We had our suspicions about her evening toilet outings. If it was raining, Snowy would somehow manage to come back through the Jack-Russell-flap completely dry. We set up watch one stormy night, and discovered her secret.
Rather than going for her toilet trip, Snowy stayed immediately outside the flap under the eaves of the bungalow, so that she didn’t have to go out into the rain and get wet. We could almost see her counting until she’d decided that enough time had passed and it was safe to re-enter. This she did, shaking herself heartily, and the message was ‘no one should send a dog out in that’.
But she hadn’t answered the call of nature. As a result, we would then be woken in the night – not by a bark, but a frail, hammed-up cough that said, ‘If you don’t come soon it’ll be too late.’ We’d find her with two paws on the edge of her basket and her mouth against the crack in the door for full volume. When she finally went to sleep, she was flanked by tennis balls.
LIKES being the centre of attention
DISLIKES any form of rain
FINEST HOUR retrieving lost tennis balls
Philippa Snow
Gizmo, black smoke Persian
THIRTEEN YEARS ago, I lost a much-loved black Persian rescue cat called Amber. I did not plan to get another cat. That is, until I saw Gizmo.
He was twelve months old, a black smoke Persian cat who needed a new home because his owner was allergic to his fur. He stood on his hind legs like a dog to beg for his dinner, and seemed to be quite a character.
I soon found, however, that he disliked travelling in the car. He howled all the way home.
Friends were coming to dinner, and I was worried how Gizmo would react at first. But I needn’t have been concerned. He was very friendly and enjoyed all the attention. He sat in the dining room watching us. All seemed to be going very well until he jumped onto the table, knocking the wine over.
Gizmo is very inquisitive, and stands on his back legs like a meerkat to get a better view of anything going on. He will run to the front door when a visitor arrives to greet them, and then take possession of his favourite chair before they can think of doing so.
The post is another attraction. He will run to the door and stand on his back legs if it is coming through the letterbox, then sit by it until it is removed by a human being.
Gizmo has to be groomed twice a day. This he will tolerate, and roll over onto his back so his tummy can be combed. He refuses to sleep on his cat bed, and likes instead to sleep on my bed. A gentle pat on the face which becomes more persistent means he wants attention. He is now fourteen years old and is mainly a house cat. He still likes to go into the garden in the summer and hide behind the hydrangeas to see if anything interesting might be happening.
LIKES newspapers and being stroked
DISLIKES travelling in a car – probably because he realizes he is going to the vet
FINEST HOUR chasing a squirrel into the kitchen
Pamela Mann, Wallasey
Smokey and Blue, Russian Blues
IINHERITED Smokey and Blue, my four-year-old Russian Blue cats, from a friend. I could not believe my luck to be gifted two felines of such superior quality. They have distinctive plush double coats – silky soft, like the fur of a seal – noble profiles and a slight striping to the tail. Blue wears a blue collar, so that he knows which one he is, but Smokey is happy to model neckwear of any hue. Smokey is the more dominant puss, and perfectly happy as long as he is carried over a shoulder, day and night. Attention-seeking does not begin to describe his behaviour. Blue is aloof; and as the more beautiful of the pair, I feel he is entitled to a slight snootiness.
Smokey has a fondness for ‘human’ food: pizza or toast and Marmite being his favourites. I am not sure what Blue eats – or indeed where, but he does not dine in our house, and yet he is two pounds heavier than his brother. All I can think is that his beauty allows him access to other houses, where he feasts on shoals of fish and pints of fresh cream.
Blue chirrups and trills at incredible volume. It is easy to get them both purring; sometimes an affectionate look is all that is required, and then, like two grey engines, they rumble and vibrate.
The breed is known for its sympathy. They will pat an owner’s face in an attempt to cheer him. But if a visitor calls, the pair of them disappear like sleek grey streaks beneath a loose floorboard, or go crashing out through the cat flap. I have tried to instil some good manners into them, and have explained how rude this behaviour is – but you might as well talk to the cat.
LIKES wailing loudly
DISLIKES cold, wet weather, the bathroom
FINEST HOUR the one and only time they caught a bird. Blue saw a collared dove outside and like a feline Geoff Capes, hurled his full nine-pound weight at my little wooden bird table, deftly breaking it in two
Trish Ellis, London
Harvey, armchair-loving bunny
AMONG HARVEY’S most memorable moments was when someone broke through our computer defences and sent him a letter from Las Vegas, which read: ‘Dear Harvey, would you like to explore a career as a forensic scientist or a law enforcement officer?’ Maybe not the right post for him, as he loves to be centre stage.
He welcomes all visitors, and loves to show off his Geronimo jump from the sofa. He enjoys watching The Simpsons, fringing his favourite armchair cover, pulling off bedsocks and stamping frantically whenever someone peels a banana. He adores his hay bag, cuddles and carrots.
His refusal to recycle his caecotrophs is a bit of a problem, especially first thing in the morning before I put the kitchen light on. Poo on fluffy slippers isn’t the ideal start to the day, but this has always been the trouble with Harvey. After consultation with our specialist vet, the pellets were gradually reduced to a minimum with hay and greens. Digestion has improved.
