Eight weeks define my life

 

The most important period of my life was the first eight weeks of my kittenhood. The Jesuits, if they had been interested in cats not humans, would have known this. They said "Give me a child till he is seven years old and I will show you the man."

So give a kitten like me to loving humans until it is eight weeks old, and then you see see the adult cat.

I was lucky. I was given human love in my first eight weeks. So I grew up relaxed and happy around humans. Those weeks defined my future.

If I had been a feral kitten, born into the wild, I would have grown up to be feral. Without any gentle human handling, I would have feared humans probably for the rest of my life. I would have been miserable in a human home. 

Feral kittens can be rehabilitated, if they are rescued early enough, but it takes effort. There are some rehab ideas here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jUcNQYso5XM

Remember, you stupid humans, we need gentle handling from the second week of our lives. You can also read it here.

 

 

 

 

 

Moonlight is my light

Moonlight is my favourite light, when I am in the country. The owls come out to glide silently across the sky or perch in the trees hooting. Deer step gracefully out of the woods to eat in the fields. Small rodents come out of hiding.

And I am at home in this twilight world. I can see clearly where humans are blinded by darkness. I can hear the smallest rustle of a vole in the grass.

Humans may notice a pair of eyes reflecting the moonlight but they cannot fully recognise my outline. This is my world, not theirs.

Even in the town, this kind of light makes me happy. Street lighting has more shadows than moonlight but still creates a kind of twilight. Only the glare of passing traffic headlights ruins the night.

Inside human homes there are bright light bulbs and noise TVs. Here in the street is my world.

 

Recognise my pain

 

Signs of pain - narrowed eyes, tight face, stary ungroomed coat, ears lowered, tense body posture rather than relaxed posture. Difficult to see because of long hair. Attention inwards not outwards. Fewer movements of any kind. His head is lowish.

I'm a cat so I hide my pain. That's what we are programmed to do, to prevent larger predators seeing us as easy prey. We don't wimper or howl. We don't complain.

The only exception is when we might shriek in the middle of an violent attack or accident. 

We suffer silently, uncomplaining and stoic, during illness or pain. So our humans don't recognise that we are suffering until it is really, really bad.

Probably the most obvious sign is lack of appetite. The litter tray may reveal bowel or urine differences. Our humans should take photos for the vet.

Your human can and should do something NOW. Get the free app - https://www.felinegrimacescale.com/phone-app  

It will help them recognise our suffering. 

Builders in my territory....hiss

Don't you hate them.... strange men carrying a hold-all full of tools. Smelling of wood, plaster, metal, and sometimes of the yappy dog that is in their van.

They invade our home, bringing in their horrible scent to ruin the reassuring family scent. They are noisy -  drilling, thumping, banging, and hammering. And, if we're unlucky, they bring a radio with loud rock music.

In the evening when they have gone and we inspect our home territory, we find there is CHANGE.

I hate change. I want my safe family territory to stay the same, just as I want my daily routine to be unaltered.

Builders ruin that. So I hiss at them. I might even need to pee on their toolbox. 

Builders! You have been warned.

Stop feline cultural appropriation!

The name is George. George Online Cat. 

Only it isn't.

This name is cultural appropriation at its most disgusting.

George is NOT my name, but the name given to me by humans, who purrsist in calling us cats by names they, not we, invent. They don't seem to realise how bad mannered it is.

"George" is just a word to me. People are so stupid that when I react to the word, they think it means I "know my name."

Of  course I don't. It's not my name. My identity is bound up with my personal smell, my signature scent. It doesn't need a "blah blah" human utterance.

I react to the name because it predicts stuff like food, strokes, or (occasionally) punishment. 

Yet humans are too thick to react to my real scent identity which I spread on them when I rub against them. They only "recognise" my identity scent when I pee or spray - and then they react very badly indeed. They don't understand that this is my signature identity.

Stop and think, human. You are guilty of feline cultural appropriation when you think you have named me!