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Monday, 27 April 2009

The first and last time you'll hear me get soppy about cats

Seven degrees at 8am. Squally. Yes, that's right, squally. Like Yarmouth Whitsun 1967. Don't ask.

The Mama cat seems to have done her disappearing act once again, and may well be holed up somewhere having dropped her 2009 litter. Bad timing, what with the sudden drop of temperature, the rain and all.

Carmine's semi-wild cats are an integral part of life in Carmine. Move into a house here, even for a week, and you'll be conned by a cat into thinking she's your friend before the second day dawns. Stay for a couple of years, be consistent with the Brekkies and the Friday fish-heads, and the Mama cat will be shoving her two-monthers in the small of the back towards your door, whispering, "Believe me, there's this big white thing in her house that's warm as toast - go settle your tush on it for the winter - it's better than a baita". Why she never invites herself in as well I'll never know, but I guess her standoffishness is what's made her such a successful breeder.

I like this kind of cat - the kind who come and go. Who were raised not in a house and sold on to a stranger, brainwashed into believing that the world ends at the apartment picture window and that the oft-absent owner is god. No offence. But I like these cats, the ones who grew up in the woods, who come because they want to and stay because there's something about you that they like (even if it's just the Friday fish-heads and Mathilda).

I like a wild rambler. One who disappears one day and reappears, thinner, three months later when given up for dead, when you're done crying over him and the last thing you expect is to be mugged one misty autumn morning by an ecstatic ball of prodigal-returned tabby joy.

I like our daily escort of three or four felines, the younger pair gamboling and skitting in the long grass, snapping at butterflies, pouncing on lizards, and the older two prowling along sedately with their tails held high, bickering all the way down. And I like it when we trudge back up to find them waiting in the undergrowth to meet us and greet us and guide us (or perhaps cadge a lift home).

I like counting the years of our presence here in Carmine by the successive litters of cats. The twin black cats, one now missing an eye, the other recently 'disappeared'. This Mama cat's first son (she was so proud). Her second litter, which was decimated by the marten. She cried for them for a week, and all of Carmine's mothers cried with her... I like telling the litters as someone from another culture might tell a list of ancestors. I'm hoping it will keep my memory intact, like Ezio's, into old age.

And I love to curl up somewhere warm with a half-wild cat cuddled against my belly. To fall asleep to the rhythm of his purrs and wake up with him stroking my face so exquisitely gently you'd think he was a lover.

Does all this make me the Cat Lady of Carmine?






7 comments:

Scintilla @ Bell'Avventura said...

I can relate to this. I like cats and they adopt me. Our corner of Positano used to be full of wild cats. Our garden littered with kittens. Someone is poisoning them. They have all but disappeared.

Désirée said...

This is such lovely post. I feel so honored when a cat likes me, so I can definetly understand why you like the Carmine cats.

♥ Braja said...

Nothing wrong with being a cat lady :) I love cats. And cat ladies...
xx

Bev said...

Just got caught up on your blog from about Easter. Our wisteria is no-where near lovely, the weather has not been co-operative at all. I think it needs something called "sun". I had the pleasure of cat company at the house I stayed at before my trip to Greece. She visited me during the night, settling first on my tummy and then next to my legs. Not all cats are so loving as yours when they want to wake you up, so I guess it was a good thing I had to get up first....I will never know.

Anonymous said...

Someone once said that men are like cats, try to pick them up and they run away, ignore them and they sit purring at your feet. Just saying

ladyfi said...

Yep - you're turning into the cat lady of Carmine! ;-)

karin said...

I started sneezing just reading about the cats, just kidding. I can handle them for a while, but then the eyes water and the sneezing starts. Oh well; glad you enjoy them. Love pictures of kittens!

Monday, 27 April 2009

The first and last time you'll hear me get soppy about cats

Seven degrees at 8am. Squally. Yes, that's right, squally. Like Yarmouth Whitsun 1967. Don't ask.

The Mama cat seems to have done her disappearing act once again, and may well be holed up somewhere having dropped her 2009 litter. Bad timing, what with the sudden drop of temperature, the rain and all.

Carmine's semi-wild cats are an integral part of life in Carmine. Move into a house here, even for a week, and you'll be conned by a cat into thinking she's your friend before the second day dawns. Stay for a couple of years, be consistent with the Brekkies and the Friday fish-heads, and the Mama cat will be shoving her two-monthers in the small of the back towards your door, whispering, "Believe me, there's this big white thing in her house that's warm as toast - go settle your tush on it for the winter - it's better than a baita". Why she never invites herself in as well I'll never know, but I guess her standoffishness is what's made her such a successful breeder.

I like this kind of cat - the kind who come and go. Who were raised not in a house and sold on to a stranger, brainwashed into believing that the world ends at the apartment picture window and that the oft-absent owner is god. No offence. But I like these cats, the ones who grew up in the woods, who come because they want to and stay because there's something about you that they like (even if it's just the Friday fish-heads and Mathilda).

I like a wild rambler. One who disappears one day and reappears, thinner, three months later when given up for dead, when you're done crying over him and the last thing you expect is to be mugged one misty autumn morning by an ecstatic ball of prodigal-returned tabby joy.

I like our daily escort of three or four felines, the younger pair gamboling and skitting in the long grass, snapping at butterflies, pouncing on lizards, and the older two prowling along sedately with their tails held high, bickering all the way down. And I like it when we trudge back up to find them waiting in the undergrowth to meet us and greet us and guide us (or perhaps cadge a lift home).

I like counting the years of our presence here in Carmine by the successive litters of cats. The twin black cats, one now missing an eye, the other recently 'disappeared'. This Mama cat's first son (she was so proud). Her second litter, which was decimated by the marten. She cried for them for a week, and all of Carmine's mothers cried with her... I like telling the litters as someone from another culture might tell a list of ancestors. I'm hoping it will keep my memory intact, like Ezio's, into old age.

And I love to curl up somewhere warm with a half-wild cat cuddled against my belly. To fall asleep to the rhythm of his purrs and wake up with him stroking my face so exquisitely gently you'd think he was a lover.

Does all this make me the Cat Lady of Carmine?






7 comments:

Scintilla @ Bell'Avventura said...

I can relate to this. I like cats and they adopt me. Our corner of Positano used to be full of wild cats. Our garden littered with kittens. Someone is poisoning them. They have all but disappeared.

Désirée said...

This is such lovely post. I feel so honored when a cat likes me, so I can definetly understand why you like the Carmine cats.

♥ Braja said...

Nothing wrong with being a cat lady :) I love cats. And cat ladies...
xx

Bev said...

Just got caught up on your blog from about Easter. Our wisteria is no-where near lovely, the weather has not been co-operative at all. I think it needs something called "sun". I had the pleasure of cat company at the house I stayed at before my trip to Greece. She visited me during the night, settling first on my tummy and then next to my legs. Not all cats are so loving as yours when they want to wake you up, so I guess it was a good thing I had to get up first....I will never know.

Anonymous said...

Someone once said that men are like cats, try to pick them up and they run away, ignore them and they sit purring at your feet. Just saying

ladyfi said...

Yep - you're turning into the cat lady of Carmine! ;-)

karin said...

I started sneezing just reading about the cats, just kidding. I can handle them for a while, but then the eyes water and the sneezing starts. Oh well; glad you enjoy them. Love pictures of kittens!