The Catablog

Time for a chat

2009-01-22T19:43:00.007+11:00

I wasn't going to post any more articles concerning dog maulings to The Catablog, but then I never expected to run into one with a headline as indescribably sublime as this:

Former French President Chirac hospitalised after mauling by his clinically depressed poodle

I could write more, but really, what more is there to say?

UPDATE
And then, just when you think you've read it all, along comes the extraordinarily bizarre:

Nappy-wearing chimp killed after rampage

and the infinitely intriguing:

Indian toddler marries dog to stop tiger attack

Astounding.

Pommel cat.

2008-07-20T14:25:00.001+10:00

We were just lounging around the other weekend when Thelma padded into the room and stunned us with an impromptu display of feline gymnastics. After some deft floorwork, she leapt onto an improvised pommel horse and worked her way through a dazzling routine including circles, flares, cross-support travels and even a Wendeswing flop! Here she is mid-travel:

Her dismount, as you would expect, was flawless, and the judges were unanimous in awarding straight 10s; except for the German, Shepherd, who gave her a 1, but then you expect that sort of bias from his kind.

Comma was also quite an athletic cat, and I can only the imagine the performance these two could have knocked together if ever they'd had the chance to collaborate.

Dog sausage

2008-07-19T14:21:00.000+10:00

A cat blog isn't anti-dog by definition, but all the best ones are, so here's another submission to the Evidence for the Prosecution.

Dog put down after biting off owner's toe
July 4, 2008

An American woman says her beloved miniature dachshund gnawed off her right big toe while she was asleep. Linda Floyd said her beloved Roscoe has since been put down because of safety concerns.
The 56-year-old says she has no feeling in her toes because of nerve damage from diabetes. She discovered the toe missing after waking from a nap. A vet said that because the toe had been bandaged due to an ingrowing nail, it may have somehow attracted the dog. AP

First face-lunching Labradors, now digit digesting dachshunds... what next? Child-chomping chihuahuas?! This growing list of unusual suspects acting like Hacksaw the beloved family Rottweiler who's "honestly never done that before" only goes to reinforce my long held belief that the only safe dog is a... well, 'dead dog' is a little drastic. An absent dog, then. I don't want them dead; I just don't want them around me. Thelma may not frighten off burglars, help me to cross the road safely, or entertain me as she runs on hilarious stubby legs, but at least I can sleep soundly knowing I'll wake in one piece.

A message from our sponsors

2007-03-26T21:32:00.000+10:00

There hasn't been much time for cat blogging lately, but a catblog, just like a cat, has many lives and you should always be careful about writing the tenacious little bugger off as done. Indeed, there are plenty more good cat tales to be told, all in their own good time.

In the meantime, please do enjoy another remarkable episode of "Let's see ya precious Lassie top this one!"

As you'll see, many contenders have tried, but without the aid of their owner's hands, automated trickery or strategically placed treats, they've all failed. :)

Catty days are here again

2006-10-30T21:20:00.000+11:00

When my friend, Park, left Australia for Cambodia, she left behind her two little Burmese cats, Fred and Thelma. While overseas she met a rather appealing New Zealander chap called Malks, who she promptly married, and made a home with under some long white clouds way over on the wrong side of the Tasman. (Wrong, of course, only in the sense that I’m still unable to drive over to Park’s house for a cup of tea.)

And what of Fred and Thelma while all this travelling, marrying and homemaking was going on? Well, fortunately, there was no lack of loving foster homes over here, and the two cats have never been short of a place to stay. And now, after a stint at Park’s parents out in the rolling, green hills of the Victorian countryside, Fred and Thelma have come for a visit to see if our place is the sort they’d like to call home.

Regal and dignified, Fred’s the clear leader of the pair. On arrival at our place, he was the first one to venture out, whiskers twitching, into the unknown, with Thelma following carefully behind. Which is not to say Thelma’s cautious and timid (far from it), but Fred’s also a lot like an eldest child – serious, responsible and ready to take charge – and, when necessary, Thelma will defer to Fred and his natural authority.

Both cats are highly affectionate, but the similarities end there, and if Fred’s like an eldest child, Thelma’s just like your classic youngest: cute, attention-seeking and carefree to the point of vacuity; she’s as easy-going as they come.

So far Thelma’s fitting in very well (although she’d likely fit in anywhere), but Fred seems to be having some adjustment issues. We’ll just have to wait and see.

Incidentally, Fred and Thelma are named after Park’s grandparents. If they’d been mine to name and I’d done the same, I would have got Bill & Madge or Jack & Kitty. Hmm, Kitty cat; not too bad. Although Kit Cat would be the shortened form, which I’m not so sure about.

Catty writing

2006-07-31T21:47:00.000+10:00

I’ve been reading Geoffrey Blainey’s excellent, A Short History of the World. And what history of the world would be complete without reference to the wonderful cat?

Cats were kept in houses, granaries and barns less because they were pets than because they were mouse-hunters. When in 1755 Dr Samuel Johnson produced his dictionary of the English language, he bluntly defined a cat as a ‘domestick animal that catches mice’. But surely a cat was entitled to be stroked and petted for its own sake? Johnson disagreed, labelling the cat as ‘the lowest order of the leonine species’. Less than 20 years later, the first edition of an encyclopaedia showed that Johnson’s prejudice was widely held. The volume denounced the cat as ‘full of cunning and dissimulation’, a tormentor, a born thief, ‘totally destitute of friendship’ and very lazy. The cat was kept ‘not for amiable qualities, but purely with a view to banish rats, mice, and other noxious animals’. Not until about 1800 did the romantic movement, and its adoration of the countryside and simple rural ways, begin to raise the cat in the esteem of the western world.

Geoffrey Blainey, A Short History of the World (2000).

Just makes me love cats all the more. And I note that the dog doesn’t warrant even a single paragraph anywhere throughout the 606 page book. Clearly a passenger in world history, and not a player. :-) Johnson’s definition reminded me of the Blackadder episode ‘Ink & Incapability’ where Baldrick accidentally burnt the sole copy of Johnson’s dictionary and Blackadder was forced to try and rewrite it overnight. Baldrick decided to help and was quite pleased with his definition of dog, being: ‘Not a cat’. Reading Johnson’s definition of cat makes me think Baldrick wasn’t that far off, and with a little luck maybe Edmund could have finished the dictionary by Monday morning after all?

