Bep is very old, probably around 20 (or 140 in cat years). She was about 8 or 9 when Merel was 4. We expected that when Toos died, Bep would soon follow. They were always together and Bep would surely pine away. If she noticed at all, she kept it to herself. She probably noticed that she wasn't as hungry as she used to be. She always waited until Toos had finished gronfing food like a furry mechanical shovel before nibbling the leftovers. Consequently Toos got fat and Bep got thin. Like Laurel and Hardy. Bep now eats like a horse but is not getting any fatter. Jeanette has four cats. Not only did they resent the two new ones when we moved in, but continued to hate each other. Which made life even more difficult as each now had to look in 5 directions instead of 3. The do not slink around as other cats do , but stomp menacingly towards each other, squaring up and enquiring 'looking for a claw sandwich? How about a bunch of talons, matey?'. Until one would fail to notice that he was passing under a garden chair or a low branch, and would receive a severly raked bottom from a third lurker.
Bep is trying to say something.
If only she could talk!
Mickey is the friendliest of Jeanettes's cats, but suffers from having an extremely large head.
Mimi is shy and does not like to be photographed. Probably embarrassed because she has no head at all. Her ostritch impressions are always well received.
There are 2 others but one, known as The Duke, is so large I would need a wide-angle lens, and the other is a complete hermit, coming in at night
to feed. Few have seen her. Toos was no good at defending territory, always remembering pressing engagements elsewhere if confrontation threatened. Since Toos died, Bep became more territorial. Even the Duke stops at a respectful distance from our door. Despite her old-ladiness she is as ferocious as a pitbull to other cats.
However, Bep has been behaving strangely lately. She cries at the door, gets let out, blinks and looks confused and cries to be let in again. She then wonders why she is not still outside and cries to go out. We should install revolving doors. She also loses her way, walks into walls and is generally not herself. We took her to the vet. He said she is suffering from 'Alzheimers for cats' and that we should leave the light on at night because it would be distressing for her to wake up and not quickly be able to orientate herself. I always thought that cats were nocturnal and thus did not sleep at night. Furthermore, they have excellent night-vision, better than John 'Cats-Eyes' Cunningam, the famous world war 2 night-fighter ace. I should have been a vet. I could make vast amounts of cash telling people thier cat had Trollope's Syndrome and needed lots of expensive pills. Further manifesations of Bep's deterioration are the incredible gyrating fits and the almost daily regurgitation of more material than she has eaten.
The fits are alarming. She curls up into a ball and starts to shake. As the shaking increases, she starts to revolve on her axis like a demented asteroid, while growling in vibrato, because her mouth is moving towards and away from the listener as she spins. It is very frightening to watch and we thought she was dying. After a bit she stopped and went on with her life as if nothing had happened, rubbing up against table legs and purring at flower-pots. Now we just ignore her. Until she vomits. It starts with a bobbing of the head, a low growning and shuddering followed by a mighty heave and a gollop of steaming stew is ejected, sometimes quite hairy. It always happens on things that one has just cleaned. The worst is the leather settee if she is sitting on the back of the seat. It all glides down the smoothly waxed surface until it hits the crack between the back and the seat. The larger lumps remain while the smaller ones and all the liquids slide into the chasm. It's a horror to clean as the leather runs out and the corduroy begins halfway into the ravine.
One should never panic when a cat is vomitting. At first I grabbed her and rushed to the door and it went all over my trousers. The next occasion saw me hold her at arms length, but making a tight turn around the coffee table I centrifuged it all over the walls and curtains. Another time I grabbed her and missed, and she dived under the dining table, heaving up as she went. I followed on all fours and tried another grab. The shiny laminate floor under a heavy table is not the best surface upon which to follow a cat being sick. The cat must pass over what it has just ejected, and when its feet reach the sludge, there is loss of traction. The little legs go faster and faster and the claws tick merrily searching for grip. The pursuer recieves a shower of warm, wet particles as the legs revolve like vomit-wheels. I tried to escape vertically, but forgot that I was under the table and fell back stunned by the blow to the back op my head into the morass as I watched Bep disappear leaving little vomitty footprints.
This looks a good place for heave-up!
Best get some Ajax and a bucket and wait for her to finish. At least it's all in one place. God help us if she ever starts to vomit just before a Gyrating Pussy Attack. The room pebble-dashed in Felix, lumps of nourishing sardine and cod in a wholesome gelatinous jelly. One of the worst sights in the world is a hair-ball that has been there for a few weeks, unnoticed.
Why am I sitting here tapping out this crap! Love you all.
PS: Stef - you noticed the ads! The great advertising stunt is not going well. Google Ad-Sense promised that adverts would be tailored to the tone of the blog. The first ad was for stuff to clean drains and the second for steel balls that are used to knock dried up concrete lumps off the inside of cement mixers. I was to be informed when 70 euros had accumulated. Nothing having happened for 3 days, I looked at my account. Apparently you only get paid if people actually click on the ad and buy some steel balls. The rate is 0.00000001%, less expenses and VAT.