Is coffee addictive for cats? Is it safe?

Dear George,
Last time I wrote you (if you recall) my female human tried to match her hair color to my eyes color. It didn’t work very well since she …naturally has blue eyes and having her hair in shades of blue…it wasn’t the best choice. So, this time she did her hair to match my …..hair! Aha! That’s right; her hair is beige with darker/brownish points! She really impressed me! To show my appreciation I start keeping her company while she was having her morning coffee!
Soon enough I was very much interested in WHAT was in her cup and she let me inspect! That’s how we started sharing a cup of coffee in the morning as you can see in the picture! I start drinking her coffee and I can tell she was worried but…I LOVE COFFEE! George, coffee has the same effect on me as catnip has on other cats – see the second picture! The other day I knocked-off the coffee maker trying to get to some coffee. George, I CAN KILL for an ESPRESSO! Do you think I’m coffee addict?
Is this serious? Should I check in a rehab? What do you think? Should I stop?
Tom


Dear Tom
Please retrain your owner! Coffee isn't good for cats. The caffeine in it can make them hyperactive. A very useful article on dangers to cats from human food is available from Sarah Hartwell, an expert veterinarian, on http://www.messybeast.com/bad-foods.htm There's another article about home poisons (without mentioning coffee) on www.fabcats.org
We cats are attracted to milk but even on its own that isn't good for many of us. We get diarrhoea from it. Pusskin, the fat cat who wrote in earlier this year, had a really dirty bottom due not just being too fat to reach it but, we think, probably from being given milk. Milk and fish diets were only given to cats because in the nineteenth century they were cheap. A diet of either on its own is not good for cats. But a century ago most cats went out mousing and supplemented the food given by humans anyway.
We cats are obligate carnivores, meaning that our whole digestive system is geared towards not meat, but the flesh, bone, skin and gut contents in the full carcases of mice, rats, small birds and a few insects such as locusts. (Not many of those here in Oxfordshire, alas, even in a good summer. Just a few tiny grasshoppers. I rather fancy trying the crunch of a locust - like pork crackling without the salt.) Unlike dogs, who are designed to be scavengers and eat decaying meat, or humans who are omnibores designed for meat and veg, we cats are designed for whole mice/birds only. We lack one of the liver enzymes which helps dogs and humans cope with getting rid of difficult substances from the body. We can be poisoned by aspirin, for instance, or other drugs that are safe for humans.
Recreational drugs? Yes, do catnip. Cats enjoy it and (with more sense than humans) are moderate users who know when to stop. So do catnip all you like. But don't do coffee. And stop your human enabling you by offfering it.
Tell her to buy some nice cat milk, specially formulated without the ingredient which causes tummy upsets, and give you some of that at breakfast. Of course, it's nice for humans to share breakfast with a cat. Humans have some sort of need to share, a need that we cats don't have. If she wants to share, she can drink some of the cat milk. Why not?
Love George.
PS. Tell her with purrs rather than claws. Any owner who dyes her hair to match her cat is a gem. And thank her for allowing me to use this letter. It is so helpful to get the message out there.

Why do these apes think we don't feel pain?

Dear George,
I am a very senior lady cat of 19 years young and despite living all these years there is one particular thing (amongst many) about apes that utterly confounds me. Why do so very many apes (including rather too many vets) come out with nonsense statements such as "they don't feel pain like we do" ? All I know is that pain hurts and makes me miserable.
How else can a mammal feel pain? Do apes have sole rights to both the feeling of pain and its alleviation? Where does this crazy ape belief come from? After all, felines and simians are still mammalian and have similar nervous systems.
We cats do show our pain and discomfort albeit with more dignity and less fuss than apes, who can't resist screaming, jabbering and yelling about anything and everything in their strange primate world. I tell my apes when I hurt, I have trained them to be observant, but I really would like to know why so many apes believe that only apes feel pain in a way that deserves attention?
George, where did this insane belief come from?