Cats and rabbits living together

2006-07-08T15:10:00.000+10:00

I discovered another drawing of Laura's, this one featuring all the animals in her life (at the time). Tashi, Pushka, Comma and Ashley Rabby.

Comma's Funniest Home Videos, Pt. 3

2006-06-27T11:54:00.000+10:00

Unlike 'Comma's Funniest Home Videos' Part 1 and Part 2, there's no Comma in this one on YouTube, but there is video, so we're getting closer. Let's just say this one's in memory of Comma. 2004-2005 :-)

Fence post

2006-06-24T18:22:00.000+10:00

As I mentioned in my last post, Mandrake loved playing with Comma and would often sit on the fence looking in our window as though pleading for him to come out.

That said, it's funny that in most of the photos I have of the two of them together, they're studiously avoiding looking at each other.

Except in this one of course, where their gazes couldn't be locked any more firmly. :-)

More Mandrake

2006-06-24T17:54:00.000+10:00

I thought I'd post a few of my favourite Mandrake pictures. I guess they don't need descriptions, except to say that the second image was a common sight for us when we lived in Richmond. Drake was forever looking into our living room from the fence, as though saying, "C'mon, let Comma out to play."

There's a bear up there...

2006-06-22T12:45:00.000+10:00

My mum was in Queensland recently and she clipped this article for me from the Sunshine Coast newspaper.

Basically, that black splodge at the top of the tree is not a cat, but a bear. A bear that is fleeing the orange cat now standing guard at the foot of the tree. Yep, that little orange blob is a cat.

The article reads:

A black bear picked the wrong yard for a jaunt, running into a territorial tabby who ran the furry beast up a tree – twice.
Jack, a seven-kilogram orange and white cat, keeps a close vigil on his property, often chasing small animals, but his New Jersey owners and neighbours say his latest escapade was surprising.
“We used to joke, ‘Jack’s on duty,’ never knowing he’d go after a bear,” owner Donna Dickey said. Neighbour Suzanne Giovanetti first spotted Jack’s accomplishment after her husband saw a bear climb a tree on the edge of their property. Giovanetti realised the much larger animal was afraid of the hissing cat.

They breed ‘em tough in Jersey. I wonder if the cat was named after Jack Bauer?

Tigger and friends

2006-06-11T17:45:00.000+10:00

While poking through my parents’ photo albums for old photos of Mishka, I came across some good ones of Tigger as well.

These first two were taken on Christmas morning 1976, when Tiggs was only 10 weeks old.

He’s reclining on Cath’s lap in the first one, and that’s me with him on our living room floor in the second. Can you dig those curtains?

This shot (that I’m sure Ros won’t mind me making available to a global audience), was taken in January 1984. As I've observed earlier, Tiggs was remarkably adept at surviving strangulation.

And here’s Tigger with friends. Gus the Seal, Platy the Platypus, Dino the Dinosaur and a teddy bear, rabbit, koala and furry slug whose names I forget. I seem to recall however that the furry slug was just a thin strip of wood covered in fluff, like one of those padded coat-hangers. Who needs Teletubbies, Thomas the Tank Engine or Tickle-Me-Elmo when you’ve got a child's imagination in your toy box?

Looking at these photos for the first time in years, I'm surprised to realise that Tigger’s face isn’t really that familiar to me. I’ll never forget the faces of Tanis or Comma, so I guess I must have been too young for Tiggs. The thing that does strike me is that little Hitler moustache that I never realised he had! How does one say this without giving the wrong impression, but I wonder how much input my Dad had into the cat's selection?

(Maybe I shouldn’t leave that last question hanging? Dad is not, nor has he ever been, a Nazi, and he loathes Hitler as much as the next person, but he is a student of that period and has such an inordinately large collection of books on the man (including ‘Hitler’s Accountant’) that people have been known to wonder.)

Mishka: an introduction

2006-06-04T14:51:00.000+10:00

Mishka came into our lives in mid-1991 after Tiggs the Venerable shuffled off this mortal coil, but hers was a short and unhappy stay. Mum took me down to the Greensborough Cat Protection Society one day where I had the honour of selecting the new cat. Based on looks alone, Mishka would’ve been an easy choice. Smokey grey with silver paws, she was an absolutely stunning cat. Tragically, her early life must have been a cruel and terrible one, as she appeared to live in a constant state of terror.

We gave her a good home, and tried to undo the damage that had so obviously been done, but she only seemed to get worse. Even inside she was constantly on alert, and when she did venture into the outside world, falling leaves would send her bolting for cover. We eventually took her to a vet who told us she was neurotic and beyond help, so the difficult decision was eventually made.

Unfortunately we didn’t get many photos of Mishka. This one was taken during a rare moment of peace while she sat cleaning herself on my parents’ bed.

This was the more familiar sight, and that manic look in her eyes as she struggled to get out of your arms was sadly all too common.

Cats love Macs

2006-05-28T21:17:00.000+10:00

I love a good convergence of interests, so I was particularly pleased to discover this gem of a Flikr image pool: Cats love Macs.

This one's an easy favourite and, though it's not a cat, this one is also brilliant. Absolute gold. Unfortunately for me, (like the football-loving father whose son only wants to play basketball), my cats' interests always seemed to lie elsewhere. Tanis favoured the bed, Comma the TV, Tiggs preferred a good book, and Mishka was insane, so... hey, I haven't introduced Mishka on the catablog! Whoops. Have to get onto that. In the meantime, enjoy some cats and their Macs. :-)

Good news from the Lab

2006-05-22T22:17:00.000+10:00

Well, if you’ve been worried about what the future might hold if you happened to have your FACE EATEN OFF BY A DOG, I’m pleased to say the news is good! Isabelle Dinoire, the first person to receive a partial face transplant after having her FACE EATEN OFF BY A DOG, is reported to have complete feeling in the new tissue after only five months.

“The scars have considerably healed. The doctors are confident. In addition, I have recovered total feeling,” Isabelle Dinoire told the newspaper Le Journal du Dimanche. During the 15 hours of surgery, a team of doctors replaced a gaping hole from a dog mauling with a partial face that included a new nose, mouth and chin.
“Each day that passes, I think, above all, of the donor and her family whom I cannot thank enough,” the 38-year-old mother of two said. “We must not forget that today, thanks to them, I have become visible again.”

