Shandy, Guinness, and Whisky. (Cats in General)

Member Name: sidneygee

Product:	Cats in General
Date:	29/03/01 (313 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Wide range of character

Disadvantages: May attract fleas (but most cats seem to)

Now I know what many of you are already thinking - has Sidneygee finally sampled one too many of his alcoholic beverages and placed this opinion into the wrong category ? Rest assured my friends, I haven't lost my marbles, so please read on.....

Because, as well as enjoying a wide variety of alcoholic beverages and driving cars (but always well-separated in time), my other great passion (apart from my family, moomins and 'things') is .... cats.

I have only ever owned 'moggies' rather than pedigree cats, but the three I have owned and the others I have known well, have each been 'priceless'.

Unfortunately, at present, this passion cannot be fulfilled, since cats are strictly forbidden in the Gee household - by order of she (with apologies to Rumpole) 'who must be obeyed'. There is good reason for this in that Heather, along with our younger daughter and son, are each grossly allergic to flea bites (and even suffer on occasions when cat or dogs owners visit and bring their own 'little-hangers-on').

Way back in 1968, whilst working in Derbyshire, in the BM days (i.e. Before Marriage - a period of complete personal freedom ), I managed to rent a house with a garden, with an option to purchase.

It was in the small mining village of Pinxton, on the Nottingham/Derbyshire borders and was one of a number of houses purchased by Derbyshire County Council (my employers at that time) to create a by-pass that cut through the main road into the village, at right angles.

The concept was that six houses would be demolished to make way for the 'cutting' carrying the bypass, but a total of 10 were purchased, so that if the construction of the 'cutting' caused resultant subsidence in the four houses at the edges of the 'cutting', then they could be either demolished or under-pinned.

I rented this 3 bed detached house (individually built in 1937
) for the princely sum of £6/13 shillings/4 pence a month (£6.67, to you yung-uns), on a monthly tenancy.

I had lived in flats and bed-sitters for 5 years, from the age of 18, and I accepted that this situation was not suitable for keeping a cat. Having been brought up with at least one cat in the family, I certainly missed their company and the 'fun' they provided.

So I spread the word around, that I was looking for a kitten (preferably a Ginger Tom). When I visited my home in Barry, my dear Mum told me that the Tabby cat belonging to our neighbour, Mrs Davis, had recently given birth to a litter of kittens.

I knew the mother cat very well, a beautiful large tabby cat from the same litter as (and very much like) our family cat of that time ('Mr Tibbs'). This mother cat was a 'feisty lady' that would attack (and see off) large dogs, but was always willing to 'make friends' with me whenever I passed by.

The kittens were only 2 weeks old when I first met them, and I chose a beautiful little tortoise-shell miss. She was obviously going to be a fine cat, with all the 'correct' tortoiseshell, 'brindled' markings.

There was also a ginger tabby ("well, I think my brother wants him", Mrs Davies said), a long-haired black & white, and the 'runt' of the litter, a funny little torty & white - looking as if her genes had been in a food mixer, with a bit of grey/brown tabby, a bit of ginger tabby and a bit of black & white puss in there somewhere.

Instead of the relatively 'long', rather 'aquiline', intelligent-looking faces of her brother and sisters, her face was quite flat (always reminded me of the face a young seal or young otter) and she meowwed such a lot and so pitifully when she was picked up. She really wanted to go back with her mummy !

I agreed to come back four weeks later to collect "Guinness",
as I had already decided to call 'my' tortoiseshell kitten (c'mon, are those of you who 'know' me really 'surprised' ?).

In the meantime, when I returned to work in Matlock, Susan, the typist in my office told me that she had been asking around and, whilst I was away, she had agreed to 'take in' an 8 week old kitten from a local farm for me and PLEASE would I collect it that evening, because her dog was getting jealous (!).

Now I may be called many things, but 'ungrateful' is not one of them, so I went back with Susan and collected the most delightful, cheeky, pale ginger and white Tom Cat, who I fell in love with immediately. The final words (slightly modified) of the Annie Ross song "Twisted" came into my mind ...... "... But Two Cats are Better than One!". For those of you who have never heard this great under-rated British jazz singer, there is treat available for you.