Kind regards, Angel of Everycat (http://everycat.blogspot.com)

Dear Angel,
Humans are dumb animals - dumb meaning foolish. They are also the most arrogance species in the world. They think they are special and different, forgetting that they are just mammals like us. So because they think this way, they believe we don't feel pain. All living creatures feel pain. As you say, it is just that we deal with pain in a dignified and silent manner, unlike them.
This is particularly important for older cats who may have painful conditions like arthritis. Cats with arthritis may not even limp. The only sign maybe a reluctance to jump on or off the bed. Or just relative immobility in the cat bed. We are so brave and stoic that we suffer without symptoms but a vet has just published a paper suggesting that older cats sometimes need painkillers even though they are not limping. So, hey you human pets reading this, start doing a bit of simple observation and empathy.
You may be interested in the attached illustration of the tree of life. Traditionally, humans show this with humans at the top, on the grounds, they think, that they are top animal. A friend of mine, evolutionary scientist Charles Purrwin, has reorganised this so show the top species. What is it - cats, of course. Purrwin says I can publish this here. You can see the gorilla on the left and a little below, in his proper place well below cats, a sort of stick man - Homo non sapiens.
Yours ever,
George
PS. Lovely green eyes and a very good joke on your subsequent comment, Angel.

How should a cat help in the kitchen?

Dear George,

I have decided that I want to be a chef so I am learning the trade by taking more part in kitchen activity. It's one of the warmest places in the house and, apart from the bare surfaces and floors, it's one of the most enjoyable spaces. There are things to eat that are dropped on the floor, things to eat that are placed on the table and things to eat on the kitchen preparation areas. Some are put there specially for me. Some I find. Any tips on how to improve my kitchen awareness?

Speedy

 

Dear Speedy,

I am glad you are taking part in food preparation. Most cats find this very rewarding. Here are some of the items you can help clean - frying pan (not too fast one this one - it may burn your tongue), human plates when they have "finished" their meal (usually plenty of gravy), board used for cutting meat or fish, supermarket plastic containers empties of prawns (nice liquid), supermarket containers full of prawns placed on kitchen surface before humans empty them.

Humans throw away a lot of food. Keep an eye out for old chicken bones in the trash can (pull it down and scatter contents on the floor), pieces of fish or meat left over before cooking, fat cut off pieces of meat, stuff dropped on the floor below the kitchen table (young humans and old humans scatter these generously), stuff dropped on its way to the oven.

Really talented cat chefs learn how to open cupboards. Somewhere in these is the dry cat food. Better still teach yourself how to pen the fridge. Full of goodies of all description. Also learn how to chew open plastic bags. These are set down after shopping and before putting away and there is sometimes a ten minute window for stealing the food. Chew egg cartons to get at eggs. Pull these down off the kitchen surface to the floor and lick them up.

Before dinner parties, patrol the dining area. Humans often prepare food in advance. You may find the following (if you are lucky) - butter on open dish, cold seafood ready for first course, interesting sauces, cheese put on the sideboard ready for the last course (or second to last if you are a French cat), cream in a jug, gravy in a more open jug.

Get active around the cooker. Help your humans as they stir or check the pans. Peer in intelligently. Leave hair in all empty dishes and pans to convey the message "Speedy Was Here Helping." 

Oh yes, remember that your human may not appreciate your help. Odd, isn't it? Would other cats like to comment or suggest kitchen activities.

More on worms and snakes and pets

I have been thinking further thoughts on worms. I reckognise that some people think worms are only for kittens. I know that Orlando the Cat's black son, Tinkle, used to have a pet worm. He called it Wormintrude and it lived in a matchbox. He said he would have it stuffed when it died. But Tinkle was only a kitten after all and he was probably just going through a worm phase. I went through a worm phase as a kitten too.
But even as an adult, I find them mildly interesting, as you can see from this not-very-good picture. Celia was digging some good cow manure (interesting smells) into the veg garden and several worms protruded. I poked them, then took one and put it in the grass. I poked it some more. It wriggled deep into the grass. I poked again and it wriggled in deeper. Not very dramatic. No squeaking. It didn't smell good to eat like a mouse does.
I don't think a worm would make a very satisfactory pet - and indeed Orlando the Marmalade cat thought the worm would quickly bore Tinkle. (The story, Orlando Keeps a Dog, doesn't say what happened to the worm in its matchbox. Perhaps it died of neglect.) I think I might get bored too easily too. Then Celia would have to look after it and for some reason she doesn't like worms.
She is much more interested in snakes. There are some grass snakes in the garden and occasionally I see one swimming in the pond, but I have never caught one. Some cats do. There's a cat I know in the South West of France regularly catches and brings home adders. Her human pets find the dead snakes lying on the patio and they have promised to send me a photo next time there is a suitable corpse. Naturally they are worried that one day she may get it wrong and die from an adder bite, but so far this hasn't happened.
Maybe I should have a snake as a pet.