No word yet on the condition of the labrador’s face.

Kitten War

2006-04-14T21:47:00.000+10:00

A friend just drew my attention to Kitten War. A head-to-head battle of cuteness between kittens from all over the world. It's brilliant. I've just submitted Comma (who will surely reign supreme), but he hasn't been approved yet. I think it'll take a day or so.

Victory stats are kept, so I'll get back to you on his progress. Note that I don't need to tell you to go there and vote for him. I know he'll do well whether you do or not. :-)

UPDATE: Comma's current battle stats are Won: 10 (59%), Lost: 6 (35%), Drawn: 1 (6%). I can't even comprehend what those other 7 cats must have looked like! I guess they must have been biased votes from their owners or something? If you're dying to keep track, Comma's individual scorecard can be found here.

Visiting old friends

2006-04-11T14:53:00.000+10:00

Back in February, we decided to pop in and visit ~~Mandrake~~ our old neighbours Adam and Mel. (No offence you two. You know we love you). By happy chance, Drakie was around, so, as we were there, we decided to say hello. And take a couple of photos.

He’s such a beautiful, fluffy and good-natured cat, and although it did sharpen the pain of missing Comma, it was so good to see him enjoying life in his carefree way.

Oh look, what the hell, here's one more.

Zoo Cats

2006-03-31T17:02:00.000+11:00

Kate and her mum, Jo, took me to the Zoo for my birthday the other week. I was pretty excited because I hadn’t been there since I was a wee child, and I’d heard that the Zoo’s only been getting better.

My viewing priorities went a) Big Cats, b) Small Cats, c) sundries (time permitting). My love of cats is certainly not limited to domestic cats, and with the exception of feral cats, I pretty much love all cats, or, ‘members of the family Felidae’, as we people who type “cat family” into Wikipedia call them. They’re such an impressive species; proud and noble, elegant and graceful. I think the domestic cat comes out on top because you can actually engage and interact with them. They’re not just something to look at; they’re creatures that pretty much anyone can form a relationship with. Tigers are easily next on the list, followed by Cheetahs and then Jaguars and Leopards. Lions, I guess, would go next, although I think they’re a bit overrated. With those bouffy, hair-metal manes I think they’re more Kings of the Hairspray, than Kings of the Jungle. Tigers should be the Kings of the Jungle. I wonder who’d win in a ‘Tiger v Lion’ fight? Or ‘Tiger v Robocop’? Or even better, ‘Tiger v Paris Hilton’?! Now that’d be a ‘fight’ to see! After Lions I think I’d have to lump Snow Leopards, Pumas, Lynxes, Servals and Ocelots together because I don’t know too much about them. Except that Servals have enormous ears, Ocelets look stunning, and that Puma and Lynx are both brands I don’t like.

Anyway, Kate and Jo got to the Zoo before me, as I was heading there after work. When I called Kate to say I was almost there, she told me she was at the tiger’s enclosure and he was playing around in the water with a plastic ball. Brilliant; I said I’d be there in five minutes. A lot can happen in five minutes. Actually, a lot can happen in five seconds. This was Kate and Jo’s tiger experience.

And this was mine.

Fat lotta nuthin’. I waited and waited, but no amount of calling out like I was at the back door calling the cat in for dinner was going to draw Ramalon the proud Sumatran tiger out into the open. I eventually gave up and we headed to the Small Cats area, where we got a healthy serve of almost nuthin’. We got to see two Servals up quite close, which was excellent, and they were even talking to each other, but the only other cat out was the Fishing Cat. No Asiatic Golden Cat, no Bobcat, no Leopard Cat and no Ocelot.

Still, encouraged by the Servals, we hurried over the Big Cats and, guess what: more nuthin’. No Puma, no Snow Leopard and no Jaguar. Sorry, I tell a lie: I got to see the Jaguar’s rear end as he disappeared around a corner at the back of his cage. I thought I was on a timing winner as we were there at dusk, and isn’t that when cats are supposed to be most active? Yes, sure, they were actively moving out of sight, but that wasn’t what I was after.

My last hope were the Lions, and they were pretty cool. A couple of them got into a roaring match and I just could not believe how loud they were. It was intense! I went back a little later and found one lion standing up in a tree a short distance from the fence. We got into a staring match. He won. It was unnerving. Felt a bit like trying to stare down Aslan. Oh hey, I forgot about Aslan! I take back what I said before about Lions. Aslan’s magnificent even when he doesn’t sound like James Earl Jones.

So all up, pretty disappointing on the cat front, but we did get to see some other good animals and I did surprise an excitable keeper guy by correctly identifying a Potoroo when asked. I don’t think he was expecting anyone to know, and I didn’t tell him I designed a brochure for the Potoroo conservation scheme in East Gippsland. Sometimes it’s good to just be the King. My reward for getting the question right was being allowed into the enclosure to feed the Potoroo. Pretty cute.

We then stayed around for a picnic dinner and the final ‘Twilight Jazz at the Zoo’ for the summer. The jazz band was pretty good, and their final number was a classic Duke Ellington track that featured a pounding, extended drum solo that was doubly good because I’d only just complained that drum solos never go for long enough! Great way to finish a most enjoyable day.

OS X goes to the dogs

2006-03-25T23:19:00.000+11:00

Do you know those things that you take for granted, but when you stop and think about them you realise that they could have so easily been something else? I can only think of one, actually, but that’s ok because by happy coincidence that’s the only one I want to write about.

Since the introduction of OS X in 2001, Apple has been using cat breeds for each iteration’s pre-release codename. 10.0 was Cheetah, 10.1 Puma, 10.2 Jaguar, 10.3 Panther, 10.4 Tiger, and 10.5 will be Leopard. Apple has also registered Lynx and Cougar as trademarks, so I imagine we’ll see them eventually too. I find no mentions of Lion, but maybe they’re saving that for the final version of System 10: The King of the OS Jungle? Jaguar was the first release to be openly marketed with its codename, and has been the only one so far to use the cat’s coat as a part of its imagery.

