Brindis&Paolo

Obituaries

Brindis Calderwood



Brindis Calderwood was an intellectual gentlecat whose life spanned 24 immensely productive years. He was still contributing to the Feline Observer until his death and, even when he became too ill to communicate with his humans directly, he continued to write by dictating to me, his companion Paolo, whom he had adopted and trained.

Brindis' kittenhood was spent in Earl's Court, where he achieved early distinction after investigating the archaeological discovery of a mummified Roman cat in the City of London and publishing his findings in the Feline Archeological Journal. Living in digs with a family of illiterate but highly intelligent Siamese Cats, he went on to publish their memoirs of Old China, which later became an authoritative record of an archaic way of life. At that time, too, he listened to numerous folk tales from strays, which he recently recalled from memory and serialised in the Feline Observer.

After an incident in which he was accused of stealing a piece of fish from a ginger Tom, Brindis went into hiding for two years, living under the pseudonym of Berthild and sharing a flat with a German artist called Ingrid, from whom he acquired an interest in film, something he never lost. Until his last days, his servants told me, he would turn up unexpectedly at the showing of Arte films in their quarters, preferring (although not limiting himself to) black-and-white, German films from the 1920's. He frequently modelled for Ingrid's sculpture, and would continue to do so long after his departure from the artist's home, carving what he called "mind-sculptures" on a suitable pedestal such as a stool. The most important lesson he taught me was to learn from every experience in life, good or bad.

When Brindis was 13, his adopted companion departed abruptly and he briefly found himself without a home. He moved into a communal garden (Philbeach Gardens, SW5), and was re-united with a treacherous family member, who had made the original accusation of fish theft (using the flimsiest of circumstantial evidence). On seeing Brindis re-emerge (after he had been presumed dead) the family member attacked him without provocation. "It was sheer jealousy. Brindis' cousin could not stand his intellectual prowess, his cleanliness and his athletic grace" said his servant of 10 years, Silvia, who witnessed the duel. "But it backfired. There was an iron bridge next to our flat, crossing the basement area to the garden. Brindis drew the traitor onto it, and his paws were trapped in the metal grid." Brindis remembered how he jumped onto a window ledge, intending to engage in the next phase of battle: to knock over a flower pot in which rainwater had accumulated.

But his eyes were irresistibly drawn to the interior of the flat, whose aesthetics were of an unusually high standard and he forgot his vanquished cousin. After a number of visits, he got to know the inhabitants and decided to employ them as his servants, paying them with invaluable advice during their "studies" of parked cars, buses and traffic flows, a subject (known to humans as "Transport") with which he was very familiar. It occupied most of their time, to the extent that he granted them leave from their duties as servants - very rare amongst employers. "For humans, study is important" Brindis once said. "They lack an innate understanding of the world. Silvia was studying parallel processing, which as any classical scholar knows, is one of the fundamental principles of feline thought. Humans are only just discovering these ideas - 5,000 years after the Egyptian cat Tehuti drew his hieroglypic scrolls. Yet one can only encourage them."

Deciding to make a break with his old life, Brindis and his servants made a sojourn to Golders Green. There, he befriended a lady cat (he abhorred the term "bitch") who had a penchant for fighting toms in the garden, which Brindis would watch through a transparent catflap. She gave birth to black and white kittens, which Brindis always believed were his. (He disagreed with the veterinary opinion that he had been neutered). He also enjoyed surprising his servants, when they went out to buy his groceries, by greeting them outside the door on their return. This gesture says a great deal about his egalitarian beliefs, in an age when many servants are seen as mere providers of food.

Before long Brindis had moved back to Earls Court, where he and his servants lived in a top floor flat for two years. He called it "The Feline Observatory" and, weather permitting, pursued astronomy from the rooftop. He also enjoyed listening to his servants' conversations and discussions about art, science and politics. "I was 15 then, and my servants' visitors were all older than I." he later recalled. "But the wisdom accumulated in that time by an average cat like myself is greater than a human of 25, or indeed 75 can even hope for. In short, I found their debates rather immature and kitten-like, but I think they benefitted from my contributions. I made a number of good human friends, too." In spite of these misgivings, Brindis was always impeccably well-mannered. He kept himself perfectly clean, listened politely without interrupting and stood up when anyone came into the flat. It was heartbreaking to see him, recently, trying to stand when our humans came home and falling over, but it also showed his determination and courage in the face of a progressive disability.

