Love Catz - Part 2

Push Cat preparing to dance

Push-Cat

Push-cat was bought because we felt that Loki needed a friend.  It was a weird day, when we went to pick the kitten that was going to be Loki's new pal.  Mum said, "We mustn't get another male" and I agreed.  The woman that was giving away the kitten, let us into her house and she went to fetch the kittens to show us.  The thing we noticed about Push, was that he sooner play with us, he came across fearlessly and stuck his head in Mum's shopping bag.  I was immediately taken by this scrap of fluff.  Mum pointed out that we're "not having another male" and poor Push was picked up, and his private area was looked at. (OK with all these "He"'s  you can guess the result, and yes) Mum pronounced we'd got a really nice female.

We took the "Female" home and Loki hated it.  He'd torment this poor kitten but we were determined to make sure that Loki knew he was the "Alpha" male, so he'd get fed first.  Slowly, ever so slowly, Loki came round, until one fateful day, Push got out.  We were in despair.  I printed out at least 200 flyers and wandered the streets looking.  We knock on doors and it looked hopeless. Then, 48 hours later, Push came home.  He was dragging his back leg, and I could see that it had been torn open and I could see bone.

We rushed him to the local vet and he told us that it looked like someone had slammed his leg in a door.  He advised us that he could either remove the leg, or it would be a long and drawn out job, involving tablets and coming in 3 times a week, to dress his leg.  This would be very expensive.  We honestly couldn't afford either but the vet took pity on us, and told us to take Push to the PDSA.

The PDSA is a charity organisation who looks after sick animals in the UK.  We went and because I'm partially deaf, Push got a new name.  The nurse came out and called out a name.  I was listening intently but missed it, I also missed it the second time, but then, when she called out a third time, I picked it up and so, Push Cat Smith was born.  I loved that cat, I held him down, so that they could look at the leg and treat it.  The nurse had her hand inside his leg, and was wiping the dirt out and all Push did was lick my hand.

We went 3 times a week and the nurse dressed and cleaned the wound, I got licked and we came home, (after I'd gave hime the biggest hug and told him, "Your a brave boy").  This carried on for 4 months and in that time it was a struggle to get the tablets down him.  It was awful, he'd hobble away and hide under the beds.  It got to the last week and the Vet told me it was still "touch or go to whether we could save his leg".  It was going to go to the wire.

The final week, was so tense.  We managed to get his tablets down him, but on that week's second visit, I was told, "It's looking like he's going to lose his leg".  I was quite upset for him and on the Friday, I was really upset, when I took him there for the last time.  I'd been told that I'd be able to pick him up on that day, so I decided that I'd spend a few hours round Nottingham.  I'd phone Mum up for updates, but there were none.  Then there was one, and I couldn't contain my joy.  They'd unwrapped the dressing and there was enough muscle and skin to save his leg.  Mum said "While you're doing that, then you might as well, chop his bollocks off as well, as it'll save an extra visit" (Ever practical my Mum).

He grew older with me and developed his own little quirks.  I'd come in from shopping to find him at the top of the stairs.  He'd raise his front paw, and splay the claws.  It was just like he was giving me a high five.  I'd return the gesture, and he'd go into the kitchen.  He used to wait for me at the top of the street and after a small fuss, he'd shadow me, all the way home.  I'd be on the pavement, he'd be running from front yard to front yard on my left.  I always felt that he was looking out for me.

Meal times were fun, as he'd spin and go up on his back paws.  He'd then, like a prima ballerina, spin, with his front paws raised in the air.  I loved him for it.  I still miss him.

Tomorrow

Selly Kitten

But IS it Art?

I know I'm 58, but I've fallen in love with a comic tale.  It's called " The Abominable Charles Christopher" and it's just wonderful.  Each week, we get a continuation of the storyline.  Sometimes, the author strays but even when straying, the story's still great.  It has Humour

http://abominable.cc/post/62957390299/misty-mountain-hop

You can relate to it - Me last Thursday

http://abominable.cc/post/44164796353/episode-one


Going out with Eddie

http://abominable.cc/post/44165398301/henpecked
http://abominable.cc/post/44165972855/afterparty
http://abominable.cc/post/44167034774/cure-for-a-hangover

Drama

http://abominable.cc/post/44165634538/out-of-the-jaws-of-death
http://abominable.cc/post/44165821251/to-protect-and-serve
http://abominable.cc/post/44165909166/safe-and-sound

Psychiatry

http://abominable.cc/post/44167899342/a-little-shrink


AND Finally My favourite travel companion.

http://abominable.cc/post/44167237887/travelling-companion
http://abominable.cc/post/44167467957/footprints-in-the-snow
http://abominable.cc/post/44167658670/christmas-break
http://abominable.cc/post/44168047853/scaling-the-summit
http://abominable.cc/post/44168101873/i-am-the-wind
http://abominable.cc/post/44169618028/whats-in-a-name


Anyway, Off to bed

Night or Morning

Love Catz - with apologies to "The Cure"

Well this is a right "Tata", I've been asked "Where's the new post?" and here it is.  I know what Suzy goes through now, trying to find an idea for a new post.  I think the easiest way, is to look to the past for inspiration.  This means, because of the title, it's going to be (and sorry to Lollipop, Piper and Corky) "Cats of my past". So, let us begin...

