Living on the fourth floor of a block of flats has advantages. No-one upstairs to make a racket (which I do get in Castelldefels, unfortunately), lots of light. Then there's the downside. Having lost my darling Rosalía de Castro from myocarditis after she fell from the balcony, I can never relax any more when the cats go out. I have bought one of those balcony net things, but I need someone to put it up (that's one of the problems of being middle-aged and living alone).
Another feature of the high life is pigeons, lots and lots of pigeons. And Ruff is longing to sink his claws and teeth into them.
It makes it hard to air the flat properly - not such a problem in winter, but in summer, when the outside temperatures regularly exceed 35ºC it means living with the air-conditioner on.
I open the sliding doors for ten minutes while making the bed, keeping a weather eye out as Ruff and Tumble go out on to the balcony and peer through the railings to see if there are pigeons on the floor below, or crane their necks to see if there are any on next door's rooftop. I feel really sorry for them on these occasions because cats should be allowed to run free and hunt (I have no love for pigeons, obviously, filthy creatures!). Still, I must console myself thinking that at least they have a good home and would probably have died as kittens if I hadn't taken them in.
I dream of having a little house in the country where they can roam free outside...
martes, 30 de septiembre de 2008
martes, 23 de septiembre de 2008
Quandry - I have a cat that loves bullfighting on TV
At first I thought it was coincidence.
First thing in the morning, I make a cup of tea and carry it back to bed to watch the early morning newscast - the only news bulletin I follow, seeing as I work on the principle that news is depressing anyway and the 30-minute news forecast in the morning gives me the basics anyway (plus the 10-minute sports section gives me time to make the tea in the first place!).
By this time, Ruff and Tumble are busy prowling the flat and Ruff is trying to melt my heart with his plaintive miaowing in the kitchen, in the vain hope that I'll give him a nice slice of turkey breast.
A few weeks ago, I first noticed that when the summaries of the bullfights come on (during which I steadfastly flick through a magazine or busy myself taking my thyroid meds) Tumble would jump up on the bed at the first "Olé". I tend to notice this more, because he seems to think that I love sudden, heavy pressure on the bladder region while drinking tea. Anyway, I saw him following the whole minute-long report very, very attentively.
When it happened for the second Monday in a row, I became more curious. And sure enough. The sound of the crowds and the "Olé" sends him scooting up onto the bed to sit with his eyes glued to the screen, following all the action.
As an animal lover, this presents me with somewhat of a quandry. I feel that he has no sense of decorum or empathy with his fellow beasts. Considering that he was rescued from death's door, abandoned in the street, and carefully nursed back to his current bouyant state of health, I do feel that he ought to be more sympathetic towards the poor bull. On the other hand, he is so obviously enraptured by the sight that I would feel mean switching to another channel or something.
I do draw the line at letting him watch a whole, disgusting, televised bullfight, though!
First thing in the morning, I make a cup of tea and carry it back to bed to watch the early morning newscast - the only news bulletin I follow, seeing as I work on the principle that news is depressing anyway and the 30-minute news forecast in the morning gives me the basics anyway (plus the 10-minute sports section gives me time to make the tea in the first place!).
By this time, Ruff and Tumble are busy prowling the flat and Ruff is trying to melt my heart with his plaintive miaowing in the kitchen, in the vain hope that I'll give him a nice slice of turkey breast.
A few weeks ago, I first noticed that when the summaries of the bullfights come on (during which I steadfastly flick through a magazine or busy myself taking my thyroid meds) Tumble would jump up on the bed at the first "Olé". I tend to notice this more, because he seems to think that I love sudden, heavy pressure on the bladder region while drinking tea. Anyway, I saw him following the whole minute-long report very, very attentively.
When it happened for the second Monday in a row, I became more curious. And sure enough. The sound of the crowds and the "Olé" sends him scooting up onto the bed to sit with his eyes glued to the screen, following all the action.
As an animal lover, this presents me with somewhat of a quandry. I feel that he has no sense of decorum or empathy with his fellow beasts. Considering that he was rescued from death's door, abandoned in the street, and carefully nursed back to his current bouyant state of health, I do feel that he ought to be more sympathetic towards the poor bull. On the other hand, he is so obviously enraptured by the sight that I would feel mean switching to another channel or something.
I do draw the line at letting him watch a whole, disgusting, televised bullfight, though!
miércoles, 10 de septiembre de 2008
Fright night
Back to work today, after the hols. I thought I would get an early night to be ready for the huge pile of stuff that would be waiting for me to deal with (oh boy, was I right about that!).
There was "Criminal Minds" on the telly, and I fell asleep during one of the 20-odd minute advert breaks so beloved of Spanish TV programmers.
Anyway, about 1 a.m. I was woken up by a huge bang like a shot which left me a little bewildered (particularly because I thought for a moment that I was in Castelldefels). Then came another, and another and then they increased in frequency until I realised that we were in the middle of a hailstorm. And what a hailstorm! I got up and closed the windows and dropped all the blinds all the way down, and could hear the hail chinging off the balcony railings and sometimes hitting my poor blinds with tremendous force. I thought for a moment about going out onto the balcony and bringing in my jasmine and hibiscus pots, but soon thought much better of it. Even though they have roofs, I would probably have been seriously pelted. Living on the top floor under a flat roof means that the hail literally thundered down on top of me.