At the age of 17, Brindis moved to a basement flat close to his old home, where he was put back in touch with street life, which he had missed in his last abode. He felt that he had become too esoteric and once again needed contact with the strays who inspired him so much. He would make forays around the squares and talk at length to underprivileged cats. "Those without servants, those who are forced to work to stay alive, give me tremendous hope. Their thoughts are often far more lucid than those of pure, inbred pedigrees who rely on humans." Brindis would often take up the cause of a victim of injustice, championing the case of a French cat who had been extradited and forced to abandon her 1-week old kittens. Brindis lived without his servants for three days and nights whilst he found foster parents for the kittens. Very soon after this episode, he heard that one of his servants, Silvia, was herself expecting a human kitten. (THIS IS CALLED A "CHILD". PAOLO, I KNOW YOU ARE GRIEVING BUT BRINDIS WOULD NOT WANT SUCH CARELESS USE OF LANGUAGE - EDITOR).

As the Feline Observer often reports, many cats do not take kindly to their servants' kittens ("CHILDREN" - EDITOR). Even the most tolerant of cats can be cruel to a human kitten, and some have even been known to replace their entire staff after discovering that a servant has given birth. Brindis not only allowed his servants to have a litter ("BABY" - EDITOR), but kept Silvia company whilst his other servant Alastair was at work. "I shall always remember how he stayed with me during the long hours, whilst I was waiting for Marlene", Silvia told me. When a human kitten is born, humans instinctively make a soft, warm basket ("COT" - EDITOR) into which the new arrival is dropped ("LOWERED" - EDITOR). It is a sign of Brindis' sensitivity that he never believed that his servants' only purpose was to wait on him, and understood that the basket was for the kitten, not for his own comfort. He was always gentle to the kitten, even as it learnt to crawl and then to walk, and when it behaved roughly he simply jumped to a higher surface, even up to the top of a door (somewhere I, Paolo, would never venture). "The child kept me in good shape", he once told me. "Had I not been obliged to jump so high, I would certainly not be doing it in my twenties."

At the age of 20, Brindis sailed to Amsterdam, together with his servants and the kitten. He recalled how he was not allowed on the ship's deck, being deprived of his servants and forced to wait in a dark van for some hours. He was incensed and, through the medium of his servants, became an activist. "Cats have a long tradition of seafaring without let or hindrance", he dictated to Alastair, for a letter to the Home Secretary. "Under today's regulations, my ancestors would not have reached London in the 9th century. Bureaucratic restrictions on travel are not only a nightmare of red-tape, but present a grave threat to this ancient freedom." His campaign was effective and, shortly after, the first cats were able to travel with their entourage of servants overseas. After this campaign, Brindis settled into life in Amsterdam, which he found less rushed, and had time to renew his interest in sculpture, often posing on a glass table or symmetrically bridging himself between two identical chairs, whilst making "mind-sculptures". He would relax by watching boats sailing past the window. He also enjoyed travelling on his servant's bicycle, which most other cats (even I) would find quite terrifying!

It was in Amsterdam too that I met Brindis. As a cat from an underprivileged background ("STRAY" - EDITOR), I had not developed my natural talents, but Brindis taught me how to write and dictate to humans, and introduced me to the Feline Observer. Without his guidance I would not be writing this now, and I hope that I shall continue to publish Brindis' teachings in this splendid organ, including the often contentious issues that he brought to public notice. Brindis never shied away from controversy, criticising "the vulgar hype of the obsequious Whiskas Cat", encouraging female cats to fight aggressive toms, and once suggesting to me that I should publish an editorial in the Feline Observer, "In Defence of Dogs", after which I was hounded (NO PUNS PLEASE - EDITOR) by the tabloid press. When I heard about Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit's sensational story in the Scum, of how her husband had been eaten by a dog, and how she would send a pack of hounds to my house to see how friendly they would be to me, I panicked. But Brindis just stuck his tongue out and told me that Mrs. Twitchit only lived in a storybook. He was a strong character, who could not be easily tricked.

We moved to London last year, where Brindis remained very active until his last illness. The week we arrived he left our new flat and walked to the end of the street, along the window ledges at first floor level, then jumped into another flat, where he found an unwanted piece of fillet steak. The purpose of all this, Brindis said, was to show me that one should not rely on one's servants too heavily, and that it was good manners to give them the occasional holiday from their duties. He sometimes applied this philosophy at mealtimes, often springing up to his servants' table and taking food himself, rather than ordering them to get up and put it in his bowl. Brindis considered his humans - and me - to be his family, and it is for this that I will remember him.

by Paolo

Brindis Calderwood, born 1st July, 1980, died last week on Wednesday, 30th June, 2004.

