down on my hands and knees and scrub the kitchen carpet with a mixture of white spirit and biological washing up liquid. Then I'm going to do the living room and after that part of the bedroom. The kittens aren't really any bother, though the scratches on my hand and arm may suggest otherwise (see previous post) and I may end up keeping the mother who is a quiet gentle and affectionate cat. In addition, every day I get at least one phone call, often more, asking if I can take in a cat which I can't. The re-homing centre is full and it's two weeks since we homed one. We have a long waiting list. I always try to offer an alternative suggestion to the caller, usually Catchat.org which has a list of all cat rescues in Tyne & Wear, and I'm always calm and sympathetic. But I hate not being able to help.

But put it all together and I know I'm approaching a stress point. If I go beyond it and accept more kittens and their mothers it will trigger an anxiety attack which will incapacitate me. I simply can't do what is wanted of me. It's a matter of survival.

I'm full of admiration for people who are obsessive about cats, who devote all their efforts to helping stray, abandoned, and unwanted cats (and dogs and every other kind of animal). I admire their strength and dedication and we actually started Animal Krackers to help people like that before we ended up being a rescue. I truly believe they are wonderful and amazing people who utilise their tunnel vision into a positive force for good.

But I can't be one of them.

Post Script.

I rang Susan and told her why I couldn't do what she wanted and why. She accepted this without hesitation because it was clearly a good reason. Then I told her I blogging about it and which point she told me I'd make myself look like a loony. She disagreed when I suggested that people tended to be a little more tolerant and accepting than that. Well, I said, that's their problem.

I've just realised I never satisfactorily explained how this piece would illustrate a larger issue.  It's this.

Some people never know when to say no. They take on more than is good for them and suffer the consequences which may be physical or emotional or both -someone close to me is like that. It isn't always being selfish to say no. It's important to recognise your limits so you can work from strength. I know I can't multi-task so I focus on one thing a time unlike someone else I know who can't multi-task either and doesn't know it. It isn't failure to stop when you've reached your limits, it's survival.

Comment from Barry Spence, 05/06/13

Just to antagonise you with introductory pedantry, the film was not 1970s - t'was 1964; I think the book had been around a few years.

The word "obsession" is grossly abused both in common English and in clinical terminologies. It doesn't necessarily mean a full-time devotion to one area of blinkered interest to the literal exclusion of recognising the rest of whatever goes on around us. On the other extreme, it doesn't begin to even resemble "liking" or "loving" something or someone. As those sentence clearly will hit you as feeling you don't belong, then the conclusion is that you cannot be "obsessed with cats" and (I assume) Ian P. should be a little more tolerant rather than dismissive of your genuine "interest" in them.

OK, so you love cats enough to have a practical interest in caring? That's philanthropic, not obsessive. I just don't see anything contentious about being Krackers about cats within all of the other varied areas of your life. Your term was "part of".

As for Susan and her accomplices, I hope I understand this properly. They made a joint (unanimous?) decision to place some cats in YOUR house (= home) - in your absence and without the courtesy of even consulting you? That sounds to me that you don't have a home; you are merely a live-in caretaker, resident in a property that's been treated like an extended storage facility for feline guests! Whether Susan or anyone else, they have no right to decide such things and putting your foot down FOR THIS REASON ALONE would be quite enough, disregarding your ability to cope or handle possible extras. You do enough for existing cats - but you are not forced to; you CHOSE to. To presume automatic use of your home for AK convenience is downright rude cheek; to expect you to work even more is worse than insensitive. Susan and the others really need to get a grip on practical reality and basic politeness and remember who and what you are - where you live and what you live in!

I don't agree with Susan's cavalier misuse of "loony" and the tolerance/acceptance you mention seem more in line with average standards today - unless you are a Tory, of course! Intersting how the limited vocabularies of supposedly well-educated, silly little Tory schoolboys once used the word "loony" as sneered abuse towards the opposition "lefties" and assorted impertinent dissenters. Now, the next generation of equally dim kids uses that same word for their own party members who dare to express inconvenient diversions from policy! Other than that, the word isn't as commonly used these days.

Looking after cats is a luxury to choose; looking after Number One is a necessity, as is survival.

Barry

ATTACK OF THE KILLER KITTENS

In a 1960's episode of the ITV series The Avengers, Steed and (I think) Mrs Peel had to solve a series of savage murders. It turned out that they were committed by kittens driven into a frenzy by some kind of sound wave. Very amusing, I'm sure.

Only now, not so funny.

You see, I have been the victim of savage kittens using their small but sharp claws and their tiny but very pointed teeth to savagely assault me, shredding my flesh so that my arms like the arms of Frankenstein's monster. Or possibly that of a habitual cutter.

Want proof? Then look no further than-

And, trust me on this, the camera misses out some details.

But how did this happen? you ask. How could you, Ian, let this happen?  Because they're sneaky little bastards, I reply. Here I am, minding my own business, with a camera in my hand, when suddenly, like vampire bat in a horror movie-

 

Next thing I know, it's launched an attack on my arm and is savagely slashing my away.

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Okay, that might not be technically quite true. It could even be considered a lie, and I know you'll find this hard to believe given my reputation for refusing to embellish, exaggerate or use hyperbole. (Actually, that may also be a lie.)

Nah. What really happens is that I sit in a chair in the conservatory where they stay with a glass of reconstituted kitten milk and a syringe and as soon as I do they climb on top of me. When I feed one by holding it in my hand, the other hand delivering the syringe into its mouth, the other two climb up my bare arm (I always wear short-sleeved t-shirts) and try to claw the syringe away from the feeding kitten. This always results in scratches and, no, I don't know why I don't wear something long-sleeved to protect myself apart from the fact that it would get ruined and my skin heals itself.

Okay, here are some more photos. Don't ask me why the camera usually photos the black kittens as brown.