TC

We had TC as a kitten and he was very affectionate.  I remember him bossing the other kittens around, when we got him and so, he got his name, TC (Top Cat) and he grew up quite nicely, unto my sister and her kids moved in with us.  I'm not blaming the kids in any way, or form but, like the child that tries to run down pigeons in the park,they got enjoyment chasing TC around.  I think he was slightly deranged to begin with, but this pushed him over the edge.  It became, Vietnam in this flat, with the kids being, U.S.A. and TC as the Vietcong.  He'd snipe at them from under beds.  They'd walk into rooms in their bare feet and he'd swipe out with his claws open and draw blood, and then disappear.  He became a scary cat.  What happen, or I believe what happened, my brother took him to a farm, and the farmer told him the kill ratio of the rats in the area went up, and it was all because of T(VC)C

Flash 

I can't remember too much about Flash, apart from his skill to run up and down curtains and the speed he traveled around the flat.  (Hence his name) I believe he was Mum's cat.

Half-Pint

She was Mum's and they loved each other.  It was funny as when she was born, she was the runt of the litter.  She could, (and Mum tried this) fit into a half-pint mug, hence the name.  She'd notice me in her own good time but Mum got all the love.  There was a time when we had a flea infestation.  We would get the flea powder and scatter in around.  Then we'd put flea medicine on the cat.  It was in ampule form and you had to squeeze it on the nape of the neck.  Half-Pint would only allow Mum to do it.

The fun thing, for her and Mum, was killing any left over fleas.  She'd lie on Mum's lap, and Mum would part her fur, grab the flea and squeeze it between her thumb and forefinger's nails.  There would be an exclamation of delight from Mum , "Got you, you little bugger!!!" and all you got from Half-pint was a steady increase in her purr. 

Loki

Loki was my cat.  He was one of those cats that was a real joy to own (I say own, but I don't think you own a cat...  It basically lives with you and plots world conquest, one human at a time. )  Loki, would sleep on my bed, and in the morning, he'd gently, ever so gently, pad to the head of the bed.  He'd then lick my nose, really gently.  I'd awake, and I'd get a head butt and then he'd wait till I crawled out of bed and then he'd go to the bottom of the stairs to be let out. Thirty minutes later, I'd open the door, and there he'd be.  He'd wait at the top of the stairs and then, casually go into the kitchen for his breakfast.  While waiting for his breakfast, he'd make casual conversation.  A few "meows and meeps" and it seemed to me he was giving me, the update of the neighbourhood.

OK That's PART 1

Sisters, Sisters... War... What is it good for...

OK, This is going to be mainly about my sister, Mary, (Who I love a lot...).  We were never real friends until she left to get married.  I guess that it was absence making the "heart go fonder (nearly typed "Fonda" there).  Before she left I was just my brother's minion.  We'd torture her and she'd torture me.  This sounds a little warped, and I guess it is BUT thinking back, it was funny.  There was a time, when we thought about taking her favourite doll, and cover it with ink spots.  I'd then go to her and say, "You doll's developed the worse case of Small pox ever seen".  She looked at me, seething a slowly walked away.

When I came home, she rushed up to me, feigning despair.  "Kenny, Kenny, Come quick, there's been an accident".  I rushed up the stairs into my bedroom and she followed.  I opened my door, and lying on my bed, was my "Action Man" (Similar to a "GI Joe") his legs were separated from the body, arms twisted into an impossible position... From behind me, I could hear her voice. "A road traffic accident" she snickered...

There were various attacks of attrition through my childhood...  but I learnt that siding with my brother wasn't a good idea...  as when the prank was over, I was easy prey for my sister.  The only effective way, I could deal with it, was to be the best whiny brat, that I knew I could be.  I behaved myself and listened.  When ever she was going to the cinema, I'd whine, I'd moan (only after making sure than Mum was in the general area).  This would get a result, 90% of the time...  She'd drag me of to the local flea pit, to see whatever movies, her friends and her were going to see.