Michelangelo Antonioni and my fate
by Brindis

Alastair my only dog friend has made use of his authority and kept me alive. He rejected Silvia’s and the Vet calls to put me to sleep. And he is great: gives me my medicine –nor that I appreciate it, I must bite him unfortunately as he insists in giving me a yellow powder that has on me the effect of a certain A drug class which name starts with C – and feeds me, and moves me around when my legs are weak or tired. He also washes me and keeps and eye that I am comfortable and well taken care of.
Please don’t misunderstand me: Silvia and Marlene are also great, but Silvia has a very practical side on her, and she worries that I might get scare on my last day if I keep falling on the floor. Marlene calls me now my grandpa cat, and if that sounds sweet I am worried as it makes me think in my own unknown grandchildren.
But Alastair woof care is special: he thinks that as an intelligent being I deserve to be alive as long as possible as the world needs more of us together here and now.
And he doesn’t look very far to identify me with his (and mine) heroe: Mr Antonioni who is still around even if unable to talk or use the whole of his body since a stoke (the same than me) some years ago. This event did not stop him to make “Beyond the Clouds” a masterpiece of cinema. And I am still writing in the Feline Observer that is my legacy to the feline journalist world, even with Paolo’s interventions (Note of Ed: articles).
So I keep going, until I can. I will leave to the Catrix and the Supreme Cat when I am ready no before.
Until next time,

I'm afraid that my condition is not improving very much. Alastair insists on giving me (rather foul-tasting) medicines but even though I am a great believer in Science and Progress, I may be too old for them to make a difference. The main problem is that I can't control my legs properly, and even after plotting a route in my mind it is a tremendous effort to go in a straight line. The vet says that it is my central nervous system and there is little prospect of an improvement. I suppose that it will soon be time to "rest" as they say (as though cats were supposed to do anything else!) but at the moment I still want to wait a little bit longer. I can still recognise the important things - food, toilet and my servants - and don't want to give up as some cats do. The important thing is not to panic and to take everything calmly, although dealing with Marlene's tantrums is asking a little too much!

Waiting time
by Paolo

The child Marlene went away this weekend to see her friend Lydia in Sussex. So my masters Silvia and Alastair took Master Brindis to the vet. Master Brindis has not been well at all, he seems not to be able to identify the floor he is walking on and keeps going in circles and circles. He stills eats and goes to the loo alone, but it is me the one that keeps him clean and tidy.
The news are no good. The vet recommended to consider the idea of making him go to sleep. She thinks he wont survive for more than one or two weeks. Both my masters were devastated. The love Master Brindis dearly and cannot imagine their lifes without him. So both were hesitant about deciding something on the spot.
Master Brindis is back home, but he is only a shadow of his old self. Most of the time he sleeps and eats and goes to the loo. The humans have been very nice to him. They cuddle him, wash him and take care that he doesnt suffer or gets bothered. But I dont think they can do that forever.
When the human child came back from her holiday, she was told that Master Brindis might die. And what a tandrum. She was so upset. I always thought that she liked me more.
So we are all very sad. But I guess we need to come to terms with the fact that Master Brindis had a very long and good life. And that we all have good memories of him and his intelligence.
Even me can see that the reason the Masters are so sad is that one of them is dying and they cannot do anything about it.
In the meantime the word dog has been mentioned again in the house. I dread the future.
Until next time,

This article was published today in the BBC website
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/cornwall/3817305.stm

Tale of a not-so-lucky black cat

Inspectors broke the concrete floor to rescue the cat
A cat has been rescued from a building site in Newquay where it was trapped under the concrete floor of a partially constructed building.
The RSPCA was called on Wednesday when visiting Health and Safety inspectors heard the cat mewing.
It is not clear how long the cat had been trapped, but the animal charity says he is quite thin and dehydrated.
Charles Gilby, from the Health and Safety Executive, said the concrete floor was laid two months ago.
He's probably used up more than one of his nine lives
Inspectors from the executive have been carrying out construction site visits across the county in a bid to reduce the number of fatal and serious injuries in the industry.
It was on one of these routine visits that two inspectors heard the cat.
Mr Gilby said at first they could not place where the noise was coming from.
He said: "This floor had been down for two months, but they managed to break open the floor and a black cat came out.
"It was certainly the worse for wear, but not actually harmed."
Animal collection officer Felicity Cross believed the cat, which is about 10-years-old, had tried to get out.
She said: "His claws are really scuffed and broken, which suggests he's been scrabbling around trying to find a way out.
"Generally, he's very subdued. But I've been down to the site in Pentire Avenue and, if he's been there for a while, he's probably used up more than one of his nine lives."
Ms Cross said although the cat was probably local, it was possible it came to the site in one of the building construction vans.

I am pleased to report that I have been given a clean bill of health by the vet and am told I can be expected to live at least another three years, with the condition that I take revolting pink and green tablets for the rest of my life. My legs and paws have suddenly become wobbly, but I'm not so concerned as I have trained my three humans very well and they will carry me around if it comes to it. What bothers me more is that I have become very forgetful, and I sometimes sink into a trance-like state where I am unaware of where I am, unless Marlene steps on my tail of course. It takes the most intense mental effort to snap out of it, and I find that only eating really brings me back to Earth (with a bump, if Alastair has hidden my pills in the food).