So they’re using cats, brilliant, but how easily could it have been something else?! Just because I would have made it cats, doesn’t mean that anyone else would. I’d love to know how the decision was made. Was it the result of extensive polling and months of intensive focus groups, or did some guy in marketing just like cats? Lucky he didn’t like dogs. Not that that’d work though. No matter how you feel about dogs, who’d be able to pitch that successfully? Ok, we’ll start off with 10.0 Bloodhound, move onto 10.1 Pit Bull, followed by 10.2 Doberman, 10.3 Rottweiler and 10.4 German Shepherd-Dingo cross who’s really never done anything like that before and has always been so good around the children...

Alright, alright, let’s be gracious and go with your most popular, non-face eating breeds: Mac OS X 10.0 Collie, 10.1 Corgi, 10.2 Dalmatian, 10.3 Poodle, 10.4 Samoyed, and 10.5 Scottish Terrier from the Chum ads. Well I’m not impressed, although I guess those aren’t actually the equivalents of the majestic big cats, are they? So what would be? Umm… 10.0 Wolf, 10.1 Coyote, 10.2 Dingo, 10.3 Jackal, 10.4 Fox and… I think I’m out! Maybe we’d have to go back to wolves and have 10.5 Grey Wolf, 10.6 Red Wolf, and so on? Doesn’t make much of a difference though really. Doesn’t inspire me or fill me with confidence; just unease and suspicion. It’d possibly be enough to drive me back to Winblows!

Well, for whatever reason, I’m glad Apple went with cats for codenames. They’re better than Windows’ set of ski-resort inspired codenames (um, Longhorn, hello?), and they’re much, much better than dog names. It’s nice to have such an alignment of two of my favourite things.

Woman's Worst Friend?

2006-03-24T22:23:00.002+11:00

The Catablog was started to celebrate what’s good in life, and not to dwell on the bad, but sometimes an issue gets off the leash and I can’t control where it ends up. Below is an extract from an article in The Age from February this year. I had heard about a French woman who’d had the first successful partial face transplant, but I hadn’t been aware of the reason she needed a new face in the first place. Be warned: reader discretion is advised.

Ms Dinoire, who still has difficulty moving or closing her mouth, described how she awoke last May to discover her horrible disfigurement after her Labrador chewed off the lower part of her face. She had been unconscious after taking sleeping pills in what many contend was a suicide attempt.
     “On May 27, after a very disturbing week and with lots of personal worries, I took drugs to forget,” Ms Dinoire said.
     “When I woke up, I tried to light a cigarette and didn’t understand why it wouldn’t stay between my lips. That’s when I saw the pool of blood and the dog.”
     She looked at herself in a mirror and “couldn’t believe what I was seeing, it was too horrible”.
     Her lips were gone, along with her chin and much of her nose, leaving her teeth and part of her lower jawbone exposed.

But maybe this is a happy story? Maybe, like Lassie, the Labrador realised its owner’s dire predicament and is actually responsible for saving her life? That’s what I’ll keep telling myself anyway, because the alternative is just too unpleasant to think about. The dog being a Labrador was the real surprise for me in this story; I mean, there’s a Rottweiler or a Pit Bull eating some toddler’s face off every second day, but I’ve never heard about a good old Labbie doing it, which is what makes me think it must have been trying to help. Either way, I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that the flesh-eating ambitions of my pet of choice begins and ends with the odd native bird, and that my face is way-hey-hey off-limits.

Tanis' mum: an introduction

2006-02-25T15:26:00.000+11:00

An upside to the pain of relocating all your earthly possessions when moving, is the joy of rediscovering an old box of treasures thought long-since lost. In the chaos of moving in, it’s easy to hurriedly jam a box upside down into a locked filing cabinet in a basement with no lights (under some plans and next to a wholly remarkable book), and tell yourself you’ll come back to it later as you hurry off to unload more boxes from the truck.

Strangely enough, just such a thing happened to me. When I was in Templestowe, I had all my favourite photos blu-tacked to my bedroom wall, and when I moved they got taken down and stuck in a small box that disappeared once it reached Richmond. Most annoying was that amongst the photos was a bunch of Tanis with his kitten brothers and sisters, and one prize shot of Tanis’ beautiful mum.

So imagine my joy when unpacking that filing cabinet in the basement with no light and uncovering the precious box. (Incidentally, it was an old Air Jordan shoebox that was valuable in and of itself, so it was double the find. And if you’re at all interested in the Air Jordan shoe, (which is why you’re reading a cat blog), follow that last link and go to the Air Jordan section. It’s incredible, if a little over the top. I still say Jordan Vs are the best.)

But back to topic. I found my old picture of Tanis’ mum, and here it is.

I don't know anything about her really, except that she's a survivor and had the most beautiful emerald eyes I've ever seen. I wish I'd kept in touch with her rescuers. Oh well, her life at least was not as short as it might have been, and if children are the pride of their parents, she couldn't have done better than Tanis.

Frequently still life

2006-02-23T13:15:00.000+11:00

My niece Laura was over the other weekend, and she was practicing her drawing skills and taking requests. I asked for one of Comma, and this was the excellent result. I love it.

And speaking of Laura, here's my favourite photo of her with Tanis, taken quite a few years ago now. It was easy to mistake Tanis for a big, soft pillow.

Let's see ya precious Lassie top this one

2006-02-18T17:46:00.000+11:00

JJ recently sent me the link for this wonderful story.

‘Hero’ cat apparently dials 911 to help owner
Responding to emergency call, police officer finds feline next to phone

COLUMBUS, Ohio - Police aren't sure how else to explain it. But when an officer walked into an apartment Thursday night to answer a 911 call, an orange-and-tan striped cat was lying by a telephone on the living room floor. The cat's owner, Gary Rosheisen, was on the ground near his bed having fallen out of his wheelchair.

Rosheisen said his cat, Tommy, must have hit the right buttons to call 911. "I know it sounds kind of weird," Officer Patrick Daugherty said, unsuccessfully searching for some other explanation.

Rosheisen said he couldn't get up because of pain from osteoporosis and ministrokes that disrupt his balance. He also wasn't wearing his medical-alert necklace and couldn't reach a cord above his pillow that alerts paramedics that he needs help.

Daugherty said police received a 911 call from Rosheisen's apartment, but there was no one on the phone. Police called back to make sure everything was OK, and when no one answered, they decided to check things out.

That's when Daugherty found Tommy next to the phone.

