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The Local History Cats |
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The Local History Cats |
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When I first wrote this page, there had been four Local History Cats. When we started the magazine in 1984, we were ably assisted by Coco, an aristocratic chocolate point Siamese, and Smokey, a grey and white young man who had come to us as a rescue cat. Wild and distrustful, with good reason, of human beings, he adored Coco and, after some initial hesitation, she took on the job of licking him into shape with the same attitude she adopted towards life in general, that of supreme confidence in her own ability. Smokey's attitude to producing Local History Magazine was, as the picture on the right shows, relaxed. Coco, although she obviously never lifted a paw herself, knew instinctively how to manage the human staff and always made sure that production of the magazine never got in the way of really important jobs, like catering. Unfortunately, just months after we began the magazine, Smokey died of heat stroke during a very hot summer. He was five and had become a most affectionate cat to those few human beings whom he trusted. Coco was devastated and when Rolo came to live with us shortly afterwards, she accepted him with good grace, but as far as she was concerned he could never replace Smokey. Rolo was another grey and white young man, with brilliant iridescent eyes the colour of tiger's eye. He chatted volubly with all and sundry in a series of wonderful little chirrups and died tragically young, aged one year, when he was run over by a speeding car. It was after Rolo's death that Miss Jenny Anydots was taken onto the staff. Saved from being drowned, she was the funny looking runt of the litter who grew into a beautiful tortoiseshell tabby with an outstandingly sweet nature. She and Coco never really got on, but Jenny was smart enough to realise that she had to appear to do what The Boss wanted and was able to get her own way in much more subtle ways than we ever realised at the time. Coco had a stroke when she was nearly seventeen and she had to be put to sleep. She was our first cat, so that made her pretty special, but anyone who has ever had a Siamese will know how intelligent and affectionate they can be. It was a hard blow, but Jenny bravely stepped into her new responsibilities as Boss Cat and, as can be seen from her picture above, could often be found supervising business activities in the office. When we took delivery of a new computer system in 2000, she kindly showed Susan how to shrink down an old DOS program into an icon at the bottom of the computer screen by delicately pressing on the Alt key and the Space bar with her derrière; the fact that she wanted her tea and was trying to prevent Susan from typing was overlooked in the general joy which followed this demonstration of computer wizardry. Just before New Year 2001 she had a stroke, from which she recovered very well. In August however we discovered that she had a malignant tumour on her spleen and both were removed in a major operation. Much to our surprise, for she was nearly fifteen, she bounced back from the operation and had a further two months of enjoyable life. In early October however, she started to fade away as the cancer returned and Susan especially had to spend a great deal of time with her as she became weaker. She died peacefully in her sleep in the early hours of 9 November. So now The Local History Press office has no cats to supervise the human workers. There are no cat hairs getting inside the computer mice, no furry bodies lying across the keyboards, no small reproachful creatures whose body language expresses so clearly the opinion that, Sunday isn't a working day so what are we doing in the office? No doubt in the future there will be more Local History Cats, but for now a suitable period of mourning will be observed and Snofi, who diligently helps Barbara with the book reviews, will have to hold the fort alone. An
update — August 2003 In spite of the worry of seeing him in places which meant that he was crossing very busy main roads and even a railway line (gulp!), we settled down together and we two bipedals began to look forward to a life of servitude again. Sadly, it was not to be. A few weeks ago we noticed that he was unusually thin, even for the summer, his coat began to lose its shine and his breathing became laboured. A visit to the vet and a series of tests confirmed our worst fears - he was terminally ill with feline leukaemia and had a lymphoma in his chest. The vet thought that he must have had the leukaemia before he came to us - a product of his wandering and unsettled lifestyle. We cuddled him as the vet put him to sleep and buried him next to the 'boys' in the garden. It's strange how such a little life can have an effect on us. Pusskin pretty much pleased himself where life was concerned, but when he was around us he gave his affection and trust freely and we felt privileged to receive them. Those of us who appreciate cats should never delude ourselves that we mean too much to them — the joke 'dogs have owners, cats have staff' rings very true — but nevertheless when a cat chooses a human of their own free will it still means a great deal. A life without cats Raptors rule! (12 Feb 2007) Madame la Marquise takes up residence Markiza is a pretty long-haired tabby, as the photographs show, but she has exceptionally short legs and a tail which she cannot move, except for being able to flicker the end of it very slightly. She lives very well with her 'disability' and has all sorts of 'coping mechanisms', including a rather endearing tendency to stand up like a meercat when she is trying to gauge whether she can jump up onto anything. Our friend got her from the Cats Protection shelter here in Nottingham where she was the cat who had been there the longest. When we contacted the shelter to try and find out a little about Markiza, all they could tell us was that her name was originally Kerry and she had had a litter of five kittens, three of whom had died. Their vet had noted some stiffness in her back legs and thought that she might be prone to arthritis as she got older. I've recently been diagnosed with arthritis in my hips, so I have a great deal of fellow feeling for her. It's no coincidence that all three photographs show her lying down, in fact I don't think we have a photograph of her standing up. Like an opera singer who has to train every day to keep their voice in good condition, Markiza is very serious about training constantly to make sure that she can always recline to the very high standard that her audience has come to expect of her. Markiza has a sweet nature, although a tendency to occasional short temper means that we are never left in doubt as to when stroking and tickling has to stop. 'Her Fluffiness' (thanks, Rosie, for that great name) loves to play hide and seek and a game which would probably have the name of 'Oh no, someone is chasing me and I must run as fast as my little legs will carry me to get away'. She can get up to phenomenal speeds on her short legs and she also seems to have the ability to materialise right beside you with no warning at all, so much so that I've taken to calling her Macavity. So, what about the name? Well, our friend told us that Markiza was an Russian Orthodox saint, but I haven't been able to confirm that. If anyone is able to tell me anything about such a saint, then I would be happy to hear from them. While researching Markiza in Wikipedia I found that in Poland and other eastern European countries a Markiza was our equivalent of a Marchioness, so for high days and holidays Markiza has become Madame la Marquise. She's been sitting on the floor watching me while I have been typing this, but has now gone to practise reclining on the sofa in our office. Once refreshed, she will begin the campaign for her next meal of the only cat food which she will eat at the moment, Felix's Cod and Haddock. Given that there seem to be no sustainable Atlantic cod stocks at the moment, her predilection for for the endangered fish is doing untold damage to our green credentials. Cats, don't ya love 'em. Susan and Robert
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