The Spanish Chapter

Part 10 - Call this normal?

A year passes since the invasion, we’re all settled into good and mostly bad habits and they run rings round me the lot of them, literally, indoors and out - I’m at risk of going flat on my face every time I take a step especially if it’s tea time. They've all learned to run for safety when there are dogs around in the road, the orchard opposite and on the odd occasion I had the gates open and Messi, the young Alsation next door, delighted in rushing in, scattering them in all directions round the garden. The Stripeys were so traumatised they didn't come back for hours. I expressed some concern to Antonio, but he said Messi only wanted to chase them, not to kill them. Hmmm. I'm not sure they understood that.

We made comfy beds under the shelter at the back of the cortijo, we got an old settee for me to sit on outside –yeah when it’s not covered in cats, and I have enough expert garden chair testers to….to….to test lots of garden chairs. And jump in the covers I use at the market. They're black you see, like Shadow, and she thinks you can't see her rolling about in them. Open the van door and they're in there. Put a box down and it has a cat in it or on it within seconds.

Little vandals the lot of them though, you should see the state of the mesh in the mozzie screens which are just ideal for climbing up. I'd been trying to figure out how my new all weather gazebo had pinprick holes in it. The paw prints gave it away in the end. They've worked out if they get up on the top of the English van they can take a flying leap onto the gazebo but of course it slopes so you HAVE to dig your claws in, don't you? Who started that then..........a small black criminal mastermind as usual.

My lot, well Minx in particular thinks up on the roof is a good idea because you can go up the hill and onto it over Judy's roof, but clearly you don't want to go back that way so the obvious thing to do is jump onto the awning just like a trampoline and then down onto the garden table. Rolling on it was not such a great idea though although it amused me no end when she rolled right off the side.......They’ve stopped stealing socks thank goodness and since Napoleon is mostly out strutting his macho stuff down the river and intimidating toads and little mices, there isn’t too much rushing about and rough and tumble any more. (He gets a bite which goes septic and has two trips to the vets; I suspect the marauding toms of beating him up.) But there is competition for the washing machine and a lot of fuss about a trickle of water from the tap in the bathroom because we can’t POSSIBLY drink from the water bowl in the kitchen, it’s clearly unreasonable not to climb into let alone on top of the wardrobe, the stereo speakers or the mosquito nets, aren’t those little holes so we get a better grip then? Pickle is the main exponent of the theory that if you hold tight you can swing on the door when it opens!! and that little lizard who sits on the roof overhang when the outside light is on, well he’s just asking for it and I can sit on top of the open door and almost reach another 2 foot of course I can……

They feel a collective need to supervise most activities though I have no idea if there is a rota even indoors or out, but an open door of any kind is an invitation. And a closed one is something of a challenge to be clawed and battered into submission (or corrected by an irritated human. Most people I know with cats stopped shutting inside doors years ago). Bathroom, well why would you want to go there alone? It's when you lift the lid on the loo and turn to sit on it nearly sending a cat into the pan which is disconcerting and when you find yourself going to the kitchen to wash your hands because somebody won't get out of the sink.

The van needs regular inspection needless to say but I'd prefer not to take Pickle with me to market! Napoleon needs to understand that if he wants to come home I'd prefer him to come when he hears me shut the door and NOT wait until I have walked all the way down to the river and up the track before he rushes out and meows pathetically so I have to escort him home? I do quite like it when he emerges to escort ME home though.

They take it in turns to help with the computer but so much better if they sat on the right keys, and didn't sit on the printer switch.  They hide under the throw on the settee where it overhangs the seat. Pickle continues to cry over her little collection of catnip mice, which she loses all over the place and then finds again. Sometimes I find them too, like in my shoe. The ex pat lot seem to have settled in so well but what could be wrong with being warm and allowed to eat and sleep and mess about all day?

We've reached the compromise where everyone outside allows themselves to be stroked with varying degrees of eagerness, except Mezcla and Ginger. Ginger can be stroked along her back while she is eating because she is concentrating but then she jumps a mile and goes "oooh you touched me, get off get off I wasn't really purring, don't like it.........". Mezcla just jumps a mile anyways and still eats absolutely anything. Sit outside with anything to eat or drink and she appears, fixing you with an intent gaze and the eternal question, "what have you got there for me?".

They all have mad half hours chasing around and beating up the toys they've stolen or been given, and when I put down artificial grass, well how good is that to get your claws in? But I would have preferred much less interest in the paddling pool I attempted to put up, the kind with the blow up ring at the top which then holds up the sides as you fill it with water. Now this takes a lot of puff and a few hours to fill, so I took a dim view of finding pinprick should I saw "clawprick" holes releasing a fine but steady spray from the side of the pool and the ring deflating on an ever speedier time scale commensurate with how many times certain felines climbed the sides to drink from the pool. I mean, there's a river within yards, a fresh bowl of water every day and a bucket full of water in the outdoor sink but why wouldn't you prefer to drink from the paddling pool? I only wanted to be able to sit in it in the hot weather. OMG Tigger stops looking OMG so often and overtakes Fat Stripey in barrel shaped proportions such that I should maybe call them Fat Tigger and OMG Stripey. Marmalade become more affectionate and Amber stays spiteful but lets me stroke her. Shadow just gets naughtier. Clearly now Fat Stripey, Tigger, Ginger, Shadow and Mezcla don't think of anywhere else as home. I'm not so sure about Marmalade and Amber who do disappear whilst the other lot and almost always to be found lounging around awaiting their next meal time.

I have the huge satisfaction of seeing lots of well fed and happy cats (and the huge food bill for achieving it). Friends who meet me in the supermarket look in my trolley and laugh – what have you got for yourself then, ah! Milk and bread! amongst a heap of tins and cat biscuit sacks.

What did they do before I came, who knows? but they were smaller and thinner and almost certainly more prone to accident or illness. Now they are safe from marauding dogs inside my gates although occasionally I have to intervene outside. I chase off the bully boy cats who come only to pillage nowadays (although raping was no doubt on the former regular agenda) and indeed their number surely include some responsible for my own mob’s paternity. I've mentioned Ginger Tom before.

I know their lives are happier and more secure now. But what happened to my new found freedom and independence??