Rosheisen got the cat three years ago to help lower his blood pressure. He tried to train him to call 911, unsure if the training ever stuck. The phone in the living room is always on the floor, and there are 12 small buttons — including a speed dial for 911 right above the button for the speaker phone.

"He's my hero," Rosheisen said.

© 2006 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Comma’s Legacy?

2006-02-17T11:35:00.000+11:00

After Comma came off second best in an altercation with a speeding car in our street, I thought I’d give the council a call. Our street is the sort that seems to attract ~~dickheads~~ hoons, and some cars just absolutely cane along it. I thought I’d get a quick brush-off, but I was quickly put in touch with a traffic research guy who spent some time talking to me about Darebin’s policies and plans.

Apparently our street had already had testing done, and had been found to have low volumes of traffic, but high average speeds. The man said that they weren’t thinking about speed humps at this stage, but possibly other options like chicanes.

Anyway, a week later, I walk outside and there’s this honking great contraption sitting on the nature strip down the road.

I didn’t think it was possible for a council to act that fast! Maybe it was already coming, but I like to think Comma’s helping to make the street a safer place for everyone, especially little kids and little cats. So this thing’s called a SAM, and unfortunately no, it’s not a Surface-to-Air Missile which, while cool, wouldn’t be much good in prosecuting speeding drivers. Unless the drove so fast they took off, which you know, sometimes sounds like it’s going to happen.

No, it was just a radar gun with a display to show you your speed, which, while good, turned out to be pretty useless. People who drive at normal speeds kept driving at normal speeds, and people who speed would only accelerate to see how high a reading they could get! The kids across the street certainly loved it though. They spent hours out there on their pushbikes trying to do the same thing. Which was pretty cute.

We’ll see what develops…

Dreaming of Tanis

2006-02-05T15:46:00.000+11:00

I had a weird dream the other night. I was in some sort of dimly lit operating room with a doctor, in a white coat, (of course). I assume he was a vet. He had Tanis (the Great) there, lying motionless in his arms. The vet said to me that Tanis wasn’t actually dead and that he could revive him! I must have given the go ahead because he then opened Tanis’ mouth and unwound this green string that was looped around his teeth. It was like that string you pull to open a pack of gum. The vet then twisted Tanis’ head sharply and he jerked awake. Next thing I knew I was holding him in my arms. I can still remember the feel of his fur against my skin, and the (considerable) weight of his body in my arms. I could not believe it.

Then I woke up. I could not believe it.

I still miss the big guy, so it’s no surprise to be dreaming about him, but I wonder what the symbolism of the thread is? Hopefully it’s just a sign that I’ve been chewing a lot of gum lately, and not that some tricky hoodoo voodoo shenanigans lie just around the corner…

Eyes Wide Shut

2006-02-05T15:32:00.000+11:00

Here's a sight you didn't see very often: Tanis with his eyes open!

Aah yes, this is more like it.

("At last," says Tanis from amongst the choir invisible. "A post about me! With all the Comma posts of late, I was starting to feel somewhat neglected.") Sorry old Tanis. I'll see what I can do.

Flowerpot cats

2006-01-16T20:38:00.000+11:00

Galadriel, Comma and Mandrake didn’t mind sharing. Mi tazón de fuente del alimento, su tazón de fuente del alimento (or “My food bowl is your food bowl”) was how they lived (and ate). And the sharing didn’t end there. Mi crisol de cerámica de la flor, su crisol de cerámica de la flor (or “My ceramic flower pot is your ceramic flower pot) was another adage they lived by.

Galadriel, ever the responsible parent, (sort of), modelled this behaviour to her offspring by using the flowerless pot on our front porch.

Mandrake caught on first,

but Comma wasn’t far behind.

Coming home or walking out the front door, you could never be sure who'd be on guard in the little ceramic tower.

Unfortunately once the two brothers hit adolescence and their relationship with their Mum went to hell, we didn't see Galadriel using the pot much. Which was a shame. I used to love watching her watch over her two boys when they were young, and when I took the photo below, it seemed like they'd always be a tight little unit. But I guess that's nature's way, and at least Comma and Drake stayed close while they were still together.

Kung Fu Comma

2006-01-15T15:59:00.000+11:00

Over time I’ve collected an assortment of Comma shots where, to me, he looks like he’s pulling off some incredibly acrobatic martial-arts moves. I never saw them in use against any other cats or dogs, (he really was a peace-loving cat), put if he'd ever been caught in a tricky situation, I'm sure he could have taken care of himself.

Here’s the feared Praying Feline;

The unstoppable Spinning Tiger;

The legendary Crouching Double-paw;

And the lethal Flying Cat’s Claw.

Comma’s Funniest Home Videos, Pt. 2

2005-12-31T15:23:00.000+11:00

One day I was reviewing some footage I'd shot of Comma climbing over the fence in our backyard. Comma came into the lounge room to help, and jumped up next to the TV to watch. Just one of those freak moments when a camera was on-hand and everything just fell bang into place.

I’m guessing that Comma wasn't recognising himself, but I think he knows that’s a cat he’s looking at. He’d been next to the TV lots of times and I’d never seen him reach out to touch something like this, so I’m pretty sure he wasn't just responding to movement. I thought that cats worked by scent though, which is why they don’t react to their reflection in a mirror? Talk about a confused cat. No need to upgrade to High-Def Digital TV yet apparently. Just can’t decide if it means he was the sharpest cat on the block or clever as 'a stick in a bucket of pig swill'!

Click here for 'Comma’s Funniest Home Videos, Part 1'.

Comma. October 10, 2004 - December 24, 2005.

2005-12-30T17:04:00.001+11:00

In memory of a cat who was small but important, and who reminded us to pause and to breathe.