I think I'd like a pet - a rabbit, perhaps

I have decided that I need a pet, a companion animal to enrich my life. I know I have two human pets. But they are so large and blundering. In a way humans don't make very good pets for us cats. They are dominating AND stupid. I think it would be nicer to have something smaller and cleverer. I thought about a worm. At one point, when I was only a kitten, I was very interested in worms. They wriggle very nicely and I found that intriguing. I would sit and look at them for hours and once or twice I brought one back home for Celia. She didn't appreciate it much but what human does gratitude when we bring things to them?
I'd like something more ambitious. Celia, whose daily misconduct includes going out instead of staying at home ready to service my needs when I pop in, came home smelling of rabbit yesterday. She had been sitting in the pen with Matilda, a large female rescue rabbit at the Blue Cross in Burford. The aim is to make Matilda more friendly and less feisty. She will get up on Celia's lap but if Celia tries to cuddle her, she is off doing a kind of rebel's lap round the enclosure. She also grunts with dislike if cornered. All in all, not a stupid bunny.
Matilda, I thought to myself, would make a nice companion animal for me. She smells delicious. She is warm and furry and I could snuggle up to her on the bed at night. She would take up less room than Celia on the bed. She is also brighter than Celia. Rabbits (unlike humans) understand scent marking. even if they do smell different. I am told some house rabbits live happily with cats and even intimidate them.
I am badly in need of some rabbit exercise. I haven't caught one for ages and ages. Matilda might fill the gap in my life and I wouldn't just leave her to Celia to look after. I would take a close interest in her every move.
If I got bored with her, I could just eat her.

Is Celia having kittens? She smells of them. Bad, bad, bad.

Celia has been coming home smelling of kittens lately. I took careful sniff the other day and thought she had been handling about four of them. This is bad. Very bad. And her hands smelled not just of kittens but high quality kitten food. (I'd like some of it myself but I normally get adult food, which is not so rich.)
What on earth has she been up to? Fondling alien kittens is not what she is there for. Is she going to bring one home, I wonder. If so I definitely don't want it. I don't want any other cats of any kind at all ever. This is my territory and intruders are not welcome. William agrees with me - for once. He says it would be a second betrayal (what can he mean?) if she brings home a kitten. He hated it last time she did. Only then I realise that he is talking of my arrival in the household in the winter of 2006. Can't he see that this is completely different.
Further daily investigative smelling suggests that the number of kittens is falling, which is encouraging. Today she came home smelling of just one single kitten - Riley. I could tell (scent reveals so much) that he was small, ticked tabby, and quite frightened. Apparently she has been trying to help socialise four feral kittens by sitting in their pen and hand feeding them or playing with them with lengths of string. Riley (he's in the picture) is actually the nicest, but because he isn't as chubby and appealing to look at as the other three he has still not found a home.
I heard her telling Ronnie that after about eight visits, Riley was able to eat from her hand while sitting in her lap. Today she came back and she had been able to pick him up. He had purred loudly and rolled over to have his tummy tickled. She says she almost cried - she was so moved. He'll probaby always be a nervous cat with strangers (unlike me) but he will be wonderful for the human he loves. She promised Ronnie, who is presenting a united front with me and William, that she is not going to bring him home. No more cats are wanted here. Me and William are not dogs. We are not social animals. We don't want a pack of kittens, nor even a single extra one.
Pity the kittens couldn't have been like me. I was socialised by Cats Protection then handled by 24 different people in my first month with Celia - the postman, the man who delivers parcels, the passing farm manager, visitors, Tracy, Paul, Steffi, and many others. As a result I like humans a lot. William who is nervous and standoffish, says that I am like the school tart - I am anybody's. He is jealous, of course.