I took him home in a large cardboard box, with holes in the top and side, which was placed on the passenger seat of the MGA I was running at the time, and I started for home. Oh was he mad ! Plaintive mewling was followed by annoyed scratching and about 5 miles from home a viscious-looking paw, claws extended, appeared from one of the (now enlarged hole) and 'waved about'.

This enraged paw caught my hand as it dropped onto the gear-lever (OOOWW!!). We became great friends after that, and he was a beautiful, gentle cat. So he was named 'Shandy', and proceeded to delight all my new neighbours, so that arranging for the couple next door to 'take him in' three weeks later was a doddle, when I went back to Wales to collect 'Guinness'.

Now, at the time, I had a 'long term' girlfriend, Pat (then for all of 6 weeks!), who was at least as fond as cats as I was. I decided that I did need help to bring 'Guinness' back from Barr
y, so I broke my normal 'tradition of privacy', and took this girl back to my home town.

After the usual fuss that my Mum & Dad made of us, the next morning we went to collect 'Guinness'. There she was, as beautiful as I imagined she would be. The Ginger Tabby had been taken, and also the black and white long-hair, but no one had come for the 'runt' of the litter.

Runt No More !! This was a right little 'tubby puss' ("wouldn't leave mumsey alone" said Mrs Davies), with a barrel-shaped body, short legs and a short tail, who proceeded to entertain us all by climbing up the curtains, rushing along the pelmet, and down the other side !

Oooooh I wanted her, and so did Pat, so that was it, we took two pusses back to Derbyshire. Not the easiest of things to doo in an MGA ! But we managed it and 'Guinness' and 'Whisky' (what else could we call little barrel-puss?) were introduced to Shandy.

So, would 3 cats be better than 2 ? In my (limited) experience, cats behave rather like people when in groups, and 'factionalise'. Thus Guinness and Shandy initially got on really well, but Whisky was not as well disposed to her sister and new friend as we thought she would be.

For example, they would start playing with a small ball. Whisky could not run as fast as the other two, and was thus 'left out'. What she would do is wait for the other two to become 'fed-up' playing with the ball, then she would quietly pick up the ball and drop it into a corner of the room, and play with it quietly herself, bopping it first one way an then the other, looking like a fat old dowager playing with a snooker ball.

The three were all 'great fun'. Initially, we would leave them in one room during the day, with litter tray and water, but they had to be 'watched' during mealtimes.

'Whisky' was rather like a 
9;Hoover', emptying her plate quickly, then nonchalantly pushing her head into her sister's plate or Shandy's. Shandy never seemed to mind, often gently 'licking' Whisky's head and purring whilst she got her head down and demolished his grub ('daft', I call that !).

Guinness on the other hand would 'box her ears' at such impudence and a wrestling match would result.

'Guinness' was a strange creature. She was definitely a "ladies' cat" and immediately bonded with Pat. She would creep onto Pat's shoulder if she was sitting down on my high back swivel chair and later would even travel with Pat on the bus in this manner.

Since (rightly or wrongly), I was unwilling to make 'long term girlfriend Pat' into a 'wife-forever Pat', we split up 6 months or so later. We discussed matters sensibly, and commitment was then not an option for me.

Pat asked if she could keep 'Guinness', and I could hardly refuse, the bonding was so obvious. 'Guinness' went on to live happily with Pat (and her eventual husband and family) for 15 years until serious illness lead to the inevitable.


Life in Pinxton was otherwise generally uneventful. However, one day I arrived home to find a grotty little 'mud-ball' waiting outside the front door. Shandy had fallen (or been dumped) into liquid mud on the bypass excavations and that was all over him. No ginger or white fur was visible, it was just starting to dry, and he was making rather pathetic attempts to start washing his paws. I immediately put 3-4 inches of warm water into the bath and proceeded to rinse/bath him gently, with frequent changes of water. He accepted all this with great fortitude and the occasional lick of gratitude on the back of my hand. I then wrapped him in a towel and placed him in the airing cupboard. Wow, he came out a few hours later looking the 'Bee'
s Knees' - All clean, fluffy and perky.