Dear friends,

I’m writing to let you know that our little cat, Comma, was struck and killed by a speeding car on Christmas Eve. We don’t know the details; we found him in the gutter opposite our house as we were returning from some last minute Christmas shopping. We are certain, however, that his death was instant.
       We don’t seem to be having a very good run with our cats. Tanis (the Great) suffered a similar fate 17 months ago, and Comma’s first, non-fatal, altercation with a car was only six months ago. After being hit that first time Comma disappeared. We looked high and low and then high again, but he was nowhere to be found. After two days and nights we began to think he must surely be gone.
       But then one night we heard a frail miaow from the front door, and there he was on the porch. He’d hobbled home from wherever he’d been hiding and returned to us with three fractures in his right rear hip, a few cuts and scrapes, and a very bruised sense of pride. He bravely endured six weeks of cage-rest to make a full recovery.
       Three weeks ago we moved from Richmond to Reservoir. We weren’t sure how Comma would adapt to the ‘burbs, but he was right at home in an instant. Experts talk of having a ‘safe room’ for your cat when you move into a new house, a room kept secure for the cat so it isn’t overwhelmed by all the changes going on. Comma had no interest in a safe room. There was no hiding under a bed for him, and he was keen to get out and investigate about half an hour after he’d arrived.
       Despite an initial misadventure on his first trip outside, (exploring too far and getting cornered on a fence top with two slobbering, flea-bitten, dish-mop, yappers hurling themselves at him from either side), Comma was quickly at his ease. He loved the greater room to move, he loved the feeling of grass on his paws, and he loved the many windows with their pools of sunlight that he'd almost never had in his dingy Richmond home.

Comma was buried next to Tanis (the Great) in Templestowe on Christmas Eve.

Comma will be remembered first and foremost as our tough, little miracle-cat, who once fought a car and gave as good as he got. (The driver told us the impact had cracked her bumper bar).
       He will be remembered as possibly the most successful Feline Ambassador of all time. The number of non-cat people that he won over was incredible. From rabid, foaming, dog-lovers to people with hypersensitive cat allergies, he’d line them up and knock ‘em down.
       He will be remembered as the friendliest and most affectionate cat you’d be likely to meet. When we’d come home from work, Comma would get himself underfoot, and let out a steady stream of miaows. With Tanis this meant “Food!”, but with Comma it meant “Affection!” He wouldn’t shut up until you’d given him five minutes of lap time with rubs and pats all over. He even had this way of hugging you, where he’d be on a bed, or couch, or whatever, and he’d stand on his back legs and rest his front legs on your chest.
       He will be remembered as a cat more interested in comfort than dignity. If Comma was a piece of clothing, he’d be a pair of tracksuit pants. He’d sprawl himself out wherever he could, tummy to the sky and legs spread wide. Unlike Tanis, who’d sleep at the foot of our bed, Comma would sleep as close to our heads as we’d allow, and even at times rest his head on the pillow. Seeing a cat sleeping with its head on a pillow is freaky.
       He will be remembered as The West Wing’s First Cat. Who knows how these things start, but at some point Kate and I started taking it in turns to improvise lyrics for a song about Comma to the opening theme of The West Wing. Comma seemed to enjoy them. Well, he never said he didn’t.
       He will be remembered as the cat who would never drink water from his bowl, only from the bath. He then moved on to glasses. Often glasses that unsuspecting visitors would have sitting on the floor. Eventually we gave in, stopped trying to deter him, and replaced his water bowl with a glass. We’ve never seen him drink so much water.
       He will be remembered as the cat that we got a second chance with. After that first time when we really thought we’d lost him for good, any extra time was a bonus. I’ve taken so many photos of him in the last six months, it’s ridiculous. None of them compare a whiskers-worth to the real thing, but they help the memories to stay fresh and vivid.

He will be remembered fondly in too many ways to record here.

Comma, Full stop.

"Wrong glass, sir."

2005-12-08T12:35:00.000+11:00

Sure, we all know the ancient art of Kitten Bonsai is repugnant, cruel and inhumane, but what about when it’s voluntary? Does a cat have a right to body modification? Do we have to respect a cat’s choices? We tried to make Comma see reason, but he just wouldn’t listen. Imagine our horror, coming home and bursting in on our little cat trying to squeeze himself into the required glass vessel! Where did we go wrong?

But fear not. It’s not Kitten Bonsai. Not even voluntary Kitten Bonsai. It’s just Comma and his wacky ways of wetting his tongue. When it comes to drinking, Comma’s always been loco. No matter how fresh the water in his bowl is, he’ll never touch it. You could pour Evian ~~Tap~~ Spring Water in there, and he’d still walk right on by. For a while he’d only drink the water that pooled in the bath after a shower. I had this theory that he must not like the bowl because the sides could touch his sensitive whiskers. He then, however, discovered glasses and plunged in head first, whiskers be damned. So that was that theory down the plug hole. Look at him! It’d be hard to get his whiskers pushed back any flatter to his face! He does usually only go for glasses that are full, or close to full, so he really must have had a lion-sized thirst that day.

We still have no idea what his problem with his bowl is. Maybe it’s the colour? It is a pretty lurid shade of yellow. Oh well, as long as he stays hydrated. Order of the day: keep your glass where you can see it!

(Oh, and just in case you’re unsure and worried, the Kitten Bonsai site is a hoax.)

They'll always have Richmond.

2005-12-05T12:24:00.000+11:00

Well, the big move from Richmond was on Saturday and, as expected, Comma didn't take too well to big people stomping around in their size 12s and moving everything out the door. So he went next door to spend the day hanging out with Drake, Adam and Mel.

Judging by this photo that Adam took with his phone, it was a day spent well, a day greatly enjoyed, which only made us feel all the worse for splitting the two friends up.

This is such a good image with which to capture their last time together. Both cats have this wonderful quirk of liking to stretch out one paw further than the other, and it often seems like a comforting hand. Many's the time that Kate or I have collapsed on the couch after a hard day, and Comma will come over, sit down, and gently stretch out one paw to rest it on a leg, or arm, or whatever. It's like he's saying, "Hey, it's ok. I understand. Tell me about it. I've been there. Tomorrow's another day. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Etc, etc." All in one outstretched paw!

So nice to see it happening again at such an appropriate time. They were there for each other to the very last.

I think they're going to be ok. :-)

Comma's Funniest Home Videos.

2005-11-21T22:40:00.000+11:00

Here's an image that'll make you wince.

If I'd got it on video instead of a still, I might even have sent it in to Australia's Funniest Home Videos. Seems like it'd be right up their alley. I can just imagine the cheesy voiceover...

"So, cats don't always land on their feet!" BOIOINGGGG!

[And cue studio audience hilarity.]

Ouch.

Tanis. October 20th, 1991 - July 29th, 2004.

2005-11-15T23:00:00.000+11:00

In memory of a cat who occupied a large space in our hearts and, indeed, a large space wherever he happened to be.