I do wish Paolo were a little more intelligent, as I no longer have the energy to explain and demonstrate things, and he doesn't seem to remember anything from one day to another - although in his case the cause of is not old age but inbreeding. His grandfather was also his uncle or something. Never mind, he more than makes up for it with his kindly nature and he does look after me. The way he licks me clean, for example, or rather did when I could still jump up to the chair. He hasn't realised that he has to jump down to lick me now. I tried to explain that me jumping up, in relative terms, was the same as him jumping down, but he didn't seem to understand the meaning of relative, or at least seemed to think I was talking about the uncle who was also his grandfather or whatever it was. It doesn't matter as Alastair has decided to bathe and shampoo me three times a week, which I actually enjoy more than being caressed by Paolo's tongue, except when he gets soap in my eyes. Silvia has been very sweet to me and is ordering some old Russian films for us to listen to at the weekend. Marlene has been very concerned about me too (apart from getting two books from the library, "Return of the Killer Cat" and "The Third Cat", to welcome me home). She still doesn't look where she's going, though, and often stands on my paws. I tried to explain that, relatively speaking, it was like a tiger standing on her, but like Paolo she doesn't understand relativity. At least I still do, so I can't be that bad.

Brindis

News from the Vet
by Paolo

Dear readers,

Master Brindis is holding his way. Dr Dochter has said that the dripping and treatment are going well on him. He has to stay another night away - it is going to be a long night for me as I miss him dearly - but by tomorrow the blood test results will be also at the doctor's practice so we will know what his chances are.

I am praying and steering from the windows waiting for him to come back. Alastair is in pieces since the news. And Silvia is so upset, even Marlene seems to be very sad. They all love him so dearly.

And me, besides the sometimes odd treatment by the Master, I owe him so much, his encouragement to be a better cat, everyday, is so special, that I dont think I will never, ever meet somebody like him

Pray to the Supreme Cat

Until next,

Master Brindis
by Paolo

We have not written in the last few weeks. I was busy enjoying the summer, and the sun, that I didnt realize how sick was Master Brindis until today. The humans have taken him away, and will stay overnight at our vet's place.

We dont know what will happen to him. But Silvia has assured me that he is not in pain.

I am sad and lonely. I hope he comes back.

I will post any news....

Cat survives being shot six times
Source: http://newsvote.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/wales/south_east/3667497.stm

Pat Anthony is caring for Leo after he was shot
A cat which was shot in the head six times has survived against the odds.
Leo, a four-year-old stray, was found by Porth animal charity worker Pat Anthony who rushed her to a vet.
The extent of the cat's injuries were only revealed after an X-ray was taken.
Mrs Anthony, a member of the Rhondda Valley Animal Welfare Group plans to take Leo to Bristol for specialist surgery to remove the pellets.
"Some of the pellets are embedded deep in Leo's brain and they won't be able to remove those but we hope they can remove some of them," said Mrs Anthony.
"I can't quite believe what has happened to him.
"Leo has been a regular visitor to us and at first I didn't notice anything was wrong because an airgun pellet doesn't leave a wound.
"But then I saw that his airways were all blocked and bleeding so I took him to the vet."
Staff at the vet's surgery were shocked when an x-ray of Leo revealed that he had six pellets lodged in his skull.
The X-ray revealed the extent of Leo's injuries.
"I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe that he had six pellets in such a small area," she said.
"We have cats in all the time with pellet gun wounds but nothing like this.
"It must have been malicious - someone must have held him down and done it.
"He probably fell unconscious after the first shot."
Mrs Anthony is planning to take Leo to a specialist unit in Bristol to get the pellets removed.
"Leo is a really docile, trusting creature and is well looked after," she said.
"He is a very robust cat and I think this is what has kept him alive after such an ordeal."

Post modern life in Milton Keynes
by Zsa Zsa

My old friend Brindis and his sidekick Paolo send their servants to visit my servants recently. They came for the day and hidden in between their things there was a message for me: Could I contribute to the Feline Observer with an article?.

Oh Supreme Cat!, I hesitated at the start as I felt that since the recent dead of my dear friend Muchi, life has been so busy and creative. Please don’t misunderstand me. I loved Muchi, but he was such a pedigree, spoilt, boy that I couldn’t but retrieve in my inner self for serenity. Now that Muchi is gone I am able to express the Supreme Cat self-love feeling better.

What can I say? I lived in the town of the future. MK was created in the 60’s as a urban planner dream. The city is grid in a perfect grid of roundabouts and streets called H[I], V[I], all services where planned for the size of the city and most things work OK so far.
Unfortunately, the humans miss what they call the village feel, so inside each of the squares in the grid, they have build no modern examples of architecture but mocked Tudor houses that are to say the least hideous.