My ten things a cat dislikes about humans

Here are the ten most irritating things about my humans.
1. They keep wanting my attention when I am busy. Why don't they fit in better with my schedule? They wake me up when I am sleeping or napping. Or pick me up when I am hunting.
2. Celia takes up too much room in my bed. Why can't she sleep on the sofa?
3. She varies her own mealsbut she expects me to eat the same food more or less till the packet is finished.
4. She wants to hug and cuddle me. I don't mind a bit of a cuddle but she would do it all day if she could. She has no restraint. It is cuddle harassment.
5. She won't let me eat from the butter dish.
6. Humans keep vocalising on and on and on and on. They don't understand body language and they are more or less smell blind. Dumb (in the mental sense) creatures. Their hearing isn't up to much. They can't hear mice footfalls like I can.
7. They have things. Possessions. I live light - just me and my four paws, razor sharp claws and teeth, and sleek fur. They fuss about things a lot of the time.
8. They take away the mice I bring into the house and they don't even eat them. What a waste. Celia even screamed at the rat I brought in.
9. They sleep at the wrong time of day - ie night. And they wake all through the day. I like a long midday rest, an early dawn start and a dusk to midnight hunting schedule. But they lure me in before midnight and lock the cat flap.
10.They really don't understand me.... which accounts for much of my blog.
What do you hate about humans?

PS. This is a picture of Cusco - don't you like his tooth!

Death - another human strange reaction.

Celia sat crying at her desk this morning while listening to Cat Lullaby a sad song Fred Moolten wrote when a favorite cat had to be euthanized. A web page with the song is http://bluesandfolk.com/catlullaby-sbnv.htm Something about humans means they can't accept death. Celia put a picture of a rainbow and the words of Rainbow Bridge on her website (www.celiahaddon.co.uk) when my predecessor Fat Mog died.
I don't think about death. I live in the day. I do not worry about the future or the past. Odd that human's can't do this. I suppose it is just part of the way they are spiritually less evolved beings.

She smelled deliciously of rabbit.

This is Celia's friend, Janet. She picked me up when she came to visit. I have got used to humans picking me up. They just can't resist me but it still sometimes makes me want to wriggle away. It's not that I am shy. It's more a question of feline dignity. I don't go round picking up humans so that their legs dangle in the air.
However, something about Janet intrigued me. She smelled of rabbit. It was all over her - a sort of human-rabbit hybrid smell. She would probably have tasted absolutely delicious. I considered having a bit of a nibble at her nose, but then when I eyed up how HUGE she was, decided against it. Giant rabbits I might have a go at. But Janet was a giant human-rabbit hybrid. I might regret it if I started eating her. There is danger in biting off more than you can chew.
Later when she'd gone Celia explained that she smelled of Harvey, her house rabbit who blogs like I do on www.harvey-diaryofaninspirationalbunny.blogspot.com. He lives in the house just like me and William do. Sleeps on the sofa. Watches TV. Uses a litter tray. I would very much like to meet him - he smelled very good on Janet. Tasty. Very tasty indeed. But whether he'd like to meet me is a bit morer doubtful.

How the Pope could help black cats

Bad news in yesterday's newspapers. Black cats are being killed in Italy just because they are black. The Italian Association for the Protection of Animals claims that as many as 60,000 cats like me are slaughtered because of the stupidity and superstition of humans. I know we are discriminated against in Britain - Cats Protection find it more difficult to get homes for black cats like me. But in Italy it is much worse.
In Italy people believe that a black cat brings bad luck if it crosses their path. (Only wish we could sometimes!). And that where there is a black cat, the Devil is present too. Thousands of black cats go missing or are found dead every year because of this ridiculous human belief. Apparently the church itself was involved for centuries with priests ordering massacres like a sort of religious Klu Klux Klan. (And in the seventeenth century British authorities searching out "witches" also demonised their pet cats. Only now Brit humans believe black cats are lucky, thank goodness.) I only wish this Pope, who is meant to love cats, could do something to purge this superstition. Could he not have a word with God (whom I consider may well be a Cat not a Human Person - see earlier blogs.)
Why do humans think it is acceptable to torture and kill an animal because of the colour of its fur? And why black? What is the difference between white and black that black should be demonised in this way? Italian humans even kidnap black cats at Hallowe'en and sacrifice them in cruel ceremonies. Why are humans so very, very cruel? They claim we are cruel but are in denial about their own behaviour.
Help stamp out this discrimination, torture and killing. The Italians are going to hold a Black Cat Day on November 17. Watch this space....
PS. This picture is me inside a drawer. What I enjoy is climbing in, digging a sort of hole in the clothes and having a little nap. Do my bright eyes really look devilish? or just kittenish?