Dear friends,

It is with great sadness that we are writing to tell you that Tanis was hit by a car yesterday and killed instantly. It was a freak and, obviously, tragic accident in what is our relatively traffic-free street. Tanis was scared by many things - vacuum cleaners, tradesmen, the thought of spending more than 5 consecutive hours awake - and he was especially scared of cars. A more “car-savvy” cat you’d be unlikely to meet.
      After making a successful transition from Templestowe to Richmond, Tanis was King of the Hill with nothing to prove. However, over the past few months a number of the local cats had been invading Tanis’ block of land, wandering around as though THEY owned it, and consequently Tanis was involved, no doubt reluctantly, in numerous scuffles to reassert his control over his territory. Something no dignified 13 year old should be made to do. Certainly not a 13 year old who’d always choose sleeping over fighting.
      We believe that he would have been involved in such an altercation on the other side of our street when Kate came home from work yesterday. He would have heard Kate and, keen to call it a day and flee to safety, he bolted across the street toward her and his intersection with fate. The female driver was very upset at what happened, and we feel most grateful that several of our neighbours were on-hand to help out and take care of what needed to be taken care of.

Tanis will be laid to rest tomorrow at Templestowe in the stamping ground of his youth.

Tanis will be remembered as a cat who (in the recent words of our vet) was “somewhat on the tubby side” and yet who was “remarkably healthy for a 13 year old”. She also observed, (no surprise to us), that he had one of the softest and shiniest coats around.
      He will be remembered as a cranky, old whinger who’d never take no for an answer. Despite our insistence that 5am was NOT breakfast time, he never ceased trying to persuade us otherwise. Tanis loved his food.
      He will be remembered for his remarkable “stomach-shimmy”, the undercarriage wobble-wobble that happened when he ran.
      He will be remembered as wise yet remarkably stupid. When waiting for the door to be opened he would always wait with his nose pressed into the right side of the door, even though it always opened on the left!
      He will be remembered as a cat who overcame considerable obstacles to (somewhat awkwardly) walk along the top of our fence, just like those other younger cats. We’ve rarely been so proud.
      He will be remembered as a most affectionate cat who, if you were at the right height, would barrel in and bash heads with you; on occasion causing some degree of pain, such was the momentum he managed to build up.
      He will be remembered as the cat that no-one upon first meeting him EVER felt too uncomfortable to exclaim about his previously mentioned “tubbiness”.
      He will be remembered as the cat who brought love and warmth (and the occasional clawed swipe) to many, and whose companionship made the first year of our marriage far richer than it would have been without him.

He will be remembered fondly in too many ways to record here.

Comma's collars.

2005-11-15T22:31:00.000+11:00

Comma managed to lose another collar last week. No great loss. Collars are easy to replace… or so I thought! The real loss was his grandfather’s name tag that he’s been wearing in memory of the departed Tanis (the Great). Comma was like a young kiddie on Anzac Day wearing the medals of an old timer long gone. So now Tanis really has slipped beyond the pale, or under the house, or whatever. Comma seems fine with the situation, and happier without the collar. Honestly, you’d think he prefers to not have a close-fitting band of stiff material around his neck with a bell, name tag, and council registration tag all hanging off it. I’m just glad I scanned Tanis' old tag before it went missing in action.

So when Kate was doing some shopping at Coles the other day, she went to the pet aisle to pick up a new collar. Plenty of dog collars, but surprisingly few cat collars, and the few they did have were all awful. The next night we were both at a different Coles, but it was the same situation. The only one that even came close was, at first glance, a nice looking red one, but which happened to be made of faux velvet and studded with diamantes! Not sure if something so regal is in keeping with Comma’s character, but it was the best of a bad bunch, and we couldn’t be bothered going elsewhere, so we bought it. I’m sure pet shops have a wider range, but they’re never open at convenient hours.

Anyway, on closer inspection I discovered the diamantes could be easily removed, but we thought we’d give ‘em a go first. Maybe Comma’d love them? Maybe it’s the change he’s been looking for? He didn’t fight like he usually does when I put it on, so I took that as a good sign, and he seems quite comfortable with it on. Just have to see how he goes in the school yard…

Comma’s Paternal Question Mark.

2005-11-10T20:15:00.000+11:00

The other day as I was hurrying to work, I came across the grey and black cat that we’ve always suspected is Comma’s father. Suspected mostly because Comma has these wispy grey parts to his coat that he didn’t get from his Mum, and this is really the only grey cat we see around. I’ve often seen him from a distance, but this time he was right up close. I stopped to say hi, crouched down, and put my hand out, hoping he’d come over; which he promptly did. Now I’m no expert on cat biology and what traits and characteristics they pass onto their offspring, but I noted four things with interest:

1. He was remarkably friendly, just like Comma;
2. His markings were very similar to Comma’s;
3. His tail was unusually long, just like Comma’s; and
4. That when he miaowed, he sounded just like Comma (who has this distinctive miaow that’s a bit high-pitched and… well, wussy).

Unfortunately I couldn’t get a clear shot of his face as he was moving a lot and it was an overcast morning, so the automatic settings on my camera kept using too long an exposure. I was running late for work, so I didn’t bother fiddling with manual settings, and just contented myself with a few quick snaps. He’d stop now and then, but always with his back to me. I’d get my camera ready, but as soon as he’d turn to face me, he’d barrel over and rub against me and I’d get a blurry shot during his approach. Oh well, I’m sure there’ll be other times.

So is he Comma’s father? Who can say? I’ve got no idea if this cat has been de-sexed, or if it’s even a male, come to think of it, but the signs are there! Further investigation (and possible collection of DNA samples) required…

Galadriel: an introduction.

2005-11-10T20:03:00.000+11:00

Galadriel arrived next door with her owner, Adam, in early 2004, in the days when Tanis still walked the Earth. She was a very sociable and confident cat, who liked to wander wherever she liked to wander. This led her inevitably into Tanis’ territory, and sparks were set to fly. But not really. Tanis, you see, was always more interested in finding a nice patch of sun to sit in than enforcing the borders of his territory, so he played it cool, as though she was only there because he allowed her to be there. He had his neighbourhood reputation to think of.

