Pteppic: seal point Siamese. August 1997-December 2011
It is with much sadness that we have learned that Pteppic, the world’s first – and only – Siamese walrus has been put to sleep. He, together with his lifelong companion Esk, went to live with my daughter in Norfolk about four years ago,and it’s a miracle he was still going, because He Nearly Died back in 2003 (although he didn’t like to talk about it). The vets never did work out what was wrong with him, and they didn’t expect him to pull through, never mind make the full recovery that he did.
He has been becoming more and more ill with IBS in recent years and in the end, the only proper thing to do was to let him go.
Pteppic was a sleek creature, a cat who always knew when you were feeling down, and would come to comfort you. He purred like a walrus, and if another cat was poorly, they got the Ptep treatment too; I well remember when Iggy had an appalling respiratory infection, and was on space blankets to try to keep him warm – the walrus came and curled his long body around Iggy and stayed with him all night. His nuturing nature also extended to kittens, and he was never happier than when there was a baby cat in the house for him to look after.
Ptep was the campest cat in the universe – the Noel Coward of the feline world. We felt he wore a virtual bottle green velvet smoking jacket, and drank very dry sherry. You could pour him from your arms to the floor, and when he was fully grown I had to stand on a stair to do it, because he grew into a huge, and hugely elegant, creature, with many limbs.
We missed him a lot when he left us, but he had a wonderful home with Clare, and she will miss him so much too. I hope she can take comfort from the fact that she did the last, best thing for him that she could, and we salute her strength.
I wanted to wish Pteppic “good hunting”, as I do every cat who leaves us behind, and she reminded me, quite rightly, that:
… there certainly won’t be any hunting. He’ll be on a soft, soft blanket that he so adores, with some tuna and someone to snuggle and shove with his snout. Ptep at his absolute happiest 🙂
On 18th November, I Twittered that I hadn’t seen Mustrum that morning. And we didn’t see him again for ten days, by which time we were both sure he was gone for good. He is microchipped, but a lot of places don’t automatically scan for them, I know.
He was a real roamer in his day, but Mussum is 13 years old now, and likes to be at home in the warmz, with his blobs to make a fuss of him, and it’s really not like him to be away for any length of time any more. We put notices up on local web sites, and went calling him – not helped by the fact I was ill and had lost my voice. We resigned ourselves to never seeing him again, and I felt positively cheated that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.
On the 28th, at about 10.30 in the evening, Pete was talking to me; out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Mussum in the living room by the sofa. I looked away, and looked back and HE WAS. He was home! I just croaked at Pete, right across what he was trying to tell me – we were overjoyed.
Muss was thin – about 20% of his body weight, I would guess. We live in a grid of Victorian terraced streets, and he’s never been far; our feeling is that he got spooked by a car or a dog, and just ran for it, and then got completely lost. We opened two tins of fatted calf meat (well, tuna Hilife) – one for him, and one for the rest of the Tribe. He got his bowl up on the worktop, and shouted while he ate it. I think he was as pleased as we were to be home. The others, remarkably, stood back and let him finish their bowl too, so perhaps they missed the old chap as well.
Two weeks on, he’s putting some weight back on, and settling back down. He was very clingy for a few days, which is why we believe he was lost and confused. Mind you, he’s often confused; I maintain he is not very bright *at all*, although Pete says I’m being unkind 🙂
Anyway, he’s home. Don’t do it again please, Mustrum – my nerves couldn’t take it.
The weather has become quite seasonal here, after a late flurry of warm weather, and we’re noticing a distinct increase of Cat in the house. Here is an unseemly heap on the chair in the bedroom, with Mustrum protesting slightly underneath Iggy and Ron. The heap inhabitants remained unchanged most of the day, although the positioning did alter from time to time.
There were two cats – Henry and Mustrum – on the bed when we woke this morning, and more cats are predicted in this position. They haven’t actually noticed that the stove is being lit yet, but it’s only a matter of time.
It’s so nice to see Iggy in again – we’ve barely set eyes on him this summer, poor old man. I do fear he’s not going to see another winter after this one …
The other evening (well, Tuesday 4th, for our records), we noticed a lot of black fur on the dining room rug. Black fur=Ron, so we had a good look at him; he had an abscess on his face, and a nasty hole under his chin. So, the next morning, he was inserted into a cat carrier – with some difficulty, I might say. Ron is the most amenable of chaps, but he really doesn’t care to be confined. Pete then conveyed Ron to the vet in his bike trailer, where he was cleaned, jabbed and prescribed 7 days worth of antibiotics.
He was as good as gold with the pills, once he was convinced that after pills came chickie! as a treat, and we had no trouble at all – just called “Ronkin” twice a day, and he’d come down to the kitchen and sit on the stool for his dose. We did use a pill popper, as it’s quicker and easier for all concerned.
Cost a fortune in chickie!, of course, as anycat who was in would appear for their share, but worth it all the same. He has healed up nicely, and now we’re just waiting for his beautiful black fur to grow back in.
Further note to self: Henry and Ron Advantaged today – Frontline just doesn’t seem to do it any more.
