Pussy Riots!

Well folks, meet the next generation. The new kittens have arrived and they've already taken over the kitchen and our lives. And this is just day 2!

Please say a great big "Hello and Welcome" to  Masters Dougal and Hamish; a couple of braw cats who hail from Auchtermuchty and came home to North Berwick via Newburgh.  Dougal is black and white and Hamish is white and black. They're a couple of months old and they're cutest things on four paws. They are as cute as the cutest cute things on planet cute.

We're knee deep in feline paraphernalia - cat nip mice, bouncy spiders and a brilliant play tunnel. My arms are scratched to pieces and  everything is going to wrack and ruin. I'm typing amid a cacophony of crashes and squeaks as they re arrange the kitchen and race round like mad things before collapsing into that deep deep kitten  sleep. I'd forgotten just how wonderful kitten energy is and how hard it is to think of anything else when they're about.

We picked the wee darlings up on Friday from their foster Dad Chris, a lovely man who gave them a great start to life. They were Dougal and Fred, but we thought Fred wasn't quite right and so went for Hamish from the Radio programme. They are lovely affectionate moggies with the sweetest of natures.

Their first night, we spent the evening on the kitchen floor helping them feel at home. Dougal, who's big and beefy and looks so confident, immediately ran for cover via a rather tight squeeze behind the fridge. I don't think Ali will ever recover from seeing Dougal jammed solid. We reckon that might be life number one gone; Dougal already has the air of a cat that gets into scrapes, something I'm sure you cat lovers will understand (and a good few parents too!).  Hamish, who's slight and delicate was out and exploring very quickly, but he kept his wits about him and kept his distance at first. Hamish was happy just playing with his ball of foil brought with him from Fife.

By the next morning, Dougal was out from under the sink and under the radiator and Hamish was totally chilled.  As we head towards the end of their second full day in their new home, their characters are beginning to emerge. Hamish is the quieter, more observant of the two. He starts things off and then Dougal joins in. Hamish is very like the lovely Bute; he looks similar and has already taken to the bit of climbing rope that Bute loved to play with; he has amazing reflexes and is very fast. Dougal is a serious purrer and very vocal. He can jump and is already trying to jump up onto surfaces way beyond his ability (famous last words!). They are playing with the intensity and commitment of Olympic athletes and it won't be long before the bird table is at risk.

So the next generation has arrived; there are cats once again in our house and all feels well with the world. Kittens for Christmas - what a lovely lovely thought.

No running this week, but lots of spin and training. My feet are calming down a bit and I think I have an explanation for what's been going on. Watch this space!

Hope you've had a good week and that all is well, whether you're running, walking, jumping or just keeping your head above water.

Take care

suex

Farewell my furry friend

My heart is broken. One half of the pussycat mafia that runs our house is no more. Cute Bute has gone to the great big soft cushion in the sky and we're missing her. Who'd have thought that such a small bundle of black and white fur would leave such an enormous space?

I know at over 17 years old, Bute had a long and very happy life.  Bute's idea of bliss was to sit or lie in the sun until she could barely move or to sit on Ali's lap until his legs went numb.  She was one of the sweetest cats you could ever meet, a real little lady with the cutest face and an endearing manner.

Originally from the Isle of Bute, Bute and her brother Kyle were rescue cats, brought home from a day trip to Rothesay in a cardboard vodka box. They were tiny, fitting into the palm of my hand, purring away.  They spent almost their whole lives together, inseperable, but not always friends. One memorable time they were sitting by the open bathroom window. I heard a squeak; turned round to see Kyle had shoved her out the window. Luckily she was only one floor up and over a flower bed. Bute came in through that cat flap like a cat out of hell and sulked. Bute's sulks were profound but short lived.

The pussies settled into Stirling and even from her earliest days, Bute was tidy and neat. She got cleanliness and litter trays from the first time she saw them and always kept her long haired, silky coat pristine. Very rarely did Bute look less than immaculate, always photogenic; an Audrey Hepburn of a cat.

Timid and perpetually scared by anything new or unexpected, Bute spent a lot of her early years behind the settee or under the bedclothes, only venturing out when she knew I was alone. Her first time outdoors was memorable. Whilst her brother went charging off to explore the new world, Bute trod carefully, lifting each paw high into the air, trying to make sense of the springy grass. When a puff of wind blew, Bute jumped sky high; she always did have a good startle reflex that lasted her whole life.

Visitors frightened Bute, and not many people got to know her more than in retreat, sneaking out a door or under a chair; a tail disappearing through a doorway. For a lot of the time, Bute was just a lump under the bedclothes, where she felt invisible and safe.  I always wondered what had happened to make her like that.  But  Bute loved Ali and Ben, she knew when they were about she was safe. Sitting on their laps was like a throne for Bute and she sat there and ruled the roost. A floozie, through and through.

In North Berwick Bute spent a lot of time on the windowsill soaking up the heat of the radiator or sun depending on the time of the year. She and Kyle were often to be found flat out in the sunshine in the conservatory, staggering into the shade like holiday makers on a Mediterranean beach. Bute's little face at the front window was a welcoming sight to see after a long hard day at work - she always looked like she was posing for a feline version of Vogue.

Bute loved broccoli, porridge, yogurt and of course tuna. For most of her life she didn't miaow, she gave a little 'eek'. It was only in her later years when she got a thyroid tumour that Bute began to sound like a normal cat. For her tiny size, she could let her views be known very forcibly indeed. As she got older, her hips went, but she could still spring into the air to sit on Ali's knee; right up to the end she was up for her cuddle.

Who would think that one small bundle of fur could leave such a hole in our hearts and so many happy memories? But that's what happens when a pussycat steals your heart.

I did a run for Bute yesterday. A lovely sunny early run up to WhiteCraigs and back.  I cried a bit, I smiled a lot and I came to terms a little bit with things. When I came home, I was a bit further along my journey too.

Farewell Bute my little furry pal. Rest in peace.



Suex