I was quite happy, I knew that I'd see a film and she'd make sure there was limited contact...  Which suited her well.  She'd drag me down the front, place me in a chair with popcorn and a drink, and then threaten me with evisceration, if "I bothered her".  It wasn't something that came to mind, when I was watching a movie...   Though having a giant white whale leaping toward you, does tend to scare the crap out of you..  Everything changed when my brother got married...

There was one time when she sent me to bed, I think mum and dad had gone out, and she'd snuck her boyfriend in.  They were getting comfy on the settee, the lights were down and I was fuming.  I wandered around the upstairs.  I knew my options were limited.  I then found a skin mag of my brother's.  I looked through and found the centre page pin-up.  I walked down the stairs, hands behind my back, butter wouldn't have melted in my mouth. They stopped what they were doing and looked at me...  "What do you want, Brat?" she asked.  "I looked her in the eyes and making sure the boyfriend was looking, like a great magician, I produced the skin mag..  ..."THIS is what my Sister looks like in the nuddy..." I announced, allowing the middle page pin-up photo spread to fall open.  Well, you could have read a book, from the light off her red rosy cheeks.  I knew I was going to die, but it was worth it.

On school holidays, because both our parents worked, we weren't allowed home.  We had to go with mum to her works.  She worked as a cook at Trent College and we had to sit quietly, until she'd finished her job and we could come home.  The advantage of mum's job was that after everybody had been served, the cooking staff were allowed to take home the giant industrial sized bottles of custard, or chocolate sauce, or gravy.... (Which mysteriously had slices of beef in).  I was an avid reader at the time, and I must have been reading "The Hobbit".  My Sister noticed this, and asked me, "what it's about?".  I told her, "It's about Halflings, Dwarves, Elves and stuff", and she then asked me if I was into "Elves". I said "they were OK", and  she told me that she had a trick to make me look like an elf.  This intrigued me and we went out into the corridor.  She then spun me around, reached for the top of my left ear and squeezed it together into a point.  I squealed  but she told me to stop being a "cry baby" and let go.  She told me to look in the refection of the window, and sure enough...  my ear was pointed...  She then said, "Lets do the other one..." "Sod that for a bunch of soldiers", I thought, and rushed back into the kitchen.  (To this day, I'm half elf/half human.. (OK not checked recently but it was still there in my twenties... LOL)).

Things changed when she left home, she got married, and had 3 wonderful kids.  I grew up and started work and on occasion, I would visit her.  We'd chat, and generally have a good time.  We'd hug, like proper brothers and sisters.  There was the occasional mishap, but none carried the malevolence of our childhood.  She once asked me to cut her hair. " I want it, layered", she asked.  I looked at her slightly confused and she said "Shaped like steps... you know".  She then made the zigzag motion of stairs.  This confused me even more but I now loved her and was willing to make an effort.  I kept getting "How's it going?" from her, and I told her "shush, I'm concentrating" and thought it was a bizarre request but I'd done a cracking job.  From the left side, it was shoulder length, then it went up a step, then again up a step, until it reached the right and it was a bob.  When she saw, she called me all the names under the sun, but she had to admit it was "nicely stepped".

We got on really well and after a brief spell living with mum and me she moved to Blackpool, (where she lives now)  She's gone through hell, health wise, and her courage and strength is an inspiration to me.  I could put down all her health problems but she just takes one day at a time... She and I get on, and I love her so much.  I wrote this post so that you'd all get to know her.  (Well 3 off you would... LOL)

Half A Story That I wrote... a la Ernie Wise

I woke up in the bathroom and instead of waking up in a heap on the floor, I was standing in front of the sink. I swilled my face, dried and looked in the mirror. I need to shave and so went about my normal routine but it was after I applied my aftershave, I saw her. Superimposed over my face, was a woman, young, flowing hair, pretty and the mouth opened and I heard, “My name is Izzy Thorogood and I died a witch”. It was then I passed out.

No one knew how the society had been created but it was rumoured to be centuries old. I came into it indirectly after what could be described as a serious mental breakdown. I believed I was possessed by the spirit of a dead witch. I was quite surprised to find out that, in reality, it was a past life bleeding through into my reality.

I supposed the society could be compared to Christian scientists, in the sense that it was almost an monastic order and ruled virtually by a mixture of science and religion. It was broken up into various orders and each order took a various science. I was placed in an obscure branch of the sciences, when during a therapy session, I mentioned that the room that “we” were in looked better as a library. While this was taken as my neurosis “kicking” in, it was the mention of the priest hole that sold me into the hands of the society. There was knowledge of the priest hole, but it's location remain a mystery until my voice popped up and mentioned that she had used it several times.

