Bornite And Bus Cats…

I was drawn to the pretty colours of this crystal at first sight… mmm… shiny… but beneath its glamorous appearance it is a kind and selfless worker for the common purpose. Its many colours reflect its ability to bring love and thought to all beings on Mother Earth.

It assists with both physical and spiritual sight and insight – removing calcified deposits and easing access to psychic abilities and inner knowing – basically giving you the confidence to trust your own judgement.

Bornite’s rainbow colours, sometimes produced by acid treating or formed by a thin layer of copper oxide, are a physical manifestation of its cheerful vibe that helps dispel negative thoughts and also give rise to its alternative name of Peacock Ore. It can reform negative thought patterns and show you how to walk a happy present life avoiding spiritual obstacles.

Bornite’s varied colours all within one crystal means it can work with all the chakras and work to integrate Mind, Body and Spirit. It can help with relieving muscular spasms, cell repair and restoring metabolic balance.

A happy healing stone… unlike cats on a bus. You’ve heard of “Snakes On a Plane” – well, this was “Cats On The Bus.” That time of year again, booster injections for the girls. All four coincide within the space of about three weeks, so I usually take two at a time. I’ve recently changed vets too, cutting a thirty minute taxi ride down to a ten minute bus journey and shaving a few pounds off the whole expedition that can go back into the Kitty Kitty.

My partner and I took the two big girls first, and as befits proper ladies, they travelled beautifully on the bus and behaved politely at the vets. When Alex came back for Easter, I thought he could help. Catching Ting and Tooty and putting them in the carriers went smoothly enough, but as soon as we left the garden, the noise started.

Now, just think about the way you behaved… 

And oh my God… what a noise. Like I had two air raid sirens trapped in a box:

“Wher-AAAHHHHHA YOU TAKING US??? NAO-OOOHHH!!!! WAHHHH! Don’t wanna GO-AAAAHHHH!!!!”

All down the road to the bus stop. Disapproving looks from passers-by. Someone driving past actually slowed down for a better look and sped off disbelievingly as the noise hit their ears.

On the bus, the noise reached a new level:

“WAHHHHHH!!!!! NO-OOAHHHH! WA-OHHHH!!!”

One man asked me:

“Do you have a cat in there?”

Much as I was tempted to reply: “No, it’s a Lesser Spotted What-Not…” I smiled politely and feigned deafness, justifiably so, since the noise Ting and Tooty were making was like nothing with which God ever blessed a cat …

The vets:

“GETOFFF MEEEE!!! OWWWW!!! WAHHHH-OOHHH THAT HURT!!!!”

They set each other off, wailing and howling back and forth to each other, even after the boosters had been administered and I had stuffed them unceremoniously back in the carriers.

Yes, you need hang your heads in shame!

Alex was quite scarlet with embarrassment by the time we reached home, while I had an epic headache. Ting and Tooty went to bed in disgrace and I believe Alex has made plans for the whole of the necessary month next year… !

Tabbies And Tablets…

A follow-up to yesterday’s post…

As any pet owner knows, sometimes you have to give your pet medication in tablet form.

As any pet owner knows, this scenario can play out in a number of ways…

With my girls, it is at least a two-person job, preferably three, the third acting as tablet spotter and retriever after it has been flicked away, coughed out, spat out, dropped by a nervous administrator or accidentally inhaled by the holding assistant. Charlie generally has steroid tablets prescribed to reduce the itch/groom cycle… at least I didn’t have to worry about my son spending too long brushing his hair that time…

You can get all sorts of cunning devices from the vet designed to make the giving of tablets easier… the “crusher”, the “cutter”, the “divider”… They don’t work. Trust me. I have it on good authority (me) that they don’t.

If you are lucky enough to have a pet that falls for the “wrapped in a tasty treat” tablet trick, then I am extremely envious; but be warned: there will come a day when you are rumbled. The pet that has swallowed its medication happily and obligingly wrapped up in cheese or bacon (or pate or ham or tuna or sardines or very expensive wet food) will, one day, take the treat, give every appearance of eating it with their usual compliance and then carefully spit out the tablet.

By all means, crush up the tablet with something delicious … like pilchards. Charlie loves pilchards. I thought I was reasonably safe with those… I carefully combined the tiny tablet crushed to powder with a camouflaging amount of pilchards… then watched, disbelieving, as Charlie ate the pilchards and licked the sauce off every crumb of tablet…

So. The last option is surprise ambush… and generally, if we are lucky, I am the only one that may get nipped if I don’t remove my fingers quickly enough. My son takes Step 1-the enticing of cat onto knee and stroking into purring almost-sleep… The next stage is down to me. I open the tin tablet bottle outside so Charlie’s delicate and supernaturally sensitive ears don’t catch the faintest rattle… I slide back indoors carefully and blend my fingers to the hypnotic stroking…

Oh so carefully, we tilt back the little tabby head and while my son keeps his fingertips under her chin, I place the thumb and forefinger of one hand either side of her tiny jaws and gently ease her mouth open… Then quick as aflash I flick the tablet down her throat, close her mouth and blow in her face.