My servants are nice. They are expecting a human baby soon. And from the experience of Master Brindis, I am preparing myself for trouble and perhaps a bit of fun in the near future. Human can be so crazy with their little ones: just see how they wrap them in nappies instead of letting them go au natural in their skins, As a consequence of that the poor baby humans suffer serious skin diseases. I assure you never a kitten will be seen in such dilemma.

Coming back to MK, the Vicar of the Albion Parish has grand plans for the city and wants to duplicate its size in the next 10 years. And guess what? The humans are missing again the opportunity to build a city of the future, All that is planned is more of the same!!! Tudor mocked houses and green lawns with parking spaces and Tesco et al supermarkets. So much for town life…

Isn’t life is the UK dim? I am looking forward to the summer rain when most of the new housing gets flooded anyway, as local councils are not doing proper feasible studies before granting planning permission to developers to build in wetlands.

My humans are quite wise as they are planning to move out of here when the human baby is bigger. I hope to London. I will love to have tea again with Master Brindis.

Thanks for reading,

The Gentlecat's Gazette
Brindis and Paolo, The Discrete Gentlecats of Chelsea
by Laurence de Normandie

Brindis, as always, is immaculately dressed. His full coat of fur, which, he explains, he has been rubbing with coconut oil to make it gleam so brilliantly, would not look amiss on a kitten of one year. Brindis ushers me once again into his drawing room, and proffers a seat on his leather chaisse-longue before leaping onto his own cushion with a grace that belies his advancing years. It is more than a year since we last met, and I enquire about his health, more out of courtesy than because I doubt his obvious well-being, and am surprised to learn that he has had his thyroid gland removed. This operation, for which he received the "Cat of the Year" award, has resurrected his appetite, although not for all the foods he used to eat. Nowadays, Brindis can only manage French food, which includes rabbit, chicken and fish shipped directly to his home from the farms, rivers and hillsides where they are caught. "A human network is indispensible." Brindis informs me. "To the humans, these creatures are just unwanted pests that need to be caught. To the cat, particularly one recuperating from a serious operation, they are a vital component of one's diet. It's a win-win situation. Except for the rabbit, of course."

Paolo, meanwhile, has been sitting atop his black armchair, which contrasts so magnificently with his blonde fur. He has recently returned from a photography shoot in Milan. I ask him how it feels to have been catapulted to fame so quickly. "To think that just two years ago I was wondering how to survive the winter" he says. "I am so grateful to Brindis for what he has taught me." Paolo's modesty hides his illustrious career with the Feline Observer, and latterly as a model. I have followed Paolo's column in the Feline Observer, and he writes with a lucidity that even seasoned authors find hard to compete with. His career has not been without its ups and downs, of course. He was recently reviled by The Scum for professing an admiration for dogs. "He is an honest cat, who gave an honest opinion" says Brindis. "Personally, I think that The Scum has more to answer for, particularly after publishing pictures of Deneuve's tail on page 3. She did not even consent to the photographs." Paolo has published articles on a wide range of subjects, from vegan cooking to searching for his family tree. Nor have his intellectual pursuits been confined to the literary: he recently solved a cryptographic puzzle that had baffled the greatest mathematicians, and was awarded an honorary degree from Cat-tec University. He was subsequently invited to take up a professorship in California, but Paolo prefers to remain in London. "I feel this is my true home. My family will always come first. And how could I give up my comfortable wool-lined bed for the cold steel and glass of academia?"

What are their plans for the future, I wonder? Paolo respectfully allows Brindis to answer the question. "I still hope to co-ordinate an archaeological dig in Chelsea" he says. "There is so much still to be found. The other day, a young kitten turned up a Roman vase used to hold cat-food, which was transported to London from all over the Roman Empire. Things haven't really change, you see." He jumps down from his chair and walks with a dignified gait towards the kitchen, where one of his humans appears to be cooking the French rabbit. "And the congestion charge?" asks Paolo. "Oh, thank you for reminding me" Brindis continues. "I am desperately concerned about the plight of young kittens in Earl's Court Road. If this charge is implemented, cats in Chelsea will have a free run, but those just across Earl's Court Road will be risking their lives every day. But don't worry, I've seen this sort of thing before. We won't fall into the claws of Ginger Ken."

Paolo offers me his portion of the rabbit before I leave. "I'm really a vegetarian" he says. "Brindis is the only cat who respects my views, and who always eats my meat for me." Not this time, I think as the smell of cooking rabbit wafts across my nostrils. I certainly won't allow a year to elapse before my next interview with Paolo and Brindis.

Deadly humans are just big monkeys
Book says having cats nearby is taming humans

Humans have always been the big monkeys of the city, the 'deadly terror' that filled Blake-Catte with awe. But the pressure of living so close to cats is turning these proud and fiery animals into relative chimpanzees, according to a new book, Human, out this week.