I am dreaming of a beautiful white swan.

This is a huge white feather belonging to a swan. I leaped on it. nibbled it. played with it. Pouncing on it. Dragged it around. It was simply huge. About ten times bigger than a greenfinch tail feather. (I have had a few of those). Three times the size of a black bird. As long as, but much wider than, a pheasant's tail feather. My human pet, Celia, and Lesley, the pet belonging to Opus1 and Opus2 (see past comments) brought it back from a walk for me. (Humans are social animals. I am pleased that Celia has found a friend to play with. It makes her less dependent upon me and William.)
The gigantic feather set me off into a wonderful day dream. I am slinking along the bank of a clear rushing river - gleaming black, huge paws soft and silent as silk, nose drinking in the scent of a summer day, tail twitching very slightly at the tip. The river flags are in full yellow flower. Water lilies bloom where the current is not too fast. Purple loosestrife adorns the bank. And on the river itself is a noble swan. It is the most magnificent creature gleaming white against the water. It sails along serene and magnificent. The image of beauty and calm.
With one bound I leap into the river, landing skillfully upon its back, grabbing it in a killer bite at the back of the neck. Blood gushes. It fights back but I am (in the dream) more powerful than a mere bird, however big. Like a powerful black panther, I hang on despite its struggles. Then its bright black eyes begin to dim dim, its movements become more feeble, and it slowly sinks below the water. A dying swan. With strong sweeps of my paw I paddle to the river side, crushing the loosestrife as I drag this noble prey to the bank. I am the greatest hunter in the world. I wake to the single feather.
Celia says this is a disgusting blog. As I have said before - she doesn't understand me.

Who's the cat addict? Is it love or is it addiction?

Cat hoarders are definitely cat addicts. But what the 'normal" cat carer like Celia. Is she an addict? Ronnie claims she is. He even wrote a book titled One Hundred Ways to Live with a Cat Addict. He claims she is obsessed with me and William and neglects him to care for us. He is particularly upset by the way she often leaves the marital bed half way through the night to come and sleep in my bed in the spare room. (I enjoy the compliment but I wish she wouldn't take up so much room.)
He claims she shows all the threefold signs of addiction - a mental obsession with cats (writing this blog for instance), an emotional attachment which means she hates leaving us for the day (like today when she is going to London), and a physical need to be cuddled by us (William really doesn't like this side of her).
I feel that her reactions are entirely proper and normal. She puts our welfare first as a good human servant should. She defers to us. She shops for the food we prefer. She looks after our simple physical needs. Cleans up the litter tray twice a day (important), grooms us daily (particularly William who is long haired), treats us regularly for fleas, treats us regularly for worms (we are both hunters), and vaccinates us each year. It's the least she should do. These are the duties of a human pet. I consider this nothing but our due.
OK so she thinks of us almost every five minutes. She fusses when I stay out late hunting. She gets anxious if she doesn't know where we are. She wants to cuddle us more than we want to cuddle her. There may be some dependancy in that but so what? Isn't that natural from an inferior species? This isn't and never could be an equal relationship.
It is not cat addiction. It is the proper behaviour between inferior human and superior cat.

Where's the best place to leave this dead mouse?

I have been inspired by Smudge's last comment to tackle the question of where is the best place to leave a dead mouse - in order to delight or horrify our humans. I suggest the following possibilities:
1. At the side of the bed, where the human foot will land on it as a human gets up in the morning.
2. Floating in the lavatory.
3. In a bedroom slipper, concealed so that it will only be discovered when toe meets mouse.
4. Under the human's pillow near the nightdress.
5. On the pillow at night just near the human nose.
6. In the shower
7. In a handbag.
8. In an envelope file on the desk.
9. Inside a filing cabinet.
10. In the toaster. Only one mouse at a time. If you have a human who only toasts one piece of bread this has the possibility of toasted mouse first thing in the morning.
Any more you can think of? The aim is maximum surprise and human emotional reaction. All contributions in comments please.