Six times out of ten, maybe, this will work smoothly and incident-free… the other times descend into a bit of a … kerfuffle. I have found tablets stuffed down the side of the sofa. I have a few scars… both mental and physical…

Really, you wouldn’t think that within 7½ lbs of adorably soft and preciously patterned fur dwells the heart and soul of a fiery tiger warrior princess… all over a tiny tablet!

Cats and Carriers

My little cat Charlie is a constant source of joy, delight and inspiration to me… however, sometimes, I do wish she’d just … co-operate.

She has a tendancy towards over-grooming, just the one particular patch of fur, right above the base of her tail. I’ve been through all the possible causes of this, from food allergies to stress, and although, by and large, the problem is under control and resolved, there are still certain times of year, like the Spring moult, when a trip to the vet becomes necessary.

For Christmas this year, my mother bought me a new cat carrier… it’s beautiful, like something Little Red Riding Hood would use to pop a few treats in for Granny; and what’s more, it’s a top-opener. I read an article on Katzenworld about how this style of carrier is the way forward, and I would definitely agree.

This carrier is sturdy and spacious, the cat has room to turn around and lie down properly in it, the carrying handle is strong, and best of all, you can just pick the cat up and pop them straight in the carrier through the generous sized gap and close the lid. No more of the somewhat “threading a needle with a sausage” scenarios of trying to push an annoyed cat through a tiny door about the size of a postage stamp. Simply – up and in. I don’t know who was more surprised really, me or the cat.

This vet trip I was on my own… my son had a really important day at college… so he claimed… and I actually had to take Charlie and Lily as they were both due for their boosters. I thought to myself:

“Am I mentally and physically strong enough to face a bus journey with two cats; the howling, the stares, the questions – yes. Yes. I can do this.” (I took a taxi.)

Once at the vets, and Lily dealt with, she’s very good at the vets-

“Oh yes, I remember you, weren’t we introduced at the vicar’s tea party last week…”

then it was time to retrieve Madame La Princesse from her luxury basket. I opened the lid and looked in. She looked back at me… I reached in and lifted her out-love the ease of access with these carriers and plonked her on the table for the vet to look at.

“NO! No! You keep your hands off me… you… you…VET!”

Charlie has surprising strength for a little cat and rolls herself up like a furry hedgehog lined with teeth and claws. However, duly examined with her usual tablets prescribed, I picked her up and popped her back in the basket. She turned around and lay down in it, glaring at me with large greeny-golden eyes.

We left the vets, and I paused a moment outside, to consider the pros and cons of the bus journey home. Surely, after such a stress-free vet visit I could – I took a taxi.

I do love this cat carrier though. Years ago, I bought into the foolish idea that a cardboard cat carrier could convincingly contain a cat against its will… Believing this, I attempted to place my large ginger cat into a cardboard carrier to take him to the vet, Ten minutes later, it was all over… for the carrier. Ginger sat in a heap of shredded cardboard, contemptuously picking the last pieces from between his claws and looking at me as if to say “Really?”

I upgraded to the plastic boxes in two halves, with the tiny doors. My old tabby was far too much of a gentleman to try and escape from it, but he did chew through the locking mechanism, just to prove a point.

My current four girls have all done their time in the plastic boxes, and have discovered, that with enough force, they can pop the door off its hinges… stick claws through the gaps and spike the unwary person carrying them… and I am sure that if I inserted a tiny secret camera I would see the contained cat cat jumping up and down inside mosh-pit style…

However. This new cat carrier-by Curver, actually, who also make useful little boxes to put things in, is both comfortable for the cat and practical for the human. (I have carried guinea pigs in buckets and fish in washing up bowls before…)

When I got home and opened the lid for Charlie, she hopped out gracefully and unruffled, rather than elbowing her way through the tiny door like a commuter on a busy train.

Pausing only to glare at me:

“Aha! I know you have tablets for me. You won’t get off so lightly with those…”

she disappeared upstairs…

Ketchup and Catsick… or… Charlie The Vomiting Princess

I am not a confirmed ‘brand’ shopper. To me, it’s quality, rather than name. For example, the toilet roll advertised by adorable puppies will not flush in our toilet. Despite its well – publicised quality, I find it unwieldy and annoying. (I have hay fever at certain times of the year, therefore a plentiful supply of toilet roll on hand, in every room, not just the bathroom, is essential as my hay fever can get… messy.)

My partner prefers branded products, particularly ketchup. It is only by careful label swapping that I have managed to extend his taste range to encompass various supermarket own brands. Really, if you analysed both products, they’re probably exactly the same, just in different packaging.