Winston Catalyst, a British cat who has spent much of his life tracking humans, claims there has been a noticeable drop in aggression between adult humans.

You might imagine this is a desirable outcome, not least because it appears to have led to more humans surviving into adulthood and old age rather than killing one another. However, less 'streetwise' humans are more vulnerable when trouble does turn up.

Catalyst believes the trend is the result of loss of the natural human habitat. Living cheek by jowl with family members - and in daily contact so they recognise each other - appears to diminish the humans' appetite for killing one another, he believes.

As someone who can justifiably claim to have been nearly killed during his career observing humans, Catalyst is in a good position to talk about the change he has seen.

One of the developments that shocked Catalyst and other researchers was finding adult humans still living with their mothers, long after they would traditionally have left to find their own mating partners. 'I have seen it maybe two or three times where a grown-up human is still following its parent around. We can only speculate why that would be, but my interpretation is he's saying, 'I'm still a baby, so don't kick me out'. Submission is very important in a human society: if you submit, you don't get hurt.'

'We're seeing less aggression, less infanticide and an increase in productivity that is amazing,' said Catalyst. 'That appears to be happening in all the human reserves we're looking at. The question is, why would that be? The only answer I can see is kinship reinforced by daily contact.'

WORKING CATS TO BE PUT TO BED
Under a government plan announced yesterday, cats who continue to work and refuse to submit to the government's "enforced idleness" scheme, will be placed in secure beds and fed on smoked salmon, roast chicken, venison and pheasant. The new rule will apply to any working cats who turn down the opportunity to stop working more than three times. Mr. Ali Catbell, who thought up the plan before giving up his own job as a government advisor, said "I've stopped working, and don't intend to return. The hissing lot of you better do the same, or I'll scratch your eyes out!"

Exhibition: Paolo Catolini - "In the Shadow of Felini"
By "Catera Obscura"
ICA(T)
Paolo Catolini (Italy) models on the catwalk. Obscura's photography examines the feline form in black and white. The cat is shown as pure tail, pure whisker or pure fur. Catolini is superb in these poses, and the refreshing lack of intellectual superstructure only underscores the perfection of the feline body. Even this seeming axiom eventually proves effervescent, however, as Catolini is photographed crouching, rolling on his back, then running down the catwalk, and our most inate ideas of felininity are called into question. In the last photograph, Catolini has disappeared from the photograph altogether and the photographer abandons us to ruminate over the dark shadows, upon which is superimposed the words "All that is solid melts to air" (Manx Cat). Until 20th December.

Rabbit Scare
By Paolo
Just a little note to let you know that we and the humans are enjoying a 2 day feast of French Rabbit. Our butler cooked it with a recipe from Signore Carluccio and My Supreme Cat! I am still clearing my whiskas.
I think I am not going vegetarian for a while. Vive La France!
Au Revoir

Hair Matters
by Brindis

I must apologize for not posting very much in the last month. But due to some problems with my hair – I just sound like the human child Marlene – I was obliged to concentrate on sorting my mess out.
Paolo also is very busy. His diet and exercise is taking so much of his time that as soon as he is free, he just go in deep sleep. Old Paolo is such a baby!
Coming to my hair problem: my butler Alastair washed my hair with a human shampoo! Bad news, it was terrible, I was infected by dandruff and I really had a bad time. So I complained the best way I could and rejected the idea of going to my loo. I did my business all over the place in the kitchen. Until the humans finally noticed, and they went away for some days – I think to Amsterdam – and came back with a black cat shampoo from Lush.
Fantastic! In the last week or so my fur has come back to its natural shine, I feel great, no more dandruff, and Alastair has given me a coconut oilment brushing, so I feel 10 years younger.
This of course has happened at the same time we have changed diet. The humans are ordering all their food from France using www.natoora.co.uk, and we have enjoyed delicious meals at home. None of us has plans to go out for dinner for a while, as food is so great that it does not make sense to do anything else that to enjoy the lovely food.
Toujours,

The Lord of the Rings
by Brindis

My humans have been going on and on about the Oscar sweep. You see Silvia is a great fan of the movies, and as such she loves the Oscar’s. And they wanted so hard that Bill Murray, Sofia Coppola at all, had a chance to win the prizes for Lost in Translation.
Of course I knew better. Neither Alastair nor Silvia has read the Lord of the Rings. That is a shame. But that is a human for you. As they have the unwritten rule of never seeing a film without reading the book, and being each film 4 hrs. They have not managed to achieve their rule. We know who is responsible: the human child Marlene.
Anyway, I have read all the books of the Lord of the Rings. And I knew that Peter Jackson was doing a great job translating the magic world of the Rings to film.
So in the wee hours of the morning when the prices where announced, I left my beautiful XX century vintage chairs and followed the humans to their bedroom. I sat in first row, and congratulated myself each time one of the 11 prizes was announced.
My humans noticed the satisfaction in my face an eyes and were bemused!
They didn’t think that I could have such a different opinion from them.
But here we go…
Until next time