One big mistake I made was not to have both Shandy and Whisky neutered early. I managed to keep Whisky 'isolated' during the first period when she came into season, but on the second occasion she 'got out' and 'made off' with the large Ginger Tom from next door.

The resultant 3 kittens were absolutely glorious - all females (even the ginger one)-a Tortoiseshell/white, a Ginger long-haired, and a black and white long-haired. Friends willingly took all three without a problem. Again, I should have let that be that and had Whisky neutered.

Soon, she and Shandy showed evidence of getting 'fond' of each other, eventually leading to the start of a sex show on top of my TV. It was one night, after closing time, and there were 8 of us, drinking Home Brew (brewing 'strong ale' being another part of my expertise) and watching Joan Bakewell on BBC 2, on 'Late Night Line-up'. Joan was then know as the 'thinking-man's crumpet'. I met her in 1993 and a more charming (celebrity) lady I have yet to meet.

Whisky was warming her tummy on top of the TV set, when Shandy decided to 'mount' her. Cause substantial amusement and ribald cheering on from my rotten friends. I was sooo embarrassed (well not very - I was 'well-oiled', and it all looked very tame to me - lol). The pusses soon got fed up of the audience comments so scooted off outside to continue their amorous coupling.

So Whisky had a second set of kittens, two ginger & white toms, a black & white longhair female and a teeny Tortoise-shell that unfortunately did not thrive and died at 2 weeks old.

Shandy was always fabulous with all the kittens. Helped wash them, taught them 'manners', and let them 'maul' his tail/generally be a nuisance. Again no problem in finding homes for kittens.

One guy (a friend of a gir
l at work) called, took one look at the ginger & white brothers and bravely took both. Mum & Dad took long-haired black & white to replace Mr Tibbs ('lost in action').

Whisky had a traumatic visit to Vet before she came into season again. So no more little kitties after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NOW, DID YOU KNOW ?

1 All Tortoise-shell / Tortoise-shell/whoite cats are female;

2 Ginger cats are usually male, but a female ginger cat can result from a union between a ginger Tom and a Tortoise-shell or Tortoise-shell & white;

3 Humans with ginger hair show a commonality with the genetic mutation that produces ginger pussies (!!?).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Soon after I was faced with the decision of whether or not to buy the house, at £1,750. Obviously I later regretted not doing this, but I had been lucky enough to find a small flat to rent across the road from where I worked. Thus no commuting.

So pusses had to adapt (unexpectedly) to Flat living. There was a quiet garden at the back and they seemed very happy, particularly since there was a fish & chip shop next door.

Whisky was 'always there' according to the chip shop owner when he started cutting up the fish in the morning "Don't you ever feed that cat of yours ?" he would ask. Whisky was in 'Pussycat heaven', but still demanded her helpings of Whiskas everyday.


The flat was on the first floor at the back garden level, but 3rd floor at the other side (at top of block, with windows in the roof). One night, Whisky decided it was too cold to stay out all night waiting for the fish delivery, and that she would try to get back into the flat over the roof and through my bedroom window. Access to the roof was easy at the back, via a lean-to kitchen extension next door. Thus, at about 3 o'clock in the morning there was a rustling at the bedroom window, then a ra
ttling noise.

I opened the window carefully to find Whisky hanging on to the guttering outside my window by her front paws, the 'rattling' being her back legs trying to get purchase on the guttering. I grabbed her neck and brought her in (another life surely gone!, since it must have been a 50 ft drop onto the street below).

I stayed in the flat for about 6 months, and then bought my first house. Brilliant situation for pusses. No local 'rivals' in quiet Cul-de Sac, backing onto fields, and I was able to walk home each lunchtime.

First night there, Whisky caught 16 assorted small rodents in the back garden. Caused some grief also to local rabbit population. One time I saw her catch and kill a young rabbit almost as big as her 'on the hoof'. Mostly she would find the baby rabbits in their burrows, and bring them home (minus their heads which she obvioulsy 'crunched up' first - gruesome little monster!).