When did cats domesticate humans?

Humans are anthropocentric in their views about domestication. For years and years they have believed in a myth - that we cats were domesticated by humans. Their general view was that humans went out into the desert, found some wild kittens of Felis silvestris Lybica, brought them home and then brought them up as companion animals about 4000 years ago to become Felis catus. This happened in Ancient Egypt when gods were worshipped in animal form including goddesses like the cat Bastet.
Now those in charge of the cat genome project, headed by Stephen O Brien, chief of the Laboratory of Genomic Diversity at the National Cancer Institute in Bethesda, Maryland, have had to accept that this isn't how it was. It all started much earlier. The scientist discovered five lineages of mitochondrial DNA in modern cats. Because of this variation, the researchers believe domestication occurred a half-dozen times or so in the Middle East.
According to the genome research the five female ancestors of Felis catus were Felis silvestris Lybica, African wild cats, mousing their way across the deserts some 130,000 years ago. So that settles our ancestry. But how did it happen? Five separate sets of adopted kittens? I think not. More likely five adventurous female Felis silvestris Lybica. The discovery of five different events of domestication suggests domestication was the other way round - or so I think. Cats moved into human life of their own accord.
The theory was that cats turned up in human settlements when man first started growing grain. But now we know that early man settled in one place before the advent of grain farming. And the cats moved in on him. Why? Not because grain brings mice but because human garbage (with or without grain) brings rats and mice. Rats are bigger and better prey. And also because humans offer dry shelter for us. Of course rats can be found among wandering human tribes that don't settle in one place. Celia has seen for herself the rats in a Beduin camp. But because we cats have a decent sense of territory (unlike dogs who started following human tribes much earlier) we don't move around much. Tents are dry shelter but they keep being taken down and set up in a new place. So we had to wait till man was civilised enough to settle in one spot.
Then we moved in. It was nothing to do with captured kittens (a ridiculous idea). We moved in and we began to overcome our disgust at Homo sapiens, a species which hitherto we had avoided at all costs. In order to benefit from their garbage rats and mice (and later more mice when they started grain growing) we had to put up with them. And their buildings gave us valuable warmth and shelter, so we moved a bit closer. Or at least those five desert cats did. And their descendants who could put up with the nearness of mankind flourished better than the descendants that simply couldn't bear being around this blundering species.
There's a posh word for it - commensality. We began living side by side, seperate but equal. (Well, not exactly equal. More like separate but essentially different in status, cats above and humans below.) Then we began to tame them so that they started behaving better to us. They threw us the occasional scrap of food as well as understanding our valuable contribution to the grain economy. We worked as natural pesticides and rodent control operatives. Their babies and children grew up near cats and became socialised to them. We also socialised them by sleeping close to them for warmth and amusing them with our antics.
Some cats have even put forward the theory that Homo sapiens (so called) started settling in one place because they looked at our behaviour and imitated it. First they learned about social hunting from dogs, because they followed the wolf packs and, like hyenas, shooed off the wolves and ate their prey. So they imitated their hunting methods, were successful, and some of the wolves started following them instead. But imitating dogs could only help with primitive hunting and social life. They needed more to become modern and civilised.
They saw that territoriality worked for cats and opted to follow in our paw prints. It makes sense to me. Having a proper home den and a hunting range helps with the safe bearing of kittens, whether cat or human. And this is a great deal more likely that nonsense about humans kidnapping kittens and taming them to their requirements. Everybody knows that, as Saki put it, "the cat is only domesticated as far as it suits his own ends." I would merely add humans are the most completely domesticated species on earth. They show much more of the juvenility of domestication than we do. (More on that later perhaps)
Our lineage dates back 130,000 years (beat that, Debretts!) and we domesticated humans.