Harvey is now nine. His teeth are good, he has a fine head of hair – which is more than can be said for his human second in command – and he is as active as ever. We live together in bonded harmony, ruled by this rabbit who, with his every growl, teeth-grinding purr, sock-pull and foot-stamp is undoubtedly wanting to be understood.
LIKES visitors
DISLIKES being outdoors
FINEST HOUR having a book dedicated to him: One Hundred Ways to a Happy Bunny by Celia Haddon
Janet Toseland, Northampton
Tamby, ‘Tamburlaine the Great’, stable cat
TAMBY WAS about eight weeks old when he entered my life in July 1999. My husband came through the door late at night with this little scrap of marmalade in his hand. ‘Could have done without that,’ he said rather grumpily. We lived in the country, and Tamby had parked himself in the middle of a country lane. My husband stopped the car, opened the door to move the kitten out of harm’s way and the next thing he knew it had jumped into the passenger seat.
I opened a small tin of tuna, which Tamby devoured. We had a boxer and a standard poodle and the kitten seemed to be at home with them immediately – he knew he was onto a good thing.
There weren’t many other dwellings in the vicinity, but I went the rounds with a notice asking if anyone had lost a marmalade tabby. After a week, the lady who owned the local stables told me three of the stable kittens had gone missing, of which our little bundle was one: would we like to keep it? The little thing had made himself so much at home that I couldn’t refuse.
The marriage ended, the dogs died and I was left in a flat with Tamby, who has developed a quirkier character as the years have gone by. There is a saying that ‘You own a dog, but a cat owns you.’ That is certainly true.
Last year I decided, after much consideration, that I really did want to have a dog back in my life. After waiting six months for a gorgeous Klee Kai, I arrived home after a trip up North to collect him and set up all the paraphernalia – it’s like having a new baby. As a result, Tamby refused to eat and after two days, left home. What could I do? It was almost a case of ‘droit de seigneur’. The little puppy had to go back to the breeder, and peace was re
stored with Tamby as ‘top dog’.
He has become more proprietorial with the years. I am woken with a gentle tap on the nose, which means he has waited long enough and wants his morning treat. He has commandeered most of the bottom half of my double bed, which means that I have to sleep diagonally across it. I wouldn’t change things for the world, and dread the moment when I haven’t got my wonderful Tamby to share my life.
LIKES the way he dumps himself between me and any male visitor
DISLIKES the new housemate
FINEST HOUR landing with his ‘posterior in the butter’ when he found me
Jan Leeming
PART EIGHT
PET THERAPISTS
Rosie, chocolate Labrador, comforter
NOSY ROSIE, as she is known in our house – for she always has her elegant nose in something – has proved to be more than just a dog. She is friend, confidante, matron, comedienne, personal trainer and child entertainer. I may be accused of donning Rosie-tinted specs, but let me tell you why I believe Rosie deserves her name in print.
We are bonded by the difficult times in our lives. Hers was being abandoned as a puppy and left on the streets as a stray, and mine coping with a husband serving in three wars: Iraq, Afghanistan and Libya. In eight years of marriage, we have spent many months apart, and it is Rosie’s friendship that helps to fill the void of his absence.
When I am upset, she rests her head on my knee to tell me I am not alone. When I anxiously watch the news, she does too, ears pricked to the sounds of gunshots. In 2003, when a Tornado GR4 was shot down by a patriot missile and I didn’t know if it was my husband or not, she never left my side.
She helps out at home, too. If the children fall over and cry, she is the first to get there, licking them better. If I am busy, she plays with them, and you can always count on her to do something silly to make us laugh. If we’re not giving her enough attention, she’ll lie on her back with her tongue hanging out, playing dead until we do. Once I timed her doing this for fifteen minutes until we gave in.
Rosie does her best to look after us. If the doorbell rings, she assumes her position as protector until she is happy that no harm is intended. She is truly our keeper. She holds us together when times are tough, and her constant zest for life helps to carry us through. When my husband finally walks back through the door, she’ll say hello, then allow us time on our own like a thoughtful mother-in-law.
There are many unsung heroes in the strife for peace, and Rosie is one of them.
LIKES exploring, swimming and going to the vet
DISLIKES baths and missing walks
FINEST HOUR all of them
Susie Buchanan, Lincolnshire
Smashie, feline medic
SMASHIE WAS a rescue kitten who was given a home by my wife before she knew me. When I came onto the scene, he was unsure about sharing his home with another man and let me know this on one of the first weekends I stayed. Smashie jumped onto my stomach and walked up to my chest as if coming to be fussed over, but then, quite deliberately, headbutted me and walked off. Having made his point, we then became firm friends.
Some years after we were married, we were woken at four o’clock in the morning by an uneasy sense that all was not well. Smashie was on the bed as usual but, when we switched on the light, we saw blood on the bedspread and one of his front paws badly injured. We think he had been under a car and his paw had been trapped under one of the wheels as the car pulled away from the kerb.
We rushed him to the vet where he underwent emergency surgery and his paw was saved. He came home with a large bandage on his paw, antibiotics and a ‘buster collar’ to stop him getting to the bandage. We saw him repeatedly headbutting the wall so he could reach the bandage, but apart from that he was a marvellous patient. He went to the vet every few days and became a favourite there. He took his antibiotics and stayed indoors.
