fishbel
Advent Thankvent 20: Pets
Marvel (aka Bavoo), Muesli, Polly (aka Nippie), Christie, Steely (aka The Grey Cat), Mogwai (aka Mogs or Bramble), Buttons (aka Yuggit or The Boyfriend), Sisi (aka CC or Calendar Cat), Tybalt (aka Tibblers or The Grey Blob), Midget (aka Fluffy or Fluffdom or Midgey Widge), Mini (aka Minscotty or Scottie or Scott or Bib) and Squeeks (aka Beck or Ginger or Ginge or Tailless or The Boyfriend).
Muesli was a cockerel. I was not allergic to Muesli. The rest were cats. I am allergic to cats. Cats, and pets in general (sheepdogs don't really count as pets, but they kind of do, same with pet lambs) are something that has characterised my life. You know how children often get a 'thing' that everyone knows about them, used liberally in present buying situations? Paula Miller (who gave her name to Polly the cat) was really into dolphins so dolphins were on everything she ever received. Jeremy Bidgood was apparently famous for being really into pigs (which I find HILARIOUS). I was really into cats and my room at home is still full of cat-related merchandise and, oddly, tiny near-postage-stamp sized books of quotations about cats. Dozens of them.
The history of cats at my house goes back to before I was born. When my dad moved in before he and mum got married, there was already a cat and a cockerel living here. The house was pretty bare and it seems my dad wasn't that great at looking after himself, living on muesli and Marvel powdered milk. He shared the muesli with the cockerel and the milk with the cat. And thus the names were born.
I have only slight memories of these two early examples of McFarlane Livestock (I wasn't great at pronouncing the word Marvel and thus the cat became 'Bavoo'), but Polly (who was to be 'my' cat for fifteen years) came along when I was about four and I remember the arrival of her and her brother, Christie, very clearly. Steely was a visiting cat who stayed (eventually to be recognised by Tony Brunton from Tillyochie as a cat which had previously been his 'Steely', thus upgrading her nomenclaturally from 'The Grey Cat'). And then came Buttons.
Buttons was a proper celebrity. Dad found him facing certain death down a cattle grid as a tiny kitten, abandoned at the side of the road. I was deeeelighted. He had massive blue button eyes, and black and white colouring on his undercarriage that looked like he had his jacket and trousers undone. Like he had no buttons. Buttons' eyes, it turned out, were blue because he was blind. Not only was he blind, but he was near uniquely-blind: he had no retina at all, a phenomenon only recorded once before anywhere in the world in a South American Wolfhound from what I recall. We found this utter lack of sight impossible to believe, he negotiated the house, the garden, walking out of the house, turning right past the woodshed, turning left at the end of the Jacks' shed and ducking (whether the gate was open or closed) under the Jacks' gate. But blind he was, and the bashes that his wee head got over the years, particularly as a boisterous wee kitten, probably led to his epilepsy in later life. The wee man.
There are so many stories about Buttons. He caught mice (these would be garnished in his mouth with large clumps of grass where he had chomped down in a large bite in the hope of locating the expertly-heard rodent), he had an annual birthday party (primarily frequented by my friends – he wasn't as social as me) and he went terrifyingly missing on several occasions, and returned. We would troop round the local houses with print-outs of his photo and pleading messages from an eleven-year-old me and Dad would take days off work to wander around calling for him. It was particularly difficult for the wee chap when there had been snow as his normal markers were all gone. Once he went missing in the snow for 10 days and we were convinced he was dead. Dad found him (as he so often did), three miles from home, having crossed two bridges, cowering in the snow. Dad got him into the car and drove home. Not normally a very affectionate wee cat, half-way home Buttons realised what had happened to him, that he had been saved, and Dad had to drive the last part of the journey with an enthusiastically meowling cat on his face. I think the Heavens received more prayer regarding Buttons than any other animal in history.
Pets are weird. Why in the name of goodness do we allow another species to hang out in our homes? We keep them for our amusement and comfort, so we can have them on our laps as breathing/drooling/purring hot-water bottles, so we can dress them in Santa hats and take photos. Our ability to enlist other animals for our purposes is cited as one of our defining characteristics as a species ourselves and yet I do sometimes still catch myself confused at the presence of a four-legged being on the sofa. But mostly they make me giggle at their humanity and amazed at their animal ingenuity. I hate being allergic to cats much more than I hate being allergic to dairy products, despite the large soya-shaped faff that the latter affliction makes me. Our family is built around cats, a fact that is hard to explain in its full, complex glory, but I would like to impress upon you how thankful I am for it.
NB. Subsection of thanks must go to 'Videos of cats doing funny things'. Any suggestions are welcomed with open, smiling and non-sneezing happiness.