Boundaries, collars and the famous Mr Lee

Since we got out of gaol, William and I have been checking our boundaries, updating our marks by rubbing our chins against tings, scratching tree trunks, and putting well aimed urine sprays at key points. Boundaries are everything to a cat. With them, we feel safe. Without them, we get very anxious indeed.
Celia is too stupid to know where most of them are. Humans are sense challenged in many ways. They can see but they can't smell anything. All our chin rubs go unnoticed and even our spray marks in the open air aren't strong enough for her. She does notice the scratch marks on the tree trunks. And even though she is visually competant, she loses sight of us very easily. Most of the day she doesn't know where we are. Which is how we like it.
Some humans are crafty. There's a cheeky human who has attached a camera to his cat's collar. Mr Lee is the cat and his privacy has been completely invaded. The camera takes regular photographs showing his every movement - when he sits under the car, his meetings with neighbouring cats, his excursions in the forest, his boundary walks. It's all on www.mr-lee-catcam.de I asked Mr Lee's permission to post his photo on this entry. Here he is. Of course, it's shocking that he allowed his human to photograph his life but it's interesting too.
I wouldn't let Celia put a collar on me. Neither would William. We don't approve of collars ever since we met a thin wounded stray with her paw caught in her collar. And it's a question of pride. Dogs wear collars as sign of their inferiority to humans (if you can believe any species could be inferior to homo sapiens). As cats are superior to humans, a collar would not be appropriate - though I'd quite like to see Celia and Ronnie in one. They'd look sweet.

Intriguing... mmmm.... inside the lavatory

When I first came across the big white water bowl I was a kitten. Naturally I jumped on the edge to investigate, then fell in and had to be pulled out by Celia. After that she kept the lid down. Later, when I was a teenager I jumped in again just to see what happened and jumped out by myself. Something about the big white bowl always intrigues me.
Of course, now I know it is a litter tray rather than a drinking fountain. Humans only put their head in it after a very late night. Most of the time they are well trained to use it for both pee and poo. Strangely, the species uses water instead of sand, though I am told in desert areas they sensibly use sand instead of water. Better for the environment, of course. Humans could, if they chose, turn round, have a good look, sniff and cover it up. In Germany, apparently humans do some of this. They make a deposit on a sort of shelf, turn round, take a good look, and even sniff a bit before pulling the chain. In the UK they tend just to deposit and flush.
It's the flushing bit that intrigues me. You see the deposit disappearing down a hole, propelled by a whoosh of water. Not unlike a mouse disappearing down a hole, only mice don't need water. I can't resist watching it. I'd like to do a bit of research into the earlier part of this procedure but humans get embarassed if you try to see what is going on by putting your head down the loo between their legs. I suppose that's instinct. They choose seclusion (not unlike us) for evacuating their bowels. Probably goes back to the days when they were prey for large felines like lions. I mean when you are defecating you are unable to run away.
I am not a lion or even a black panther. But at heart I am a feline hunter. Maybe Celia and Ronnie have an ancestral fear when I lurk round their litter bowl as they are on it.

Home improvements - a new morning alarm call device

For once, Celia has made a real home improvement for me. Normally I dislike any change whatsoever to my home territory. Thoughtless humans go in for quite unnecessary alterations sometimes involving the intrusion of hunky men with builders' bottoms, dust, grinding and hammering noises, and a radio set loudly to Radio 1. (My musical tastes are classical as you can see from my profile.) This particular home improvement involved only a short visit, a little bit of hammering, but no dust. The intruder hung up blinds in my bedroom, the one I generously allow Celia to share with me. Celia's aim seems to have been to cut out the morning light which conveniently wakes her up in late spring around the time that I think is suitable - somewhere near 6am most mornings. She hopes to drowse in bed for a further hour. Luckily, although the light is now much reduced, the intruder has thoughtfully installed a wake-up device which I easily mastered. It consists of three pieces of rope with a nice little plastic toggle on the end. When the blind is pulled down this hangs down to the windowsill where I can reach it. This morning I woke her without any difficulty at all at 6am by swinging the toggle and smashing it against the windowpane several times.
Neat, eh? More fun that scratching the bed and less trouble than sitting on her face.