During the latter part of this morning, I could hear a cat going mew. It didn’t sound like any of ours – Mustrum gurgles and squeaks and shouts, Iggy rowls, Henry and Ron squeal. Lilith doesn’t speak much – she might say “hello” outside, but by and large she is pretty much mute indoors.
It drove me crazy – first I thought it was coming from the back of the house, but there was no cat in the yard, and nobody under the floorboards (we’re in the process of bathroom renovations). Then I thought it was coming from the front, but there were only the spotty boys out there.
This went on for about half an hour until a thought struck Pete; he’d bee putting some stuff in the loft. And where oh where was the devil cat? He opened the hatch, and out came Lilith – slowly, making an entrance as befits her station. I had no idea she could make so much noise!
Don’t do it again, Lil.
We have two fish tanks in the house, one tropical (upstairs), and one marine (downstairs). Lilith is very fond of the marine tank, due to its whizzy lights, and likes to sit on it.
The fish (all called George) don’t seem to mind, but they don’t say much, so who knows.
Should you wish to follow George’s antics, you will find them at GeorgetheFish.com.
We were just settling down to sleep last night – indeed, I had almost drifted off – when there came an unseemly scrabbling from under the bed. For various reasons (mostly lack of space) we have a number of Things stowed under the bed, and the scrabbling indicated at least one cat doing … Something.
We switched on a light, and Pete peered underneath, to find Lilith and Henry; they do interact from time to time those two, so we hoped that was all it was, but no: a small rodent was involved too. And then Ron joined in too.
The rodent took refuge under something that the cats couldn’t extract him from, it quietened down, and I’m afraid we went back to sleep. So in a moment, Pete will have to go and see where the remains of it are …
When we lived in our North Somerset village, we used to get a lot of corpses; I was frequently heard to remark that it was like the Cambodian Killing Fields, and that Lilith had wrecked the local ecosystem. But they don’t catch much here – too urban, and too much feline competition. So I suppose we should say “well done”, because they’re only doing what cats do.
As Pete posted elsewhere this morning:
“For various reasons, I’ve been considering Lilith this morning, and in the online part of that consideration was led to this. Seems appropriate, really, except that Lily doesn’t even *purr*.”
The philosopher Wittgenstein said — or I’ve seen him quoted as saying — that if a lion could talk, we would not understand it. This is an interesting thought, although the more I think about it the less I agree with what it seems to imply about either language, or lions, or both. But my 365 Day Cat Calendar recently gave me an excellent quotation along somewhat the same lines. Nan Porter (who ought to be a philosopher) said: “If cats could talk, they wouldn’t.”
from Ursula K Le Guin
We have wanted an aquarium for ever, but have never had the space to fit one in. And when we were doing the work for the kitchen, it seemed like a really good time to knock out the fireplace, and then we realised that made a gap for a teeny tiny fishtank. I looked on eBay, and picked up a 25 litre one (really is tiny – 30cm cubed) for £12.50 from Beverley, just 5m up the road from us.
We bore it home, but we had to wait till the decorating was finished before we could start it off, and then it was another five weeks, nearly, before we could put fish in it. The day dawned on Sunday, and we sallied forth to our local aquatic emporium and spent the huge sum of four quid on a singleton Siamese fighting fish (just the one, Mrs Wembley, for another week or so).
The Tribe have taken *no interest whatsoever* in the tank since it went in. Not the light, not the waving plants, not a thing. But once that SFF went in, Henry in particularly was transfixed. He has spent hours sitting in front of the tank, dabbiting at the glass and trying to get at George (the fish). We have had to put a couple of bricks on the lid, because it looked dangerously close to coming off. The fish, thankfully, is unpeturbed. As far as we can tell. Inscrutable chap, Johnny Fish.
I haven’t written anything here for ages, mea culpa – life has been hectic and difficult, and both blobs and Tribe have been feeling the strain while we had a lot of work done in the house. The cats very much approved of the installation of a woodburning stove just before Christmas, which they treat as their own personal box of warmz. They coped remarkably well with the french doors being put in, and the back door (complete with their cat flap to the yard) being removed. But when it came to five weeks kitchen renovation, they got a bit fed up, and so did we.
Having said that, they all coped reasonably well, except Mustrum – which is odd, as he is generally a very laid back sort of chap. But it suddenly struck us yesterday – things have been in constant flux in the downstairs of the house, while stuff got moved around to make way for fitters and plumbers and electricians and [scream] dry rot menders. Furniture was Freecycled, things changed all the time.
Mussie was really spooked – running in and out of the house through the front cat flap, very clingy and attention seeking, As soon as we went up to bed, he would arrive, squeak a lot in his endearing fashion, and generally demand a lot of fuss; what we saw as jealousy may well actually have been a need for comfort and reassurance.
He’s has had a squint since we got him as a 3 month old kitten, and we have remarked over the past few years that it seems to be getting worse (he’s going to be 13 – I don’t believe it – in August). And it suddenly struck us yesterday that he may not be able to see very well now; constant change in his environment would really upset him if that is the case, and would explain why he spends most of his time upstairs, where things are relatively unchanging.
How does one a cat’s eyesight, I wonder? And would it gain anything if we did? Within the next week, please $deity, all will be finished down here – only painting and floor laying to go, and he should be happier again. Let us hope so.
