Randi
08-21-2002, 08:34 AM
Fister would like to say Happy Birthday! to Edwina's Secretary, and sends you all a little story about his dear mum, Mrs Spot!
Fisters' mum
I sometimes like to believe that cats are, in a way, more intelligent than humans. They don’t pollute their environment, and manage to live in harmony with nature. So it was very interesting to study the behaviour of all the cats in our back yard when we first moved in.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/p546fbf414e8f761f8d1227eaa517adbf/fd5fa321.jpg
Fisters’ back yard
There was a whole bunch of them, some residents, some chance visitors and some just wandering thugs out for a bit of trouble. (Our old friend Pjevs has since become a resident, he used to just turn up every day punctually at 7 o’clock for dinner!) But the obvious number one was Mrs. Spot, a seriously tough tortoiseshell lady who detested humans and kept firm control of the feline activities in the whole yard. Once a very large, very aggressive dog had cornered a little black cat in the yard, when Mrs. Spot suddenly appeared. With no hesitation, she leapt right in front of the nose of the slobbering beast and went HISSSSS! He took one look, decided the better of it, and lurked away, his tail well down between his legs. Nobody messed with Mrs. Spot!
We had formed a little cat club with some of the neighbours to try and keep control of the situation, since they were reproducing at an accelerating rate. The poor little shy black female had a litter of 5 in somebody’s cycle-wagon, and we realised something had to be done. I found some styrofoam boxes at the greengrocers, and by taping them together top to top and cutting a hole in the front, we had a cheap, efficient, waterproof and insulated house for them. We moved the kittens there, but tragically she ignored them, and we found out too late that they were dying of undernourishment, and they had to be put down.
Then Mrs. Spot had a go and produced 3 little tortoiseshell kittens, who we had rehoused.
Then she gave birth again. This happened while we away on holiday, and since she obviously wasn’t pregnant anymore, we set out to find the kittens. But they were nowhere to be found! We searched and searched absolutely everywhere for nearly a week to no avail.
Then one day, I by chance tried moving some of the dustbins, and lo and behold, two tiny squealing kittens, a little orange darling and a charming 3 coloured female, precariously perched on a narrow beam! She must have kept them there, removing them daily when the dustmen came and very loudly emptied the garbage. (Hence the “thundering dustbins” in Fisters Journey from Rags to Riches). No wonder Fister has always been a very nervous cat!
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/pe70f02e35e7d65ef9324ead467cd303a/fd5fa320.jpg
Fisters first bed!
We immediately built a new house for them too, and Mrs. Spot and family moved in straight away. We arranged that they shouldn’t be taken from her too early, but somebody took his sister at a very early age. Luckily though, we have heard that she got a good home and is happy there. Fister stayed with his mum in the yard. Then Mrs. Spot had another go and produced 5 black kittens, who we also has rehoused. But enough was enough, things were getting out of control, so we decided to get Mrs. Spot and Fister fixed. By chance, a Danish TV company was doing a documentary on back yard cats for a childrens program at that time, so Mrs. Spot and Fister became TV stars! We still have the video of Fister being caught in a cage (terrible, I couldn’t bear to see it) and lying flat out on the operating table! After that he seemed to open up slightly, and would even let us stroke him sometimes, something we had never been able to do before. From then on, we had a constant view of Fister and Mrs. Spot sitting below our kitchen window, heads held high, patiently waiting for scraps. I was surprised they didn’t get a pain in their necks, they would sit like this for hours at a time just staring up at us.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/pd5f05537d61860fe7ae8bdf20e75a33e/fd5fa31f.jpg
I wonder what’s on the menu today?
It was at this time that Fister really enchanted me, he would gaze up deep into my eyes, searching for my soul and completely captivating me. I fell in love with him, and soon after that, we started the continuing saga of the domestication of Fister. (See “Battle of the Bed” and “Fisters Journey from Rags to Riches”)
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/paff7a5486f27c920b68fc291de7a2e3c/fd5fa31c.jpg
Gotta be careful out there now - mum’s not around anymore!
Fister and his mum had a wonderful relationship, which continued right up to her passing away. When he was younger, she would go out foraging, and I have seen her returning to the yard with a huge pork chop in her mouth (I wonder where she got that from?), calling to her offspring to come and feast with her. Early on, when Fister was beginning to spend more time with us than in the yard, she would wander round calling out for him. She then learnt to sit and wait patiently for him in the evenings, and when he returned, there was always a little ceremony, head bumps and kisses and some tail rubbing before they wandered off together side by side. It was very touching. For weeks after she passed away, Fister would wander up and down the yard sadly calling for her, but luckily now she seems to be quite forgotten.
