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What we did on our holidays (part three): Cats are achieved
Monday, September 21st, 2015 03:18 pmThe final instalment of my holidays catch-up continues a full week after my first day back in the office. There was a time I’d have had this half posted the evening I got home. Oh well.
Having done the Shropshire and Derbyshire tour as previously described, we returned home on the Sunday and pretty much just put our feet up after we’d unpacked. On the Monday morning, before the King Crimson gig in the evening, we made our way to Wanstead by bus and promptly got lost trying to traverse the Green Man Roundabout underpasses.
We were in the area to visit Goddards’ vets where the cat rescue organisation (which I think is actually their administrator and a FaceBook page), Poorly Paws to meet two one-year old cats, a brother and sister, that needed rehoming. They had only been taken from their original home a few days earlier and were due to be ‘done’ and chipped on Tuesday. We had been sent photos of the pair and they seemed cute enough, but we were worried that at barely 12 months old they might be too young and boisterous for us, but in the event they were relatively subdued on account of being moved from pillar to post over the past few days and being stuck in cat carriers.
Well, Dear Reader, we agreed to take them and be damned. The tom is the larger of the two: a tabby with flecks of white and streaks of black (which I think is probably in reality, exceptionally dark brown); his rather smaller sister is largely black (or, as with his ‘black streaks’, exceptionally dark brown, with the odd sliver of white underneath and a small white patch on her tummy.
Initially, he was the more obviously nervous, but he soon warmed up with a bit of fuss. She remained relatively quiet and stoical through the viewing.
Anyway, we agreed to go back and collect them on the Thursday lunchtime, unless there were any unexpected complications following their operations. This done, we left them in the kitchen with a cat litter and some biscuits and water to allow them time to get used to their surroundings. Initially we were going to keep them there for a week and introduced them to the rest of the house in stages, so as not to freak them out. In the event, though they have been banned from upstairs rooms unless accompanied by one or both of us, they got to run of the living room and stairs within a few hours.
We did experiment with letting them into the bedroom on one night, but they were far too boisterous, so they have been banished to the kitchen every night since, though they get to roam downstairs in the daylight hours. This weekend we introduced them to the conservatory, where they had a couple of hours exploring before coming back to their usual areas. It will be a few more weeks before we allow them into the garden and then only under supervision to begin with. Once we have them feeling secure and are certain they equate out house with home and safety, then we will unlock the cat flap and install batteries that will allow it to read their microchips. Hopefully they will come back in once they are allowed out. We also need to cat proof the most obvious exits to the main road as much possible and encourage them back into the garden space. I think the noise from the road will help; they are quite nervy about loud noise, though they will get used to it.
Ever since we decided to get a cat or cats, the subject of names has vexed us. I had always said the price of a cat was to name it Fenchurch, but that was a wind-up. Although I think it is a fine name for a cat (I was also thinking of Willsden, or Bentley), you do have to meet the cat before you name it. In the end, after some consideration, she is Moneypenny after the Bond movies/books and he is Peploe after the Scottish Colourist. Except that it is more properly in his case, Peploe? with the question mark, after Alexander McCall Smith’s 44 Scotland Street, which is a Furtle Favourite. I won’t spoil you with an explanation. Just read the book.
Having done the Shropshire and Derbyshire tour as previously described, we returned home on the Sunday and pretty much just put our feet up after we’d unpacked. On the Monday morning, before the King Crimson gig in the evening, we made our way to Wanstead by bus and promptly got lost trying to traverse the Green Man Roundabout underpasses.
We were in the area to visit Goddards’ vets where the cat rescue organisation (which I think is actually their administrator and a FaceBook page), Poorly Paws to meet two one-year old cats, a brother and sister, that needed rehoming. They had only been taken from their original home a few days earlier and were due to be ‘done’ and chipped on Tuesday. We had been sent photos of the pair and they seemed cute enough, but we were worried that at barely 12 months old they might be too young and boisterous for us, but in the event they were relatively subdued on account of being moved from pillar to post over the past few days and being stuck in cat carriers.
Well, Dear Reader, we agreed to take them and be damned. The tom is the larger of the two: a tabby with flecks of white and streaks of black (which I think is probably in reality, exceptionally dark brown); his rather smaller sister is largely black (or, as with his ‘black streaks’, exceptionally dark brown, with the odd sliver of white underneath and a small white patch on her tummy.
Initially, he was the more obviously nervous, but he soon warmed up with a bit of fuss. She remained relatively quiet and stoical through the viewing.
Anyway, we agreed to go back and collect them on the Thursday lunchtime, unless there were any unexpected complications following their operations. This done, we left them in the kitchen with a cat litter and some biscuits and water to allow them time to get used to their surroundings. Initially we were going to keep them there for a week and introduced them to the rest of the house in stages, so as not to freak them out. In the event, though they have been banned from upstairs rooms unless accompanied by one or both of us, they got to run of the living room and stairs within a few hours.
We did experiment with letting them into the bedroom on one night, but they were far too boisterous, so they have been banished to the kitchen every night since, though they get to roam downstairs in the daylight hours. This weekend we introduced them to the conservatory, where they had a couple of hours exploring before coming back to their usual areas. It will be a few more weeks before we allow them into the garden and then only under supervision to begin with. Once we have them feeling secure and are certain they equate out house with home and safety, then we will unlock the cat flap and install batteries that will allow it to read their microchips. Hopefully they will come back in once they are allowed out. We also need to cat proof the most obvious exits to the main road as much possible and encourage them back into the garden space. I think the noise from the road will help; they are quite nervy about loud noise, though they will get used to it.
Ever since we decided to get a cat or cats, the subject of names has vexed us. I had always said the price of a cat was to name it Fenchurch, but that was a wind-up. Although I think it is a fine name for a cat (I was also thinking of Willsden, or Bentley), you do have to meet the cat before you name it. In the end, after some consideration, she is Moneypenny after the Bond movies/books and he is Peploe after the Scottish Colourist. Except that it is more properly in his case, Peploe? with the question mark, after Alexander McCall Smith’s 44 Scotland Street, which is a Furtle Favourite. I won’t spoil you with an explanation. Just read the book.