UBC – Day 10.
I do see myself as an animal lover. Of all friendly animals – big and small. My experience with cats is good and bad. Let me explain.
Tinkey and the Train
When I was little we had two cats. Tinkey and Winkey. They were both tabby cats, and I don’t recall which gender they were. In fact, we were so young, I don’t think their gender was ever an issue for us. We loved them. However, we lived on Railway Terrace, and as you can probably guess, it was parallel to the railway line. In those days it was steam trains – regular suburban trains that took us too and from the city and down to the beach.
One morning when we woke and rushed out to see our pets – they were outdoor cats. We were shocked to find Tinkey with his leg severed. We can only guess that he had a mishap on the railway line. Now this would have been back in 1950 or thereabouts. We didn’t have veterinarians around our suburb, and Dad had to kill Tinkey with a spade to the head. Our father was very shattered by this, and he refused me a replacement. I don’t recall what happened to Winkey – he/she lasted a little longer and just disappeared.
Pfer Pussy
Years later when I was married, we had a kitten. Pfer. Pfer pussy. After a few months she contracted a cat flu and died. We never had another cat, but several years later we became owners of, and later breeders of miniature long-haired dachshunds. That’s a raft of stories for another time.
Then I became a house sitter, and my experiences with cats started all over again. Mostly there was no drama. In 2011 I was caring for Jasper. A ginger cat that had had one leg removed. And another cat, whose name I forget. They were funny cats. They “terrorised” me a little by jumping on me from high cupboards etc. Jasper went missing one day. I hunted for days, contacted the RSPCA and councils and letter box dropped, but to no avail. Jasper was never seen again.
Now, there is LuLu
A couple of other cats and I spent time together, but there were no great adventures. Except for LuLu, whose special person died a few years ago. LuLu is around 17 years old and can get quite cranky. If she does, expect blood. She’ll be peaceful one minute and the next, for no apparent reason, she’ll have attacked with teeth and claws. I usually end up with wounds.
LuLu “stressing” on the BBQ.