Ruff and Tumble, of course, were panic stricken, much as they are during fireworks or when people let off those huge bangers when their football team scores here. It took me quite some time to coax a trembling Tumble from under the sofa. Ruff decided to settle the matter by attaching himself to my heels with invisible adhesive. This went on for the best part of half an hour and by all accounts it had the city centre awash and Underground tunnels flooded for quite some time.
So obviously, there being nothing better to do, I turned the TV on again to lull me back to sleep, but I had one cat on my pillow and one snuggled up against my tummy for the entire night.
Just what you need on the night before your first day back at work. No wonder I can't stop yawning this afternoon. I'm just going to have to grit my teeth and try to avoid resorting to the caffeine, though!
There was "Criminal Minds" on the telly, and I fell asleep during one of the 20-odd minute advert breaks so beloved of Spanish TV programmers.
Anyway, about 1 a.m. I was woken up by a huge bang like a shot which left me a little bewildered (particularly because I thought for a moment that I was in Castelldefels). Then came another, and another and then they increased in frequency until I realised that we were in the middle of a hailstorm. And what a hailstorm! I got up and closed the windows and dropped all the blinds all the way down, and could hear the hail chinging off the balcony railings and sometimes hitting my poor blinds with tremendous force. I thought for a moment about going out onto the balcony and bringing in my jasmine and hibiscus pots, but soon thought much better of it. Even though they have roofs, I would probably have been seriously pelted. Living on the top floor under a flat roof means that the hail literally thundered down on top of me.
Ruff and Tumble, of course, were panic stricken, much as they are during fireworks or when people let off those huge bangers when their football team scores here. It took me quite some time to coax a trembling Tumble from under the sofa. Ruff decided to settle the matter by attaching himself to my heels with invisible adhesive. This went on for the best part of half an hour and by all accounts it had the city centre awash and Underground tunnels flooded for quite some time.
So obviously, there being nothing better to do, I turned the TV on again to lull me back to sleep, but I had one cat on my pillow and one snuggled up against my tummy for the entire night.
Just what you need on the night before your first day back at work. No wonder I can't stop yawning this afternoon. I'm just going to have to grit my teeth and try to avoid resorting to the caffeine, though!
domingo, 7 de septiembre de 2008
Introduction
Meet my two cats, Ruff and Tumble, two brothers, adopted at 5 months of age and now aged two and a half. Ruff is ginger and Tumble is strawberry blonde, seen here with black-and-white Rosalía de Castro, who recently died in a tragic accident that I can't bring myself to write about for the moment. Ruff and Tumble are generally well-behaved, prone to sleeping for most of the day, as cats are. Notoriously spatty on a twice-daily basis, with profuse spitting and flying fur. We're just back in Madrid after two and a half weeks on holiday in Castelldefels in Barcelona where we have what I consider to be our real home.
Up to now we have usually travelled up to Barcelona by car, my car being in the possession of daughter Helen and her boyfriend (I didn't use it in Madrid and they needed the use of a second car), so they travel up to Madrid the day before I start my holiday and then we strap the pet carriers in on the back seat and embark on the 5 and a half hour trip to Barcelona. Ruff is a real treasure and happily snoozes for the entire journey. Tumble, however, roils and claws and miaows and yelps for the entire journey, even with the prescribed half a tablet in him.
This time, I decided to come back on the high-speed train (2 hours and 40 minutes), so we travelled to Sants station in the car and I bought two tickets for the cats. Can anyone explain to me WHY my own ticket cost me 49 euros and the cat tickets (with no entitlement to a seat or anything) cost 62 APIECE????
The intention was that if nobody was sitting in the disabled seats, we would park there with the pet carriers on their little trolley, but what do you know? For the first time ever since I have been taking the AVE the disabled seats were taken.
Anyway, as luck would have it there were not many passengers at all, so we got a two-seater space by the loos and I put Tumble's carrier on the seat and Ruff's on the floor. Initially Tumble was very stressed and panted a bit with his mouth open in the kind of grimace that you see on photos where cats are miaowing, but he soon settled down. Ruff, of course, I was soon able to take out of the carrier and sit on my knee and stroke (if anyone had objected I would have put him back into the carrier, of course). They were showing the film "Flawless" with Michael Caine and Demi Moore, and it was quite enjoyable, just sitting there with the earphones plugged in and Ruff on my lap.
Anyway, if it weren't for the stupid, stupid taxi driver who wouldn't let me have the cats on the back seat, it would have been quite perfect, but he made me put them in the boot, the b**t**d. Still, we got home in one piece. The fight was then to get them up four flights of stairs (no lift!) as they weigh over 4 kilos each now. Anyway, up we went and by the 3rd. floor they were quite excited (I suppose they could smell "home") and shot out of the pet carriers the minute I got them inside and opened the doors for them. After a protracted tour of the flat, they decided that the best place to be (in view of the fact that the pet carriers were still in the hall) was under the bed. Tumble did not rest easy until he saw me take them apart and store them for the duration.
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