Cat Person

For a better part of my wee lifetime, I've always considered myself a Dog Person. I think I still am, yes. I miss Socks, my intelligent sheltie doggy who lived with us for all her 13 years. I still bore all my friends with the stories of how she can say grace (she will put her chin on your hand with the treat on it, and only eat it when you say 'Amen'), never letting her leash go taut (she was such a good walker), and plays ball without using her mouth, preferring to kick with her front legs with precision aim (she could even play with more than one human at a time, giving each human a fair turn at the ball).

Last year, we were adopted by a skinny pygmy cat from downstairs -- I was reminded of this post when someone left a comment just yesterday -- I should let everyone know how that's going shouldn't I!

Well, the little bugger didn't come back that often until she became very obviously pregnant -- shit, we all thought. I swear, she was so bony, nobody would have guessed she could bear any sort of viable offspring -- but she did. She had 3 snow-white kittens in the drain downstairs that we discovered purely by accident.

So we left them alone for the time being, providing Cat with food and water at our doorstep. We'd planned to sterilise Cat as soon as her kittens were big enough to loll around without her.

It was something like July, when obscenely heavy rains beat down and we thought Oh Crap. Checking on the kittens, we found Cat under the neighbour's MPV with one white ball in her jaws, and the others missing. Following the flow of water, rain still beating down on us, we found a female kitten at a junction where two drains emptied, four legs spread eagled clinging on to the cement walls. We fished her out, used an umbrella to roll the other kitten out from under the MPV, and took them up to our home. We couldn't find the third kitten.

So Cat and now two kittens lived at our doorstep in a big cardboard box turned onto its side for about two weeks before Cat decided to hitch them back downstairs to the same spot in the drain. Attempts at bringing the family back up were all in vain. Well, shit happened again when a heavy storm struck while the family was on the way to dinner one evening. Luckily we decided to turn back and check on the cats.

It happened again! Cat had the same male in her mouth, mewing desperately, while the other kitten was missing. As I brought the shivering male home to dry off, the parentals took to the drains in search of the female kitten. My father followed the length of the small drain about 50 meters down to the large canal that ran along the main road outside the estate, only to find the female kitten, barely 7 inches long at that time, clinging to the side of the storm drain, water gushing by, one bus stop down from my home!

My father got a large gash on his arm from climbing down that storm drain to fish her out.

The next three months, the kittens lived in our home in a doggy cage that we borrowed from a cat-carer we befriended. Cat was allowed daily visits of course, and later on, we sent her to be sterilised. When the kittens reach 4 months, they were sent for sterilisation too.

The white kittens turned colour -- the male remained white but with pale brown colouration on his ears, nose and tail, while the female developed grey stripe markings on her face, legs and tail, with dark grey ears. The male was very dim, and looked like a monkey. So we named him Monkey.

Monkey and Dirty at 4 weeks, trying to eat Cat's food.

Before the female turned colour, her nose developed a dirty splotch of black. So we called her Dirty Face.

That's the splotch that appeared something like 2 weeks.

Meet Dirty and Monkey at 3 months old:

...drinking out of the toilet bowl.

Dirty was very obviously the smarter one. And given her survival record, we decided she must be the fighter between the two, and that mummy Cat had to save Monkey both times because she must have known that he was dim.

So we had a lovely arrangement -- The Cats would hang out outside at night, and hang out inside in the day. And for a few months, this worked out fine. Until Monkey went missing.

Something must have happened, because ever since, Dirty never ventured out again, insisting on living as a fulltime housecat. This was very strange because she was always the restless one, hunting and exploring all night. One night she did spend the night outside, she returned with a wound on her back that developed into an abcess -- we had to take her to the vet to remedy that, the poor thing.

Cat was still nervous around us, even though we took care of her all this while, so she stayed outside. Returning to talk to Dirty at night, and at feeding time.

Just last month, she too, disappeared.

We don't know if people took her, and we can't explain that, given that she had a clipped ear.

So it's now just us and Dirty.

Haha, she looks so silly. She tweets, by the way! See how often she sleeps at twitter.com/dirty_face

Socks

Socks was probably the first dog I knew that prefered kicking a tennis ball over grabbing it in her mouth. She never needed a leash when walking in the compound and always loved scooting over to the parking lot where we'd usually give her a nice comb down before coming back home. She nearly always went crazy when she saw a ball, but that sort of waned as she grew older, wiser, wearier and more tired.

Socks was also the prettiest dog I knew and still is.

On the morning of 29th August 2006, Socks was euthanised first thing when the vet opened at 9.30am.

When I returned from my Tioman trip, I was informed that Socks, over the weekend, had suddenly fallen very ill. She was disoriented, started walking into things, and had so little energy that her legs gave way when she walked. She was sent for observation at the animal hospital and an ultrasound showed her liver, spleen and pancreas were swollen with tumours. A blood test showed extremely low blood sugar and high levels of toxic liver enzymes accumulated.