As time passed they eventually became good porch buddies. We’d often come out to find the two of them sitting there together, quite contentedly watching the world go by, quite happy to be in each other’s space. Tanis would occasionally make a show of trying to get tough with this interloper, but it never escalated past playful.

Galadriel as a name was always a mouthful, so most settled on the simpler, ‘Glady’. When first encountering Galadriel, Shar, our house-mate at the time, thought her name was ‘Gradual’, which seemed a nice Australian-style pronunciation, so that got a bit of use too.

After Tanis’ death and the birth of her three boys, Galadriel’s temperament changed. As is, I believe, the way with cats, the mother rejects her offspring once they reach a certain age, so as to avoid any unpleasant familial mating unpleasantness. She didn’t become hostile towards just her offspring though; the humans she’d previously had contact with were also hissed at and mostly avoided. It even got to the point where she practically packed up and moved across the street! She’d laze in the neighbours’ gardens and sleep on their porches, and only rarely come ‘home’.

On one day, Kate and I happened to go over to one of the houses, for an unrelated reason, and got into conversation with the residents. As we chatted at their door, the topic of Galadriel actually came up and, as if on queue, she suddenly appeared in their hallway from out of a side room. She looked quite at home, and even had this, “That’s enough talking about me,” look to her. The owners seemed a little embarrassed, but said she just wouldn’t leave! I guess at least she was happy.

Mandrake: an introduction.

2005-11-06T11:05:00.000+11:00

Mandrake pretty quickly developed a reputation as a bit of a thicko. Like his two brothers, Comma and Prince, he was very friendly and playful, but certainly wasn’t the sharpest claw on the paw. With his long and thick fur coat he seemed much larger than his brothers, and like a bit of a gentle giant. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if he’d asked you to tell him about the rabbits.

But we don’t see him as dopey anymore. More just carefree. Carefree in the extreme. I guess that like most cats as long as he’s got a full bowl of food, friends to play with and a comfy place to sleep, he’ll be happy. Mandrake though just seems to take an extra degree of pleasure in it. It’s like he’s always got his head in the honey pot; like he’s just got an extra zest for life.

Far from being a thicko, Mandrake seems to have developed a degree of street-smarts that we wish Comma had a tenth of. He spends a lot of time outside and, like a lion, really is king of his domain. He exudes confidence, and a God-given right to be where he chooses to be and to go where he chooses to go. Not uncommon for a cat, of course, but Mandrake takes that natural inclination up to eleven, and even beyond.

Comma: an introduction.

2005-10-23T16:28:00.000+10:00

After Tanis joined the choir invisible, the behaviour of his old porch friend from next door, Galadriel, changed. She became moody and aggressive. We thought she was working through the stages of grief, but it turned out she was actually with child, or rather, with kitten. Unfortunately for us, it was not the work of Tanis. Would've been nice to have some sort of living legacy, some piece of Tanis to live on. But as Tanis had never been able to act upon those special feelings shared between two cats who love each other very much, we knew that the father was another.

In no time at all Galadriel had given birth to three kittens, named Prince, Mandrake and Willow. Adam, Galadriel's owner, found homes for Prince and Willow and decided to keep Mandrake himself. One day Adam and our other neighbour, Mel, came over carrying a little cat. The person who was going to have Willow had just found out that he was not allowed to have pets where he lived, so Willow was looking for a new home. They just popped in to say hi, they said, and certainly in no way brought the kitten along to try and emotionally blackmail us in any way at all, or anything. Certainly not.

Kate was on-board as soon as they asked. I wasn't so sure, but while we were talking little Willow was just sitting in my arms looking around. He was there for about ten minutes. Totally relaxed, totally at ease. I was totally won over.

Though we both liked the name Willow, we changed his name to Comma. You don't get to name things very often, especially after forms of punctuation, and I wasn't about to let this opportunity slide by. Besides, my primary association with 'Willow' was Willow from Buffy and the whole boy with girl's name thing would just get confusing. And Willow was, in my humble opinion, more often than not annoying and I didn't want to be reminded of the Season 3 finale every time I looked at my cat. Although, thinking now, maybe we should have kept Willow and just put 'Evil' in front of it! Evil Willow was never annoying! Oh well, all in the past now.

So in December 2004 Comma left home, and moved in next door. His Mum knew exactly where he'd gone and she'd sit by the back window miaowing and pawing the glass, demanding to see her offspring. At times they'd both be there, and it was like visiting time in some prison drama. They'd actually have their paws up on the window, separated by a few millimetres of unyielding glass, while they miaowed at each other. It was heart-wrenching, and hard not to anthropomorphize the whole thing but for Comma's sake the new territorial boundaries needed to be enforced.

So Comma was in his new home and many adventures lay ahead.

Tanis: an introduction.

2005-10-11T23:08:00.000+10:00

Tanis was born in October 1991. He was found with his family in a hessian bag by a creek. His mother was a pure-breed Chinese White who must have drawn the attention of a wandering tabby. Apparently pure-breeds are no longer pure once they've mated with a non-pure cat, and it's believed that this led to Tanis and his unwanted family being stuck in a sack and dumped.

Fortunately they were found by a lady who took them all in and tried to find them homes. The two boys were tabby with patches of white, and their four sisters were all white with light patches of grey. Tanis was the smartest and most adventurous of his siblings. He was the first to venture out of their box, and the first to use his litter tray. He was the one who came over to see me when I came around to see him.

This was me in my hip-hop dayz. I think I look pretty convincing, except for the calculator watch. I probably should have re-thought that one.

Tanis was confident, lithe and athletic in his youth, and his future was bound to be BIG.

Tigger: an introduction.

2005-10-10T12:43:00.000+10:00

My love of cats began with the friendliest cat in world. He was patient with pawing children, and remarkably hard to strangle to death.

He was called Tigger because, like the Original Tigger (O.T.) of Pooh fame, he liked to jump. And glory, could he jump! I've never seen another cat jump as high.

He wasn't just a set of muscle-bound hind legs though. At the end of a hard day, he liked nothing more than to settle down with a good book. Children's books, sure, but children's books in Dutch, you'll note! "Kangoeroe met jong," it says. Clever.

A Positive Note.

2005-10-10T12:36:00.000+10:00

Well let's get things started on a postive note.

That's nice. TOTALLY prohibited. Not just a little bit; totally. What a very unique sign.