no peace for the wicked

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It was a quiet evening yesterday. I was reading, my husband was sitting next to me tinkering with something or other. No tv, no music, just peaceful silence.

Next thing we were sitting bolt upright because the radio blared out music in shocking volume.

Did it switch on by itself? Unlikely.

Henry was sitting on top of the dials trying to reach a grasshopper on the wall. The grasshopper then proceeded to lead Henry a merry chase through the whole flat (and damn those vases and glasses and cups and ornaments in the way).

My hero!

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We’re having a leisurely breakfast enjoying the blue skies when I heard this very loud, very aggressive snarling and hissing (my husband, it seems, needs a hearing aid). I rushed outside in the garden only to be almost bowled over by Henry charging inside.

He is dirty, his fur is missing a few strands, his tails is somehow sticky. Otherwise not a scratch on him.

And he is very proud of himself, carrying a piece of red fur in his mouth. This points to the ginger cat living a few houses down the road, sometimes lovingly called by the children there: “Pumuckelchen! Pumuckelchen, komm!”

Henry defended our yard. We do have a guard cat, it seems.

Dracula revisited

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A few moments ago:

Henry kept calling us. Like: “I’ve got something to show you.”

I checked and saw that he’d brought in a small clump of soil, about the size of plum.

I went closer and well, it looked possibly like a small dead mouse, or maybe bat, with the wings wrapped tightly around its body. I looked, Lothar looked, Henry looked – and the next thing, the clump unfurled its wings and we have a bat in the house!

We switched off the lights (no idea if that helps as bats navigate by echolocation) but after crisscrossing our living room several times it found the exit and winged its way into the night sky.

clandestine drinker

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Never ever have I seen Henry drink out of his water bowl.  I replenish it not just daily but several times a day when I pass it.  I have also tried leaving it for longer because I thought he might like it when it has been standing for a while.  I’ve tried serving him in glasses or coffee mugs but he ignores them.

What he does though, is jump onto the kitchen sink and he drinks from whatever has been standing in the sink.  Since I caught him doing this I’ve been tampering with possible flavours but he drinks whether the mug had coffee in it or was clean before, whether it is a rinsed beer glass or a measuring jug with beaten egg stuck to the sides. He seems to be doing it just because. He is a cat, after all.

And quite uncharacteristically, my husband said: “At least, he drinks SOMETHING.”

hierarchy

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There is something disturbing (and also intrinsically adorable) about a grown man who foregoes sitting down in front of his computer because the cat occupies his seat.

My husband nearly sat on Henry (we still haven’t changed the colour of our office chair covers) and then decided to find something else to do rather than disturb him.  He had planned to watch the rugby game between England and Wales on the computer, and when the national anthems were over he gently rolled his chair to the side and asked me for mine.

I found something else to do.  It’s good to know one’s ranking in the pecking order.

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All cats look grey at night

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Our neighbours are on holiday and we promised to feed their cat as we’ve done before.

Johnny is a recluse of about 15, a black and white shy gentleman. He sort of tolerates us, barely allows us to touch him.

It’s usually my husband who goes and dishes out his dry food.

Yesterday he returned and was quite pleased: “Johnny is really warming up to me.  Today he actually allowed me to pet him; he rolled on his back and even started purring.”

A bit later I noticed an ear and nose slowly edging around a corner and after a seemingly endless time a whole head followed. Then I blinked and the cat disappeared, back in the corridor and out into the garden.

The unknown visitor was a bi-coloured grey and white cat.

All this explains why Johnny was extreeeeemly hungry tonight.  Apparently hubby had been feeding the wrong cat.

Note to self:  Sometimes German proverbs are true: Nachts sind alle Katzen grau.

190809

I’m a bedroll

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Now that I am on holiday (okay, “no school” is not necessarily a holiday but you get what I mean) we have developed a new routine.  Henry is out all night.  If we want to sleep there is no way he is staying inside because he comes regularly every hour and begs for me to open the door.

He returns sometimes between 5 and 6 am, meowing so pitifully and loudly in front of the door that I crawl out of bed and open it (we do have neighbours, you know!).  Then he has his breakfast and I go back to bed where he joins me still licking his chops.  He then settles down next to me, snuggles first in my armpit, then lays his neck over my arm where he falls asleep purring ever so softly (he is not a loud purrer).  I fall asleep as well only to wake up hours later with a sore neck and a numb arm.  Also with the realisation that I am just a glorified bedroll to a cat.

190804

what’s on the menu?

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As Henry first birthday is approaching, he likes the special kitten food less and less.  I am looking around for alternatives which are healty and not overpriced.

Today I opened a tin from a discounter; he’s already sampled one or two varieties of the brand and really liked it.  This one is made from three different kinds of fish. Henry likes fish a lot.  He immediately pounced on it and started licking and gobbling but stopped less than a third into the portion.  To me the fish smelled far too fishy to leave it standing outside so I covered the dish and put it in the fridge for later.

Later came and I placed the bowl in front of Henry.  He took one sniff and started backing away from it.  In fact, he literally walked backwards until he bumped into the stool a meter behind him.  He seemed thoroughly disgusted.  I won’t be buying that one again in a hurry.

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