That Sunday, she returned from the hospital with a half-shaven left front leg where the drip was inserted, and a shaven belly from when they took the ultrasound. It took her 3 days to recover from the trauma from staying at the hospital.

Over the next few weeks, she grew stronger and even seemed to recover. Last Sunday was the last time we had Socks around for our weekend beach breakfast.

On Monday, I received several phone calls from my mother, sounding very worried. Socks had taken a turn for the worse. She was exceptionally weak and had severe diarrhea. She was also vomitting frequently and started to refuse food and water.

Later that day, my mother called again. Socks had suddenly got into a fit. I said I would come home that night.

When I returned, she was lying on the living room floor, eyes wide open, her body was stiff and her breathing was fast and heavy. When I cuddled her, she seemed to show some recognition and sat up for the first time that evening.

My mother, exhausted from the day's cleaning and looking after her, asked me to let Socks sleep in my room that night to keep an eye on her.

From midnight, I stayed up with her as her fits became more and more frequent. With each epileptic attack, I cuddled her, telling her that everything was ok, and that it wil be over soon. I'm not sure she could hear, her eyes were glossed over and wide open, they wouldn't even close when I tried to force her eyelids close.

I kept vigil with her all night, along with kind calls of concern from Abs and YC. Exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before, the night crawled on. My heart ached with each spasm she went into, her jaws gnashing uncontrollably, limbs stiffened and thrashing wildly.

By 6am, I was exhausted beyond words. I could only imagine how Socks felt. At 630am, the parents awoke to find me stroking her gently, cradling her as another seizure gripped her frail body.

My mother sat by her as I wearily washed up and fell asleep on my parents' bed. My mother woke me at 9am saying it was time to take her to the hospital. I couldn't bear to watch her go, neither could I really stand up and walk straight, having only gotten 2 hours sleep in the past 24 hours.

I woke up to see her one last time, and watched as my father cradled her gently and brought her downstairs to the car.

We woke the brother telling him what was happening. He and I, we watched from the landing as my father put her into the car. Socks, still pretty as ever, but wide-eyed, her tongue hanging out helplessly, I couldn't believe she was going away. Tears streaming from my face for the first time, I fled the scene, leaving my brother to watch in silence, taking in the gravity of the situation.

I crumpled back into bed, wishing the nightmare would go away. My brother came in later asking which clinic they'd gone to, and I told him. I knew later that he actually went down there.

An hour later, my mother called saying that it was quick and she didn't put up a fight.

I only wonder if she heard me talking to her the night before, whether she was scared, whether she was in pain, whether she knew that we loved her more than anything.

Toxins from her liver had attacked her brain.

I now realise that it is harder when watching helplessly, instead of actually doing something to help. Shrinking back into the sheets, I lay there thinking how helpless and horrible I was being to leave the final leap to my parents. My father especially, to whom Socks was most attached.

He headed for work after the trip to the vet. I know how he must have felt.

All of us deal with grief differently. My father and I chose to flee the scene, him to work, I to school. My brother locked himself in his room. My mother, the strong lady she is, wandered the house, still talking about how Socks had been perfectly fine the day before.

Yesterday as I came home from school, I found myself eyeing every corner for signs that Socks used to live here, almost afraid to see anything that would remind me of her. A piece of scratched furniture, stray tennis balls, her green collar with the PWD license and other bits of her memory lay where they always were.

It took me this long to find the strength to blog about her.

I miss her terribly. I will miss her especially on Sunday mornings, when she would noisily wake everyone up to take her to the beach.

I find myself expecting to see her smiling face look up at me imploringly each time I open a packet of biscuits, or greet me enthusiastically when I enter the house.

My mother becomes alert when it starts to rain, wondering if Socks was freaking out like she does at the sound of thunder. She said the house was too quiet without Socks around. My brother left the living room light on this evening, as if Socks were still around.

Pets really do become a part of our lives. Socks was definitely my best friend growing up. We had a wonderful 13 years together.

Celebrity dawg

Well looky what surprise I got this morning when the newspaper was shoved in my face while I was still very much in bed!



ST finally wised up and featured the world's prettiest dawg in Sunday Lifestyle! I actually sent this photo in late last year and never thought it's see CMYK print but voila! A year later, after turning 22 (*note, text says I'm 21, and Socks is only 12. Rolls eyes), I finally got her on ST :D A happy morning indeed.

Bunnycast

Hello bunny lovers. Thanks for tuning in.

