And then there five. Caterpillars. Another one fell down and …
But managed to climb back up, slowly and laboriously, arriving much diminished. Losing about a quarter of its weight, it looks like.
Picking up some fluff on its back—I’m afraid that if I tweezer it off I’ll do it a worse injury—but after half an hour back up there with its mates, eating eating eating to make up for lost time.
I don’t know what happened to the ones missing. The Asian gecko got it? A noisy miner snuck in? The Moggy cat taste tested them? Though they must’ve been on the ground already.
Things are not so good between Moggy and me. I’ve been put on antibiotics, the deepest scratch is not closed yet. But my whole hand is not swollen any more.
This all happened on Saturday evening, it’s now Wednesday. Monday Tuesday Wednesday I was out of the house for hours at the time and it’s hard to ‘read’ a cat the best of times, let alone a cat who seems determined to stay a stranger.
In all that time, three and a half days, I have not tried to touch her. I’ve got admit I’m more hesitant now. She does lay in wait round the corner sometimes and lash at my ankles. Most recently, I gave her big voice and she looked shocked.
Various people in my immediate and not so immediate circles are saying I should trade her in, and that animals from Rescue Centres do not always transplant well into a home situation. Moggy was a stray rescued from the streets and was in the cattery for 100 days.
This afternoon she seemed ill at ease and down in the dumps. Is it possible cats can get depressed? I don’t know. But I thought to try to cheer her up. Got some kibbles, and spread the towel over my knees.
She jumped onto the couch without needing encouragement. Took kibbles from off my knees and from my hand, though she did flinch away a couple of times when I moved too fast and unexpectedly.
And I flinched when she moved fast. Looks like we’ve got to rebuild trust. And I have to put a few expectations out of my mind. I have a wilder animal than I had expected to get.
Of course I regret that I can’t expect cat cuddles. Or that she’ll probably never want to have anything to do with the kids. Even just stroking her is a no no at the moment. How we will get her to the vet will be traumatic. See? She does need training.
I thought at about three years old, as the cattery said she is, I thought be able to train her to accept a harness and take her outside to sit in the sun. Since we don’t have any coming into the apartment. I might get a sun lamp instead.
I thought I could train her to climb a cat tree to the new shelf I had installed, to sleep there. She barely jumps up. I’ve offered her the patio table, and I often put kibbles on a high stool on the way to the tabletop. No go. She leaves them.
Right now because of that little training session getting her to eat out of my hand, she made the tiniest purr of approval and jumped onto the back of the couch there to doze. Probably 30 cm/12 inches distance. I have to take that as a plus on the way to better things. She’s been with me for four full months.
With only about thirty leaves remaining and six voracious appetites still working hard to gather enough energy for the next stage, I’m starting to wonder which of them will win the race and which will fall.
Two large large, four medium large, one still black and white and looking anorexic. Fifty or thereabouts leaves remaining on the bush and it’s looking quite bedraggled.
With so much less vegetation to hide in, makes me wonder what daredevil bird will snap them up.
The upshot of our battle is that we’re being stand offish to each other. The old woman does not try to touch me and I spend long hours under the bed where I can’t see what she gets up to.
But today she escaped the apartment altogether. The deepest scratch on her hand got infected—not my fault, she should’ve known better—and off to the doctor she went.
When she came back she had a big white bandage on her hand which did look, I confess, quite swollen. I understand she is to take medicines for ten days.
And she’s changed her attitude. She doesn’t give me any kibbles unless I do what she orders me to do. Such as for example she said ‘Up’ about fifteen minutes ago. I didn’t up and she gave me no encouragement awards.
So I jumped up on the couch just now and she said, good girl and gave me just two kibbles! And that was it. So I sat down. I’m feeling quite confused. I had the upper paw, and suddenly I’m back on square one?
One good thing she gave me a mystery to solve while she went out and I do quite like a mystery. This one is how to get the kibbles from under the plastic thing.
We had a milestone of sorts today. I had to show the old woman I just do not like to be picked up. I clawed her good and proper.
It was her own fault really, I said for her to put me down, and she just wasn’t quick enough. I let her have both sets. Of my claws, that is. She’ll have four scars!
And you wouldn’t believe the blood! She stood for an age at the kitchen counter putting on that horrible stuff she calls tea tree antiseptic. I hate it! And then bandaids galore.
She was so silent, I got bored and thought I might as well catch up on washing myself. It’s never ending.
I wonder what she’s cooking up in that silence, something that will show me that she now knows her place, I hope.
An unusual color … I expected their next stage to be greenish grey. Wonder if I caught them in mid transformation? But could also be due to the food supply, not their usual.
Rita de Heer 