Look at this - it's almost as big as I am

This was the day of days, the moment when my life reached the pinnacle of success and triumph. I caught a full grown adult rabbit. My first. It was so huge I couldn't get it through the cat flap - which is why the photograph is poor. Celia was in an inexplicable mood. Instead of welcoming me home as I dragged the dead body right down the farm track, she shuddered and ran indoors. So she would only take the photograph through the door. That's why it is bad quality. She let me down.
Indeed her emotional reaction was really perplexing. On the one hand she called to Ronnie, with a real note of pride, saying "Look what he's caught." Then she said: "That's good news for my vegetable patch." All well and good. Then came a series of remarks suggesting that she had had second thoughts. "At least, it's dead. I just couldn't bear it if I had to dispatch it." Then: "I wish he wouldn't kill everything."
The woman can't decide whether she's proud of me or upset by me. Talk about conflicting emotions. You see she wrote a book called "One Hundred Ways to a Happy Bunny" because she loves rabbits. Ånd she's connected with the Rabbit Welfare Fund. So she is actually as fond of bunnies as I am - only in a rather different way.
It all rather spoiled my triumph. Who'd keep humans as pets. They are so devastatingly irrational.

Shun small girls - except Alice

The homo sapiens young are usually to be avoided. The babies are incredibly backward, compared with kittens. Kittens walk within a few days, babies can't for weeks and weeks. Then a year or so later they start taking an unhealthy interest in cats. Sometimes there are interesting bits of food to be picked off them, but usually there's a lot of dribble, clutching hands and generally inappropriate behaviour. Still later on the small female homo sapiens becomes even more sinister. Small girls always want to cuddle cats. They insist on picking them up all the time. And they commit the unforgivable sins of DRESSING UP cats in baby clothes and trying to put them in dolls' prams.
But there is one small girl I like, because I am rather an exceptional cat. I actually enjoy being picked up and I don't mind a cuddle. So when Alice came to stay last summer, we bonded. She is not like most small girls. She knew cats were different from dolls and she never tried to dress me up or put me in a dolly's pram. She learned how to call me properly, using my proper name in the right sounding call. Then she would pick me up putting her hands carefully under my bottom so that I was supported. I would be cuddled for a bit and carried round the garden by her. Then I'd jump off and do something interesting. She'd call me and, because I am a people cat, I would go for another cuddle.
Admittedly after about two hours, I got bored and disappeared because I had better things to do. William, on the other hand, just made himself scarce from the beginning. He may have social skills with other cats (being brought up in a 70 cat household) but he's no good with small girls. Not even Alice.

I have been stabbed.... cat abuse at the vet's.

I am spitting with indignation, hissing with rage and still shuddering with fear. My beautiful black pads are wet with anxiety. I am NOT happy at all. Humans seem to think they can do anything, anything at all, to us. The only reason why I didn't launch into instant reprisal was that she was much bigger than I am and (shame on her) Celia was on her side. Indeed it was she who put me through this awful ordeal. She has betrayed our friendship.
It started with the cat box. I often sleep in mine and Celia puts little goodies in it for me to discover. So when she threw some nice food into it, I naturally went in without thinking twice. She whisked up the box and put it in the car and drove off. I shrieked with indignation, of course, but she took no notice. Obviously I tried to dig my way out but even when I had crawled under the furry lining, I could not break out.
When the car came to a stop, it became worse. She took me into a room smelling of misery and pain and disinfectant and (of all things) dogs and other strange and intruding cats. I was horrified. A couple of the female humans there looked vaguely familiar from the days when they cuddled me as a kitten. I wasn't in the mood for social niceties so I ignored them both. Besides, they smelled horrible too. There was a lot of human vocalisations and I got taken into a room, rooted out of my cat box, and forced to submit to handling harassment from the human vet. Veterinary surgeon my tail and ears. More like a thug of the worst kind. She stabbed me with a needle inflicting bodily harm on an innocent animal. I HATE this vet woman. I hope she is tortured by a thousand rat bites, smothered by a herd of rabbits, bitten by a very large dog, or just mauled by a big cat, big enough to make her feel as angry and fearful as I do.
And Celia needn't think that a few cat treats will make me feel better. I ate them but she is a Judas of the worst kind.