Before I leave for Tioman I'd just like to get some things off my mind:

1. To the jokers folks at Singapore Idol and Mediacorp; can you please do something about your sound system/audio feed? All the viewers at home and unwilling cummuters forced into watching TV mobile can hear is girly screaming, SCREECHING and wailing while the contestants are singing. Simply unacceptable. You wonder how people vote.

Also, would you please just kick out all the girls except Matilda because all this weekly voting is retarded given we already know that the girls are just pretty faces that can't mew, and even though the boys are ugly, I cringe less when they sing. So there. Please spare us the agony. Gods.

Not that I care, if I'm not having it forced upon me on the bus when my mp3 player dies on me, since Rockstar Supernova screens at the same time.

Cable vs Free-to-air channels: 123187634 - nil.

2. Had that lecture from the mother again. About religion and marriage. And about thinking clearly and wisely and standing up for myself. She seems to think that I'm getting married and someone's already proposed. This is really not the best timing for such heavy discussions. Wails.

3. I don't think I need to apologise about being depressing these past weeks. Thank you to all who have asked what's wrong and "why is the bunneh depressed" etc etc. I can't answer anyway so please, thanks, but I'm sorry if I snub you.

4. I really wish sometimes I weren't as pessimistic as I am. I wish to [insert deity here] that I enjoy the trip. 6 freaking days in Tioman, I'd surely be sick of the beach by day 3.

5. Sheep please go give Hugo a pat and a hug for me this week. I selfishly hope he doesn't get adopted til I get back. Oh I'm SO HORRIBLE.

6. The dawg is BACK!

I wish I were stronger. Why am I so weak, so emotional and so afraid to show it? Mind over matter eh, well my mind just isn't strong enough.

Maybe I will find answers while counting fish, waddling in the mangroves and stepping on sea urchins. Wish me luck.

For bunny junkies out there (I think there are less than 2 of you) here's some comfort to keep you feeling all warm and fuzzy this coming week, while the bunny is stuck on an island where phone reception is "intermittent" and there is zilch internet access:

To answer

[Updated on 11 July]

To answer to all of you, as if I owe you all an explanation, the ominous question: "What has the bunny been up to these days?"

If you were thinking the bunny has been making herself useful, you are probably half right. If you were thinking the bunny was bumming around and spending money, you got the other half right. The bunny is not shy to admit these things. Because I'm spent from typing the previous post flaming someone who can't even get his blog layout right, I will blog in pictures.

Sunday breakfasts at the beach.

Weekly fleas with YC and Sheep. This was taken at the recent Maad flea at Red Dot. This designer put together lamps from unconventional display pieces, like say, this "NOT FOR HIRE" taxicab top and even detergent bottles.



"Free Magic Stones" seen on floor at the Maad flea.

We managed to get excellent material for TCP there. The Maad flea shouldn't really be called a flea since many things were brand new and overpriced. Then again, it should probably have been called a designer showcase. Amazing stuff featured, my favourites were paulMysh art for photography and other artwork, and whitedogbobby, who got featured in TCP.

More grafitti we encountered off Rochor Canal Road while getting lost finding Kelantan St.: Random worn flooring at a coffee shop, "Think Tities (sic, I'm sure LOL)", "[...] Date of completion: NEVER! [...]", "Stolen bikes ride faster".

Jokes. Note "No loitering sign". Taken at Farrer Park station post-Little India gluttony.

Feeding the resident lizard living under the microwave.

On field trip to the Mangroves on the first day of Semester 4; watch out for crocs at Sungei Buloh. I hear it was erected (the sign) after one or two sightings only. I like to think it's an excuse to put up such a cool sign.

Out chilling with the girls, we walked past the new Supreme Court, its entire facade decorated with slabs of symmetrical marble like this. I call this Vagina Building.

Twice to three times a week, I head down to the SPCA to walk the dogs. Partly for the great workout (brisk walking for 2+ hours), but mostly because I just love the dogs there so much. Some pics taken from this morning since it was pouring so we couldn't take the dogs out. Instead we stuck around to comb them all down. My favourite dogs, in no order of preference:

Bobo, sweetest mutt in the kennel. Medium-sized mongrel that nobody wants to adopt. Why??



Brownie the bearded collie, whose beard got sheared.



At feeding time. My two favouritest dogs in the kennel: Roscoe the husky (left) and Hugo the Alaskan Malamut. The biggest dogs there (after the great dane) but with the sweetest, most docile yet playful natures. Roscoe's howling "Food! Food! Food! Food!"



Hugo: "Whatchoo lookin' at?!" I like to think he speaks with a southern drawl like some old mid-west cowboy heh heh.



Roscoe: "Hugo got more food than me?"

I would've gone into their kennels or taken them out to take some better shots but at feeding time it's not the wisest thing to do.

Other animals: Cat ass, Hugo and I out on a walk, new kitten additions to the cattery.