Regards from John
Fisters' mum
I sometimes like to believe that cats are, in a way, more intelligent than humans. They don’t pollute their environment, and manage to live in harmony with nature. So it was very interesting to study the behaviour of all the cats in our back yard when we first moved in.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/p546fbf414e8f761f8d1227eaa517adbf/fd5fa321.jpg
Fisters’ back yard
There was a whole bunch of them, some residents, some chance visitors and some just wandering thugs out for a bit of trouble. (Our old friend Pjevs has since become a resident, he used to just turn up every day punctually at 7 o’clock for dinner!) But the obvious number one was Mrs. Spot, a seriously tough tortoiseshell lady who detested humans and kept firm control of the feline activities in the whole yard. Once a very large, very aggressive dog had cornered a little black cat in the yard, when Mrs. Spot suddenly appeared. With no hesitation, she leapt right in front of the nose of the slobbering beast and went HISSSSS! He took one look, decided the better of it, and lurked away, his tail well down between his legs. Nobody messed with Mrs. Spot!
We had formed a little cat club with some of the neighbours to try and keep control of the situation, since they were reproducing at an accelerating rate. The poor little shy black female had a litter of 5 in somebody’s cycle-wagon, and we realised something had to be done. I found some styrofoam boxes at the greengrocers, and by taping them together top to top and cutting a hole in the front, we had a cheap, efficient, waterproof and insulated house for them. We moved the kittens there, but tragically she ignored them, and we found out too late that they were dying of undernourishment, and they had to be put down.
Then Mrs. Spot had a go and produced 3 little tortoiseshell kittens, who we had rehoused.
Then she gave birth again. This happened while we away on holiday, and since she obviously wasn’t pregnant anymore, we set out to find the kittens. But they were nowhere to be found! We searched and searched absolutely everywhere for nearly a week to no avail.
Then one day, I by chance tried moving some of the dustbins, and lo and behold, two tiny squealing kittens, a little orange darling and a charming 3 coloured female, precariously perched on a narrow beam! She must have kept them there, removing them daily when the dustmen came and very loudly emptied the garbage. (Hence the “thundering dustbins” in Fisters Journey from Rags to Riches). No wonder Fister has always been a very nervous cat!
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/pe70f02e35e7d65ef9324ead467cd303a/fd5fa320.jpg
Fisters first bed!
We immediately built a new house for them too, and Mrs. Spot and family moved in straight away. We arranged that they shouldn’t be taken from her too early, but somebody took his sister at a very early age. Luckily though, we have heard that she got a good home and is happy there. Fister stayed with his mum in the yard. Then Mrs. Spot had another go and produced 5 black kittens, who we also has rehoused. But enough was enough, things were getting out of control, so we decided to get Mrs. Spot and Fister fixed. By chance, a Danish TV company was doing a documentary on back yard cats for a childrens program at that time, so Mrs. Spot and Fister became TV stars! We still have the video of Fister being caught in a cage (terrible, I couldn’t bear to see it) and lying flat out on the operating table! After that he seemed to open up slightly, and would even let us stroke him sometimes, something we had never been able to do before. From then on, we had a constant view of Fister and Mrs. Spot sitting below our kitchen window, heads held high, patiently waiting for scraps. I was surprised they didn’t get a pain in their necks, they would sit like this for hours at a time just staring up at us.
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/pd5f05537d61860fe7ae8bdf20e75a33e/fd5fa31f.jpg
I wonder what’s on the menu today?
It was at this time that Fister really enchanted me, he would gaze up deep into my eyes, searching for my soul and completely captivating me. I fell in love with him, and soon after that, we started the continuing saga of the domestication of Fister. (See “Battle of the Bed” and “Fisters Journey from Rags to Riches”)
http://www.imagestation.com/picture/sraid29/paff7a5486f27c920b68fc291de7a2e3c/fd5fa31c.jpg
Gotta be careful out there now - mum’s not around anymore!
Fister and his mum had a wonderful relationship, which continued right up to her passing away. When he was younger, she would go out foraging, and I have seen her returning to the yard with a huge pork chop in her mouth (I wonder where she got that from?), calling to her offspring to come and feast with her. Early on, when Fister was beginning to spend more time with us than in the yard, she would wander round calling out for him. She then learnt to sit and wait patiently for him in the evenings, and when he returned, there was always a little ceremony, head bumps and kisses and some tail rubbing before they wandered off together side by side. It was very touching. For weeks after she passed away, Fister would wander up and down the yard sadly calling for her, but luckily now she seems to be quite forgotten.
Regards from John