Advent Thankvent 20: Pets
Marvel (aka Bavoo), Muesli, Polly (aka Nippie), Christie, Steely (aka The Grey Cat), Mogwai (aka Mogs or Bramble), Buttons (aka Yuggit or The Boyfriend), Sisi (aka CC or Calendar Cat), Tybalt (aka Tibblers or The Grey Blob), Midget (aka Fluffy or Fluffdom or Midgey Widge), Mini (aka Minscotty or Scottie or Scott or Bib) and Squeeks (aka Beck or Ginger or Ginge or Tailless or The Boyfriend).
Muesli was a cockerel. I was not allergic to Muesli. The rest were cats. I am allergic to cats. Cats, and pets in general (sheepdogs don't really count as pets, but they kind of do, same with pet lambs) are something that has characterised my life. You know how children often get a 'thing' that everyone knows about them, used liberally in present buying situations? Paula Miller (who gave her name to Polly the cat) was really into dolphins so dolphins were on everything she ever received. Jeremy Bidgood was apparently famous for being really into pigs (which I find HILARIOUS). I was really into cats and my room at home is still full of cat-related merchandise and, oddly, tiny near-postage-stamp sized books of quotations about cats. Dozens of them.
The history of cats at my house goes back to before I was born. When my dad moved in before he and mum got married, there was already a cat and a cockerel living here. The house was pretty bare and it seems my dad wasn't that great at looking after himself, living on muesli and Marvel powdered milk. He shared the muesli with the cockerel and the milk with the cat. And thus the names were born.
I have only slight memories of these two early examples of McFarlane Livestock (I wasn't great at pronouncing the word Marvel and thus the cat became 'Bavoo'), but Polly (who was to be 'my' cat for fifteen years) came along when I was about four and I remember the arrival of her and her brother, Christie, very clearly. Steely was a visiting cat who stayed (eventually to be recognised by Tony Brunton from Tillyochie as a cat which had previously been his 'Steely', thus upgrading her nomenclaturally from 'The Grey Cat'). And then came Buttons.
Buttons was a proper celebrity. Dad found him facing certain death down a cattle grid as a tiny kitten, abandoned at the side of the road. I was deeeelighted. He had massive blue button eyes, and black and white colouring on his undercarriage that looked like he had his jacket and trousers undone. Like he had no buttons. Buttons' eyes, it turned out, were blue because he was blind. Not only was he blind, but he was near uniquely-blind: he had no retina at all, a phenomenon only recorded once before anywhere in the world in a South American Wolfhound from what I recall. We found this utter lack of sight impossible to believe, he negotiated the house, the garden, walking out of the house, turning right past the woodshed, turning left at the end of the Jacks' shed and ducking (whether the gate was open or closed) under the Jacks' gate. But blind he was, and the bashes that his wee head got over the years, particularly as a boisterous wee kitten, probably led to his epilepsy in later life. The wee man.
There are so many stories about Buttons. He caught mice (these would be garnished in his mouth with large clumps of grass where he had chomped down in a large bite in the hope of locating the expertly-heard rodent), he had an annual birthday party (primarily frequented by my friends – he wasn't as social as me) and he went terrifyingly missing on several occasions, and returned. We would troop round the local houses with print-outs of his photo and pleading messages from an eleven-year-old me and Dad would take days off work to wander around calling for him. It was particularly difficult for the wee chap when there had been snow as his normal markers were all gone. Once he went missing in the snow for 10 days and we were convinced he was dead. Dad found him (as he so often did), three miles from home, having crossed two bridges, cowering in the snow. Dad got him into the car and drove home. Not normally a very affectionate wee cat, half-way home Buttons realised what had happened to him, that he had been saved, and Dad had to drive the last part of the journey with an enthusiastically meowling cat on his face. I think the Heavens received more prayer regarding Buttons than any other animal in history.
Pets are weird. Why in the name of goodness do we allow another species to hang out in our homes? We keep them for our amusement and comfort, so we can have them on our laps as breathing/drooling/purring hot-water bottles, so we can dress them in Santa hats and take photos. Our ability to enlist other animals for our purposes is cited as one of our defining characteristics as a species ourselves and yet I do sometimes still catch myself confused at the presence of a four-legged being on the sofa. But mostly they make me giggle at their humanity and amazed at their animal ingenuity. I hate being allergic to cats much more than I hate being allergic to dairy products, despite the large soya-shaped faff that the latter affliction makes me. Our family is built around cats, a fact that is hard to explain in its full, complex glory, but I would like to impress upon you how thankful I am for it.
NB. Subsection of thanks must go to 'Videos of cats doing funny things'. Any suggestions are welcomed with open, smiling and non-sneezing happiness.