Smelly Cat

I was in London last month looking after a very hairy cat. My temporary home was a flat with  living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom and 'another room' I guessed what this room was for and tried to keep the door to that room shut but the latch wasn't strong and the cat could easily push it open and loved going in there. 

My mother paid a visit. She noticed the cat scratching at the 'naughty' door

What's in there?

Nothing much but the cat loves it and her fur gets very smelly in there.

Mum opened the door and took an investigative sniff - ah - cannabis - she's getting high in there

Offensive Waste Driver

 = Top job in my feed today - not sure how offensive they want but I'll give it my best shot.

 

I've recently been keeping company with  Belcher, a fat snorey old cat who lives in Cornwall

Cornwall  is a land of diverse residents. On leaving the main road to Lands End I follow signs to Gnome World then Screech Owl Sanctuary then Indian Queens,  I drive on past these delights - my destination is a pretend old village built by our newly Kinged Charles III.

Belcher is not impressed by the amount I feed him and is highly suspicious of me - if he's not giving me hard stares from his food bowl he stands sentry under a plant-festooned coffee table. On the rare occasions that I do feed him, I'm rewarded by an extensive and close-up washing ritual, his plumpness makes this difficult so it takes a while.

This month I was a theatrical landlady, a doting daughter and a Cornish-cat sitter for one lazy cat and his lively sister. The lively one pissed on my bed the day I arrived and then decided that I was probably ok and spent the rest of my visit prancing around and testing my bath water.

 In my capacity as landlady, I hosted a wardrobe mistress from Singing in the Rain - thirty cast members  and they all get wet at the end -TWICE a day!!! That is a lot of dustbin-fulls of sodden clothing to lug upstairs to the laundry.

My Ma is in better spirits, I will post about our spot-the-queen walk next time

Kittens

 

The beginning of November was spent in London in the company of a kitten doing all the adorable kitten things including sneakily creeping into cupboards and drawers then getting stuck inside.

The sea temperature has plummeted, I'm still swimming and wanted to share the experience but it's harder to draw myself encased in a block of ice than I imagined*, enough to say that the commonly used term for the lobster red colour of the swimmer's raw flesh as they haul themselves out of the water is 'The Clevedon Tan'.

*I post about chilly swimming with a monotonous regularity, the web view of this blog shows tags that could lead you to more swimming-related posts - this one is typical

Low tide at dawn

 

London 

scrunching feet on  sandy-gravelly beach  

sounds of lapping water  

geese 

first visit here in over a year and I'm easing myself back   

 

looking after a cat that I first knew years ago  

her feline friend died while I was away

 

 

 

Night out in London

* warning this post contains body parts and other horrors

I'm looking after a cat in Primrose Hill. I arrive, say hello to kitty, then head out for a lovely culture-filled evening.

My event is done by 9. I catch a bus, head to the top floor and take my favourite seat at the front. Two stops later the driver comes upstairs - someone has vomitted by the exit, he can't continue the journey, we all have to get off

the bus and it's sicky door remain at the bus stop, the smell was bad but the sight is somehow worse. I walk to the next stop to put some distance between me and it.

Next bus is crammed full, I get on and climb to the upper deck. My favourite front seat is taken so I head to the back. Two stops later a young man stands at the top of the stairwell sways, steadies himself as though preparing for a performance, he then barfs hugely and widely.

A collective groan then stunned silence as the man tips forward and somersaults/slides down the stairs on the sea of sick. Passengers yell at the driver to stop, he pulls up and opens the doors and the young man runs out into the night. The bus continues it's journey. We are engulfed in the worst smell that I have ever encountered but we all stay on because the horror that we must pass through to go down the steps and get out is somehow worse.

I was looking after a pet

in Cornwall. The owner tried to pass it off as a cat but it's clearly the lovechild of a fox and a ferret, her fur is beige with burnt edges and her face is actually more pointy than my drawing. Also she might appear delicate but this killer is adept at rabbit-hunting.

I'm basically a mermaid these days

recent trips to Devon have offered many opportunities to get in the water and in Britain it can be a bit chilly. My first sea dip in May made me dizzy and my hands felt like they'd been stamped on - for some reason this makes me feel heroic.


I've also been walking along the river Dart. Today I found a good skinny-dipping spot. Being naked seems to automatically join people into a sort of club, pleasantries are exchanged in a manner that doesn't happen in 'textile situations'*   


*I'm practising this new context for 'textile' since I discovered that's how naturists refer to people who wear clothing, such as this naturist report on a campsite on Slapton Sands


"...a really good site, with what must be unique co-existence in this country. Large field with views to the sea - top two thirds of site textile, bottom third naturist, with just an open post and rail fence to mark an informal division. No gates, and the fence is open to drive / walk round at both ends. Very easygoing and relaxed. All facilities, apart from a fresh water tap, are on the textile side, so need to dress to access them."


image: Barry Lewis - Natural Theatre Company in London

Cat repair person for hire

I've returned to Devon to look after a cat called Edna, I was here a couple of months ago. Edna was a gaunt, trembly old thing when I arrived but after just 10 days in my care Edna turned into a lovely shiny thing, her tembliness became bounce, she had plumped up nicely and her owners exclaimed with joy about the new, improved cat waiting for them.

I seem to have discovered how to work the cat reset button

I'm not saying I can mend a properly broken cat, my abilities lie in fixing those slightly manky cats, the ones that have gone a bit boss-eyed and keep forgetting to clean themselves, or the ones that over-lick one area of their body, also the bony neurotic cats that shiver for no good reason and I'm pretty good at eliminating asthma attacks. I've had no luck with dirty-protest cats like the Bum-Crayoner but I do think there might be a call for a professional cat-plumper-and-polisher (feline-smoother/cat valet?) - I'm working on my marketing for this new business