Was placed into the care of father Edward Carmedy, an Oxford educated scientist stroke priest who told me how rare my condition was. He further explained that if I wanted, he could exorcise Izzy from my head but that it could just mean that another relative would take her place, and they may be an even blacker branch of my family tree. The secret was to co-opt Izzy to work with me and she'd work like a gatekeeper. She could be trained as she seemed quite “progressive”. The number of “Pre-sights” that had gone insane after being yanked from their time to now numbered in the hundreds. Some of the world's greatest serial killers were possessed by “pre-sights”. They were normal people driven to kill by insane “Pre-sights” unable to cope with the real world.

I for one believed that past life regression was a load of bunk but after being institutionalised for several years. I was assigned to a new therapy. This therapy had been designed by the society. It consisted of a darkened room and a administered drug. This is where I met Elizabeth Thorogood, my witch and the person who possessed me. OF course, I didn’t know who she was there until later. I found that I was one of the rare individuals that could read my genetic material. I could communicate with my ancestors. Even rarer, they could see through me and they showed me things hidden to the ordinary.

The society's building seemed to be as old as them and for some reason, the ghosting effect didn't occur in the building. Father Edward said that this was because I was channelling Izzy's world and this was an area that Izzy hadn't visited. They really needed to talk to her to find out the areas that she been. The reason behind this, apart from my health, they could use Izzy's knowledge to fill in the history of the period. He explained that while historians knew quite a bit about her time period. All the information came from the educated. She was a new source of knowledge. This was the reason behind the past life regression sessions. I was rather disturbed that I  had a vague recollection of a number of these sessions. Father Edward explain that this was because my body needed time to adapt to the drug used.

Part two - Pre-training

You're probably wondering what all that had to do with dying??? and to be honest, it has nothing to do with dying, I'm just building up to it... I might not go there, as there's a stigma about talking about dying. We don't want to be reminded that we can die. The next thing tale is a little bit morbid but I still see the funny side to it.

I was on a ward and I'd gone with the same routine, admitting a patient. My mentor, a male nurse, was shit hot on things and I'd got quite a bit of praise, in my communication skills. As we walked away from the patient, I asked him "what should do now". He told me to return to the patient and "ask her if she needs anything". I went back and she told me she'd forgotten her "nightie".

I went to ask a nurse were the spare nighties were kept, and she told me "at the end of the ward, 3rd cupboard down", so off I went. I got to the end of the ward and there was 6 cupboards (3X3). I counted three cupboards down and sure enough, there was the frilly nighties. I did a guesstimate (I honestly don't believe that's a word) and took the lady two night gowns. She was thrilled by the nighty and after I returned the nighty it was time for me to go home.

I came onto the ward the next day, and my mentor burst into laughter. After checking there was no breakfast stuck to my face, I asked "what was funny?" and he told me that "the whole staff would like me to return to the ward, if and when I qualify", because they'd never had such a laugh. Even one of the surgeons thought it was funny. It seems that the night gown I'd bought up was something they'd dress a body in when the took it to the morgue. The surgeon thought it was a comment on his surgical skills. I did think it a little strange that the nighty had a crucifix embroided to it.

Training -

When we trained we had to have 2 week placements at different skill sets. So, it maybe, "care of the elderly" and you'd be on an elderly ward, (I was placed in a wonderful Nursing Home) "Mental Health" and in a mental health hospital. my placement was "child care" and I was placed in a junior school. I honestly don't know what would be the American equivalent but these kids were around 5.

I was nervous, as am built like a brick shit house and didn't want to scare the kids. I came and had a coffee in the teachers lounge and I was told that I'd be teaching a group of kids while my mentor would teach another in the same classroom. I could devise my lesson plan and I thought that it'd be fun to look at volume. I took my group to one side and there was a trough full of water and containers. I asked them if I filled up a container full of water, would it be then able to fill another up of a different size. This is where it gets really irritating... The boys always got the thing wrong.

At break time I was told to take to the playground and basically make sure everyone played nicely. There was a couple of little girls who were swearing at each other. I went across and told them off. They told me they were playing "Mummies and Babies". I said "surely it's "Mummies and Daddies"?" The reply I'd got was, "Nah, he's buggered off and I've got to raise this little brat on my own..." She did say she loved the child though.

During the last week of my placement. I was told that I'd been adopted by a child. I didn't realise this, as they were so small. The little kid was a problem child and all the other teachers were having problems with him. I know this sounds like I'm going to save the day, but I didn't. He was a smart kid but he would go out and play till late and would only come home if his mum fetched him. It had got to the stage to where he was confined to his bedroom. He'd get out by climbing down the house's drainpipe. It seemed he shared the bedroom with his sister. The next thig mum did was remove all his clothes and confine him to his room, and he'd be out in his sister's dress. I did talk to him about all this, but I don't think it changed anything as I left the placement. I did admire him though and wonder about his gender image... lol