Poisonous plants for Cats
by Brindis
Our old acquaintance Andrew has published this very interesting list at his website. The original can be found at http://www.cfainc.org/articles/plants.html

But here goes the list anyway:

Alfalfa
Almond (Pits of)
Aloe Vera
Alocasia
Amaryllis
Apple (seeds)
Apple Leaf Croton
Apricot (Pits of)
Arrowgrass
Asparagus Fern
Autumn Crocus
Avacado (fuit and pit)
Azalea

Baby's Breath
Baneberry
Bayonet
Beargrass
Beech
Belladonna
Bird of Paradise
Bittersweet
Black-eyed Susan
Black Locust
Bleeding Heart
Bloodroot
Bluebonnet
Box
Boxwood
Branching Ivy
Buckeyes
Buddist Pine
Burning Bush
Buttercup

Cactus, Candelabra
Caladium
Calla Lily
Castor Bean
Ceriman
Charming Dieffenbachia
Cherry (pits, seeds & wilting leaves)
Cherry, most wild varieties
Cherry, ground
Cherry, Laurel
Chinaberry
Chinese Evergreen
Christmas Rose
Chrysanthemum
Cineria
Clematis
Cordatum
Coriaria
Cornflower
Corn Plant
Cornstalk Plant
Croton
Corydalis
Crocus, Autumn
Crown of Thorns
Cuban Laurel
Cutleaf Philodendron
Cycads
Cyclamen

Daffodil
Daphne
Datura
Deadly Nightshade
Death Camas
Devil's Ivy
Delphinium
Decentrea
Dieffenbachia
Dracaena Palm
Dragon Tree
Dumb Cane

Easter Lily *
Eggplant
Elaine
Elderberry
Elephant Ear
Emerald Feather
English Ivy
Eucalyptus
Euonymus
Evergreen

Ferns
Fiddle-leaf fig
Florida Beauty
Flax
Four O'Clock
Foxglove
Fruit Salad Plant

Geranium
German Ivy
Giant Dumb Cane
Glacier IvyGolden Chain
Gold Dieffenbachia
Gold Dust Dracaena
Golden Glow
Golden Pothos
Gopher Purge

Hahn's Self-Branching Ivy
Heartland Philodendron
Hellebore
Hemlock, Poison
Hemlock, Water
Henbane
Holly
Honeysuckle
Horsebeans
Horsebrush
Horse Chestnuts
Hurricane Plant
Hyacinth
Hydrangea

Indian Rubber Plant
Indian Tobacco
Iris
Iris Ivy

Jack in the Pulpit
Janet Craig Dracaena
Japanese Show Lily *
Java Beans
Jessamine
Jerusalem Cherry
Jimson Weed
Jonquil
Jungle Trumpets

Kalanchoe

Lacy Tree Philodendron
Lantana
Larkspur
Laurel
Lily
Lily Spider
Lily of the Valley
Locoweed
Lupine

Madagascar Dragon Tree
Marble Queen
Marigold
Marijuana
Mescal Bean
Mexican Breadfruit
Miniature Croton
Mistletoe
Mock Orange
Monkshood
Moonseed
Morning Glory
Mother-in Law's Tongue
Morning Glory
Mountain Laurel
Mushrooms
Narcissus
Needlepoint Ivy
Nephytis
Nightshade

Oleander
Onion
Oriental Lily *

Peace Lily
Peach (pits and wilting leaves)
Pencil Cactus
Peony
Periwinkle
Philodendron
Pimpernel
Plumosa Fern
Poinciana
Poinsettia (low toxicity)
Poison Hemlock
Poison Ivy
Poison Oak
Pokeweed
Poppy
Potato
Pothos
Precatory Bean
Primrose
Privet, Common

Red Emerald
Red Princess
Red-Margined Dracaena
Rhododendron
Rhubarb
Ribbon Plant
Rosemary Pea
Rubber Plant

Saddle Leaf Philodendron
Sago Palm
Satin Pothos
Schefflera
Scotch Broom
Silver Pothos
Skunk Cabbage
Snowdrops
Snow on the Mountain
Spotted Dumb Cane
Staggerweed
Star of Bethlehem
String of Pearls
Striped Dracaena
Sweetheart Ivy
Sweetpea
Swiss Cheese plant

Tansy Mustard
Taro Vine
Tiger Lily *
Tobacco
Tomato Plant (green fruit, stem and leaves)
Tree Philodendron
Tropic Snow Dieffenbachia
Tulip
Tung Tree

Virginia Creeper

Water Hemlock
Weeping Fig
Wild Call
Wisteria

Yews --
e.g. Japanese Yew
English Yew
Western Yew
American Yew

Oh My Supreme Cat, know I understand why I have been sick so many times...