But not tomato sauce. Not ever. Me, personally, I don’t care. Ketchup, catsup or tomato sauce, I only ever put it on chips anyway. I prefer mayonnaise. To each his own …

Rather like being sick. At this point, I must tell you I am an emetophobic … I have a fear of being sick, myself, and I’m not too fond of cleaning it up either. This fact virtually guarantees that I will be confronted with vomit at some point during the day.

I am always very traumatised when I am sick – one of the vilest sensations in the world, so I go to extraordinary lengths to avoid being sick. Indeed, I envy animals … a couple of back – wrinkling, gut churning retches and they deposit a tidy packet of puke ready for disposal …

“Ughhhhhh, knew I shouldn’t have had that last biscuit…”

It is very easy to tell when Erin, my mother’s dog, is going to be sick. She gets carefully to her feet, eyes bulging, a rumbling beginning beneath her ribs … This necessitates a rush for the back door, as Erin’s rumbles develop into full – blown “Hoick-hoicks”. When outside, she WALKS about still “hoicking” then finally… blessed relief.

My eyes are usually watering in sympathy as I let her back in. She slinks past, rolling her eyes shamefacedly as if to say:

“Well, I’m really sorry, but when you gotta go, you gotta go…”

Cats are a different matter altogether. I’ve never actually seen Tooty be sick.

Ninja Vomitter… Tooty

Lily is:

“Left a little something for you. You might want to think about getting the worming tablets out.”

Ting is horrified. She does a weird, face – contorting thing and her mouth opens wide and –

“OH. MY. GOD. I AM SO SORRY! DID I REALLY DO ALL THAT?”

Then she requires reassurance that it’s all right to be sick, it happens to the best of us, and is quite easily remedied.

Charlie, on the other hand, if such a thing is possible, is a very … dainty vomiter. If she was human, she’d be the sort of girl whose hair would be willingly held out of her face by boys while she puked and they would still want to take her home at the end of the evening. A delicate cough, and then whatever bothered her is gone. Doesn’t matter where she is, if she feels the occasion demands it then she will be sick. Down the back of the sofa. Halfway up the stairs. On one memorable, never-to-be-repeated evening, my partner’s clothes, neatly folded for morning.

There’s absolutely nothing wrong with her. I know because I took her to the vet… (“But this is the third time this week, Miss Murdoch. Sometimes cats DO just vomit…”)

Back at home, she will usually be sick again: “Now look what you made me do…” I comfort my little girl, praise her for being such a tidy puker, make sure she has fresh water and murmur tender words of love and reassurance into her sensitive ears. She has proved her point. It’s my fault…

[I must thank Alex of BrianAndLily for the idea for this post… I don’t quite remember how the conversation started, but I know it was funny!]

Vets and Vaccinations

(Cross cat face!)

It’s that time of year again, that I have carefully budgeted for – booster time for the girls! Now, this requires a certain degree of planning, mainly because my son and I can only manage two at a time on the bus.

That in itself is traumatic enough. You have a pet carrier, you automatically become the focus of attention of the whole bus. Peoples’ eyes lock onto it, trying to fathom what mysterious creature it could possibly contain. A wildebeest? An iguana? No, it’s that mythical animal ‘THE CAT’.

Having endured the bus journey and obvious statements:

“Are you going to the vet?”

“No, the cat’s adding to her frequent traveller credits…” then there is getting the cat out of the carrier. They got wise to the tipping-it-up-slowly method so they slide out like a jelly onto a plate, and now they brace their legs against the sides, necessitating a swift dis-assemble of the carrier. Once out, their behaviour cannot be predicted. My tabby will roll in on herself like a furry armadillo and steadfastly refuses any attempts by our vet to make friends. (She’s a ‘cat person’ and would love to charm my princesses, but they remain indifferent to her “puss, pussing” and chin tickles.) My Siamese buries her head in my arms and won’t look.

“No! No! Don’t look at me! I haven’t had time to do my face!”

(My little Amber tree of good fortune, Amber is a natural analgesic, healer and stress reliever!)

My older black cat grips like glue to anything – the table, my face, my son’s coat – while the younger one metamorphoses into mercury and attempts to pour off the edge of the table…

Having had the requisite injections, then a repeat of the arduous bus journey…

“Ooo, is ‘e poorly then?”

“No, she’s just had her booster…”

“Bad things them boosters, they put the disease inside you.”

By this point, I am crying inside and the cat is calling on her tiger powers, ripping at the carrier and screaming: “Let me out! I know you’re out there! You’ll be sorry…”

Once home, they return to their normal, loving selves: “Oh we’re so glad to be home! We missed you chair, we missed you table, we missed you carpet…” as they rub their chins ecstatically against the furniture.

My son is due for his booster. He asked me doubtfully what they put in vaccines. Unable to offer a reply, he searched it on the Internet. He wasn’t happy… He refused to go in the carrier, I had to tempt him in with a chocolate biscuit, he shouted all the way on the bus, then when we were at the doctor’s, he bit the nurse… 

(Apophylite cluster – can also help with the relief of stress, tension and anxiety…)

All photos were taken by my son!