Calling it that for want of knowing what its proper name is.
The theory is that filled with kibbles, a smart cat will be able to get them out by pushing or tweaking or pawing at the tumbler.
Moggy is far too smart, or shall we call that wily, to do this work herself. She waits, sitting there looking interested, until the human loses her patience and does it herself, and the tumbler spills its load. Then she doesn’t hesitate, then she steps forward and eats whatever kibble in sight.
It’s a stand-off. We’ve been doing this daily for a week and there appears to be no breakthrough yet.
Although, I shouldn’t forget that this morning she stared piercingly at the tumbler sitting innocent and half-empty nearby. That’s a miniscule bit of interest, what do you think?
So come training time, I had the idea of putting kibbles under the tumbler. See if she’d engage. And that’s as far as we’ve got today, she’ll push it with her nose to be able to grab the kibbles from under it.
I carefully arrange the holes and the tumbler so if she pushes hard enough one time, the thing will tip and spill a few kibbles.
Guess what? I’ve lived here for four months and 25 days and I discovered this morning that the table on the balcony is quite an interesting place to be …
Quite a high place compared to where I usually sit and a good new angle to watch the passing parade of people down on the podium, going wherever they are going.
Foods that I like, so far …
Kibbles, kibbles, kibbles
Salmon in spring water
Salmon in olive oil, and sometimes smoked
Smoked salmon skin
Barbecued chicken, yum, bring it on
But I do not not not like smoked sardines, raw egg yolk, and I hate raw chicken.
Sachets of cat food are not my favourites either. And I will definitely turn my nose up at catnip flavoured treats.
Although we are more or less back to normal, there is a slight flavour of a new normal. For one thing, the old woman still has not tried to pick me up. A good thing that.
For another, she made my puzzle board about six times harder to find kibbles on. Not so good.
Everything is a different height and there is a little person sitting on it staring at me.
Another good thing is that she made more room at the edge of the balcony for me to sit and peer under it at the people passing by. I’m OK with that now.
I’ve been here four and a half months and I think I’ve done pretty well getting accustomed to some of the strangest things a cat has got to put up with. I mean, who has ever heard of puzzle boards for the likes of us?
And do you know, the only time I get a swag of kibbles in a bowl is at bedtime?
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.
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.
Tonight, the first time ever, I finally understood what the old woman wanted me to do when she said, “Come on! Come on!” in that high voice she uses to encourage me to do something good.
Just recently she started watching Jackson Jupiter, or some such name, to get a few clues about what we were trying to do.
Training she calls it. I don’t see the use yet. But as I said today I played along. I came. I walked beside her and every four or five human paces she gave me a kibble and patted and stroked my back and said, “Good girl! Good girl!”
Whatever, you know? Just keep the kibbles coming. We went twice up and down the house and then I swung into the den, stood waiting for my supper. The other half of the kibbles that means.
How many days has it been that she gave me a kibble just for looking at her? About a month worth of days.
Anyway, the training is worth it from my end. I just picked up 24 more kibbles than if I’d been stubborn and ignored her entreaties.
This is me on a day when it is sweltering outside and we have the aircon going inside.
Usually I can convince the old woman to turn off the TV by about 8.30, for a game or ten involving me getting kibbles for prizes.
We’ve given up on the eggbox, I’m happy to say. Yesterday she tied that horrible furry snake onto the end of a red wheeled thing that she dragged behind her, trying to get me to follow it and get the kibbles loaded onto the tray.
I soon showed her what I thought about that game …
So that night ended with her, after much cajoling, offering me kibbles by ones and twos first on her bare feet (not so scary) then on her knees, then on her hands (scary!) Though I did manage to eat more than half my bedtime snack.
Today was completely disrupted. The two wild human young came while their owner went shopping. The old woman spread the craft sheet over the floor and everybody cut things, glued, taped, then they went to the sink and floated a boat. All this while I hid under the couch.
After their owner fetched the young humans, the old woman tidied the room and rolled up the craft sheet. She’s always saying things like … Now then Moggy-mine, what mystery will we work on today?
Today she hid seven kibbles in the rolled up craft sheet. And after I found them she put in another lot. I don’t mind this game … I think it can lead to greater things. Imagine if she hid a handful?
(This is 29 seconds of me finding eight or ten kibbles. Ttoo long for you?)
We’re both sitting on the couch now waiting for the bedtime alarm. Well, she shuts me in the den then, whatever she does for the nect hour.
Rita de Heer 