A few years later, he returned the favour when I was badly injured in a road accident and fractured both legs and an arm. As soon as I was on the sofa, Smashie jumped on my stomach, walked up to my chest and settled down, purring.
It was the best medicine I could have had.
Smashie took an active interest in my rehabilitation. He enjoyed having a bed downstairs, and slept on it day and night. He also shared the sofa with me, and particularly enjoyed the box set of The Sopranos.
LIKES licking butter off breakfast plates
DISLIKES his sleep being disturbed by the hoover
FINEST HOUR his determination in getting to us after his accident, limping to the back door, through the cat flap, up the stairs and onto the bed on three legs, with an injured paw.
Jamie Wallace, Yorkshire
Dexter, Samoyed
DEXTER ARRIVED the day after I had been discharged from hospital following a quadruple heart bypass. I was fifty-five, and a year earlier had undergone two lifesaving operations for cancer.
There I sat, swathed in dressings and struggling to breathe when Dexter made his grand entrance on my daughter’s shoulder, looking rather like a large roll of cotton wool that had mysteriously sprouted legs. He looked over at me, his dark brown almond-shaped eyes twinkled and he smiled his Sammy smile. It was love at first sight.
Dexter was eight weeks old and, as I was off work, I was assigned puppy-sitting duties while my daughter was out. These went from ball-throwing and sedately trotting around the garden with him chasing an old towel, to the short strolls that were necessary for my recovery.
Dexter lives with my daughter in a village on the edge of a nature reserve, with the tidal River Crouch running through it. As the weeks went by our short strolls became longer walks, and he discovered a passion for running through thick mud, swimming in the freezing water and eating the occasional decomposed seagull.
He would start his walk with his thick white coat looking beautiful, returning home happy, tramping mud over the carpets and needing a hose down. He became immediate friends with every dog, cat and human he met, and was quite aggrieved if anyone dared ignore him.
Dexter was twelve weeks old when he first found me in the middle of the night. I awoke to see two huge paws on the bed, with his smiley and delighted face just above the mattress. From that time on he shared the bed whenever I stayed at my daughter’s house, he on the best part near the window, where he could keep a watchful eye on the street, and me squashed into whatever bit of the bed remained.
Two years on, I have made a full recovery thanks to my wonderful family, medical team, employers and a Samoyed called Dexter.
LIKES stealing socks while you are wearing them
DISLIKES not being the centre of attention
FINEST HOUR leaping over a huge garden fence to see his two terrier friends, even though the gate was open
Angela Curtis, Enfield, London
Furry Friend, tabby cat
FURRY FRIEND appeared during the summer of 2005, and over the next few months became an acquaintance rather than a visitor. Somewhat hesitant to start with, his confidence came to the fore when, in early 2006, my partner Richard was diagnosed with cancer. Richard and Furry Friend male-bonded, and during the summer he spent recovering from the effects of chemotherapy, I would return home after work to find the pair of them asleep in the armchair, Furry Friend nestling on Richard’s lap. I didn’t get a look-in. And that is how the pecking order has continued.
After about a year, Furry Friend thought nothing of staying the night. His paw was now well and truly ‘in the door’.
He has the run of our garden during the day, and continues to maintain that aloof manner only cats possess.
Not known for his endearing nature (his background remains a mystery to us), his demonstrative affections are limited to the armpit nuzzle and the headbutting nudge.
The cold winter of 2010 to 2011 saw Furry Friend take up permanent residence. During his first visit with us to a vet for a skin complaint in August this year, we found out he was microchipped. Several weeks and one letter later, we off
icially owned him.
His original name, Moppett, has been replaced by Stripes, but he will always be known as Furry Friend because that’s what he was in Richard’s hour of need.
LIKES roast chicken, the sun on his face and ambushing ankles
DISLIKES Maurice, one of our neighbours, Snowy the hissing cat and tin foil
FINEST HOUR bringing in a decapitated squirrel as a present
Kay West, Birmingham
Dexter, cocker spaniel
ROBBIE THE rabbit had been dead for about two and a half days when our children Richard and Eleanor’s tears turned into pleas: ‘Can we have a dog now?’ We had always used Robbie as an excuse not to go along that path, and the children’s sorrow turned to joy as realization dawned – that hurdle had hopped off to the great hutch in the sky.
Eleanor, then twelve, had been the most vocal. Not a day went by without a promise to walk a dog, to feed him, to clear up after him. Slowly we were worn down and Dexter came into our lives. To be fair, it was love at first sight for all of us. He is the most gorgeous tricolour cocker, who has proved to have the loveliest nature.
His only fault is his greed. He will sniff out a picnic from a mile away, and many a time we were just too slow and a chicken leg or pork pie would disappear from a startled family’s hamper.
Eleanor was as good as her word and walked Dexter and taught him tricks. Despite ‘not being allowed upstairs’, he was often snuggled up on her bed as she pored over homework. If she was in the house, the rest of us didn’t get a look-in.
Charmers and Rogues Page 8