PURRDAY....

Well, here it is: Scooter's 20th Purrday...

St Clare of Assisi: but wait, what's that at her feet? Is it, can it be... CATS?? YES! Because she is patron saint of cats!

The candles are lit...

In the garden, over their 'patch'. (There are usually 5 candles, but 2 of my candle-holders aren't snow-proof)

Next to Scooter's big 'canvas' photo. He watches over us from the top shelf here. That lovely felt heart was made by Helen, Little Leon's mum. (The candle is a battery one, which flickers, don't worry I'm not planning a fire...)

On the mantelpiece...hard to read here, but on the glass is engraved "Katie, Sam, Wellington, Mama, Figs, Fluffy, Scooter... run free and purr, dear ones."

I love this birthday card, which arrived today from Diane and Woodstock the Bear (their blog is http://blue-startingover.blogspot.co.uk -I can't seem to get that link embedded. Must be a blogger glitch.). It really touched me to get this on the day itself! Thank you, Di!

 A Purrday Cake.... an Angel Cake, as they were- and are- my angels.....

(In case you don't know what Angel Cake is like inside...)

 THANK YOU, everyone who has helped me through this week. All the texts, emails, comments, all the lit candles.

I've had a lump in my throat all day. This morning I just couldn't get up. I stayed put till the afternoon. But I had a lovely dream;

I dreamt that I went home to where I lived as a little girl, and I was a girl again. As I rang the doorbell my dog, Tog, from those times, ran up to greet me. He was up on his hind legs and pawing me and I made a fuss of him.
Once indoors, I don't remember where he went. Then I was all grown up again. I sat on the sofa and Fluffy jumped up to my lap. I made a great fuss of her, and she was purring and stretching and her paws were going in-out-in-out. I scritched round her ears and snozzled her toes and all the silly things she used to love. It seemed to last for ages.
Then, mum came in, and asked who I was talking to. I was surprised, but then I realised that mum couldn't see her. I told mum she was there, but she thought I was just being mad. I took her hand and pulled it over to Fluffy's back. There! She could feel her! So she knelt down next to us and stroked her.
She had tears in her eyes, and said, "Oh, I've waited YEARS to stroke her!"
Then Luvbug came in, and he couldn't see her either. I told them both to close their eyes and trust that she was there, and reach out- they could both feel her there, and both stroked her and talked to her...
I woke up as the three of us were cuddling her.

I have been thinking a lot about Fluffy recently. Whenever I try to talk to Scooter, there she is, in my mind. It's as though she's asked him to tell me she's there too, or to tell me to realise that she is still around as well.

Maybe the dream is a message- close your eyes and reach out because they really are there.

I'm off to finish my post about all my cat now. I've been collecting their photo's together. The scanner is a bit slow so I am doing photo's of photo's. Be back soon....

   Happy Purrday, my sweet ones... thankyou for all the love you shared... I miss being your Mama.... I miss you all....

Thank you, Karla, for this last picture..
"In Heaven you get all your old cats back."

**** ***

Love, tea & cake,  
Helena

Happy Birthday, Scooter and Fluffy! -17 today!!!

Fluffy, enjoying some sunshine last week.

Scooter, adept at finding sunny spots on sofas.

On 23rd March 1993, the little black stray cat that I had been feeding in the snow -and latterly in the kitchen- woke me up meowing from the linen cupboard along the hall. I knew what was happening: a few days before, I had put out some clean blankets on the floor in there for her and showed her the space. She'd climbed in and purred and prodded gratefully. Now she had remembered it, had returned, and was having her litter there.

I telephoned Mum and told her it was D-day. She caught the next train.

Around 10.30 we tiptoed up to the cupboard with a little pen-torch. I had read that it was dangerous to disturb a new kitty-mama. A panicked queen will sometimes kill her new kits. I was nervous, therefore, as I peered round the door to check that she was OK.
"PRRRRRRRRRRRUUUPPPPPPPPPP!" She said!
I counted with the little torch the tiny bundles of fur now latched onto her tummy.... one.... two.... three... THREE! She has three! But Mama-Cat mewed at me and pushed herself up slightly with her front paws. There, under her chin, tucked warmly into her chest fur, was the tiniest, most pathetic little shrimp of a cat ever. Number 4. Well, 3 1/2. Mama had been cuddling her little one especially to keep her warm. I thought it was grey, but it was just that the fur was so fine.... it was Fluffy! Being so small, I originally called her Midge. But as the fur grew out, everyone called her Fluffy and so the name stuck.

Only her brother, Scooter, has survived this long with her. He with FiV, and she the runt of the litter. Well, who'd have thought? It just goes to show, even when the odds are stacked against you, you can get through.

The previous year, 1992, had been a bad one for me. I'd been made redundant three times, losing colleagues as well as jobs, routines and income. I had also split up with someone and was still reeling. The depression was so bad, I could barely move. Then Mama-Cat started to meow up at my window in the snow, 6am every day. I had just enough spirit left in me to get up and help her. That reaching out to help some other life was a tiny first step. Then, after the kittens were born, Mama-cat got me into her own routine around them all. It pulled me up out of the near fugue-state I'd sunk into.

Cat Flu soon broke out through the kits. I took the whole family to the PDSA. They wanted to isolate Mama and treat her in solitary confinement so as not to infect any other cats. But the kittens, they said, well it was kinder to just let them go. Anyway, they said, we don't have the nursing staff to look after them. "That's ok," I said, "I'm not working; I'll do it."
I had a quick lesson in feeding kittens with a syringe, and in wiping their bottom ends to get them to pee and poo (!). To keep them warm I filled a washing-up glove with hot water, and tucked them in, with one finger curled round each of them. As they grew I got a hot-water bottle for them to lie on. I had to feed them and wipe them every two hours, plus give them medicine and wash their eyes to prevent the conjunctivitis getting encrusted. It was hard work round the clock but I did it and the routine and mind-numbing intensity of it got me through my own crisis, too.

Eventually, Mama-Cat was well enough for me to pick up. I'll never forget how pleased she acted when I walked into that back room to get her. I had barely known her, not for very long. But she remembered me. Pathetic to non-animal lovers, I know, but being remembered by her brought a lump to my throat. It made me feel a spark inside that I hadn't felt in ages.

So you see, this is why I love them so much: I saved their lives and they saved mine. And from then on, we have just all pootled along.

When Luvbug and I first got a place together we had to rent a flat on the second floor (or third, to the US!) so we couldn't have the cats. Mum kept them. Once we had a place of our own, I said we could take them. Mum was having none of it. She would miss them too much, she said!

Soon, as mum moves into her new bungalow up the road from us, Scooter and Fluffy will again come to live with me. I hope I can do as much for them in their old age as in their infancy.

We're all getting older. And there's a sadness in that. Limitations make themselves known and endings start to try to come into focus. All we can do is try to be there for each other. All I can do is be thankful for such special experiences.....

Happy Birthday, my little cheesy-toed ones..... and thank you.....