Both cats were very popular with the procession of girlfriends that I had. One blonde 'piece' took a particular fancy to Shandy (and he to her). She would hold him like a baby in her arms, on his back and tickle first his tummy, and then in the vicinity of his 'luggage'. He absolutely adored that and alway made a very funny noise - a cross between a purr and a a miaow. Indeed, they are similar to the noise I might make if a nice blonde young lady did the same with my 'luggage' ....

Anyway, I regret not having Shandy 'done' at the same time as Whisky - very irresponsible of me (but I was a bachelor then, and Owww! ... the very thought of it .......... ), because he would go wandering off for days sometime. When he returned he would often show signs of fighting, and smell something rotten ...

Then, one night, Shandy went out on his travels and never returned; he disappeared and left no trace. ....

Whisky actually did mope for him
and wanted me to 'go and find him' For several days, I thought she was trying to take me to him, because she would lead me into the field behind the house, then run ahead of me, prancing through the long grass, meowing.... But we could find no trace and even advertisements in the local newspaper/newsagents' windows brought only 'false alarms'.

One of my enduring memories was returning home every lunchtime. Whisky would always be waiting for me on the front rockery. As soon as she saw me she would stretch herself and run to meet me, mewling and telling me how hungry and cold she was, 'shaking her tail' as it pointed upwards.

How she pleaded with me for a midday meal.. "Three square meals a day for Pussycats !!" was her slogan, whereas misery-me thought two were 'quite sufficient' for little lard-barrels ! Shandy would usually be snoozing on garage roof or under the porch if raining.

Particularly loved watching them dooing their 'cleaning operations' together, particularly when they washed each others' ears, faces and tails.

A friend gave the most apt description when they were both settled down, each with one rear leg in air whilst washing their 'luggage' with gusto and in unison.

"What a fine piece of banjo playing ! Bravo !! A virtuoso duet performance !"

Cats both stopped 'playing' for a moment, each bowed head slightly and then continued vigorously with a second chorus. Always have described this action as such since that time. You watch a cat doing this unique cleaning operation - it really can remind you of a banjo player.

Whisky was with me when I married Heather, and moved to London. Unfortunately, Whisky did not 'take' to London-living. We had a house with a garden, but there were three big 'bruising' TomCats close by, who beat the s**t out of all other cats in the vicinity. She
also caught fleas which 'bit' Heather - not me, they always 'spat' me out !).

With great reluctance, we packed 'little fleabag's' belongings into a knotted handkerchief, attached them to a stick, and she set off back to Derbyshire to stay with Heather's Mum and Dad, There, she thrived and was 'doted' on for another 7 years.

Our elder daughter loved her to pieces (well, she tried to !) whenever we visited, Whisky, sensing this, would immediately run and hide in the airing cupboard. Younger daughter, on the other hand, was not a 'furry-animal' fan.

All such animals were described as 'Goggies' by her and to be treated with severe caution. When I suggested that it really was a 'nice pussy', daughter (at 18 months or so) insisted "Nooo Itsa Goggie !" Always argumentative little beast - even more so today at 22 !

Whisky most definitely 'not impressed' by such descriptions ("Goggy ! Moi ! Huh!!!").

Eventually, the kidney problems she suffered (due to inadequate drinking, I reckon) forced us to call in the vet one summer when we visited the in-laws.

The vet gave his best advice, and she received her 'lethal injection' late one warm June afternoon. She mewed briefly as the needle went in .... and I smoothed her head gently as she closed her eyes.

I buried her under the garden hedge where she often enjoyed the shade when the wind blew.


Oooh I do love pussycats..........

UPDATE 14 April

Both Heather & son have apparently been bitten by fleas. As before, fleas canna touch me - must be the Malt Whisky (my excuse anyway - as good as any).

None of us had even 'touched' a cat for over a week before seeing the signs. I felt certain that it was not 'flea bites', but some other wee beastie.

But if we had a cat ..... the poor wee thing woul
d have got blamed, called a 'flea bag', banished to the ultility room, sprayed/combed vigorously/generally cursed.

UPDATE 7 November

We have since found out that the source of the bites referred to above is from fleas infesting the grey squirrels we have been waging war on in our garden. An account of the continued fight against these vermin will be told ...

© Sidneygee 2001

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