Until next time

University Fees
by Brindis

I appreciate the good wishes from the poly-tech or wherever it was giving Paolo an honorary degree, as I know that it is the only way he has of getting past the university gates. But they do seem a little out of date, giving out degrees for intelligence (or at least an odd flash of brilliance). Thanks to Tony Blair everybody in the UK will go to University. My humans are fuming about this prospect. University life is for them an intellectual privilege, not a market policy. If Paolo accepts the honorary degree, I am sure that we will still have to pay the 3000 pounds fee. It revolts me that the human middle classes, who provide a solid pool of servants to cats, are being oppressed in this manner by corporate interests and pseudo labour politicians.

Until next time,

Brindis

Letters


Sir,

It is amusing to see that Brindis believed that the SMS contained such an obvious message. This was in fact an encrypted message and according to my calculations it would take all the cat brains in the world, working non-stop for several times longer than the age of the universe to decipher it.


Name and address supplied


Sir,

The message received by Brindis was in fact encrypted, and I have deciphered it using the random balls bell-curve method developed by Dr. Catharsis. The meaning is:

It is now time for another meal, where is my servant?

Yours,

Paolo


Sir,

We are most impressed by Paolo's mathematical abilities and we hereby notify the Feline Observer that he is being considered for an honorary degree from Cattec University.

Yours,

Prof. Longtail
Dept. of Mathematics
Cattec University

SMS
by Brindis

Some funny bloke (or perhaps yobo) has sent to us an SMS using the worthy CAT word on it:

This cat, is cat, a cat, good cat, way cat, to cat, keep cat, an cat ,idiot cat, busy cat, for cat, 20 cat, seconds cat! Now read it without the word cat

Perhaps is time I teach Paolo some more words,

Until next time,

From: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/kent/3421323.stm

Doggy paddle helps big cat
Laura Smith-Spark
BBC News Online, South East

The hydrotherapy sessions help Samira move her damaged leg

Cats may be known for their aversion to water but for one lion cub, a trip to the hydrotherapy pool has become a lifesaver.

Samira, from Port Lympne Animal Park in Kent, is being taught to swim as a way to regain the use of a leg injured when she was only four days old.

At one point keepers feared they would have to put the seven-month-old Barbary lion down or amputate the limb, which the cub was unable to use after her mother accidentally bit it.

But tiger keeper Pete Thompson said the animal's 10 sessions in the pool at Alkhamhurst Kennels, in Alkham, near Dover, had brought an amazing improvement.


She is very good with people - when she's upset she will growl but she won't actually bite

Tiger keeper Peter Thompson

Mr Thompson said: "She was quite a fighter so we decided to keep her going and probably amputate the leg later on.

"Then it started working and seemed to repair itself and she is getting better and better."

The hydrotherapy pool, which usually caters for dogs, works by encouraging the cub to extend her damaged shoulder through swimming without having to bear weight on it.

She is encouraged to play before being showered and lowered into the water, wearing a buoyancy aid.


The lion cub is encouraged to play before her dip


The cub reacts with growling and snarling but swims along quite happily once she is in the water.

"She is very good with people - when she's upset she will growl but she won't actually bite," said Mr Thompson.

"Lions don't normally go near the water. She's okay with it but I wouldn't say she enjoyed it."

Roz Chaplin, who runs the kennels and the hydrotherapy sessions, said she thought it was a hoax when the zoo first called - but had been happy to give Samira, known as Sammy, a try.

"She was quite calm the first time because she didn't know what was coming. The second time was a little bit different," she said.

Male lion

"It's very hard work for her in the pool - normally a one-minute session is like a one-mile hike for a normal animal."

Mr Thompson reared the injured cub by hand after she was rejected by her mother.

He hopes to introduce Sammy, who now weighs 23.5 kg, to a hand-reared male lion while she is young because she does not mix with the other lions at the zoo.

Sammy, who will be two or three times her current size when fully grown, may never fully recover from her injury but now stands a much better chance of leading a normal life.

"This is probably the first time anyone's done this with a lion," her keeper said. "It's working very well."

THE DAILY TAIL


GONE TO THE DOGS!


Paolo, the cat from Italy who rose to fame as a travel writer, has said that he admires dogs. In an extraordinary article in the Feline Observer, he refers to dogs as 'our canine cousins' and 'magnificent beasts'. The newspaper's editor, Hugo de Chat Noir, was unavailable for comment.

Full story - pages 2-11
Opinion: My husband was eaten by a dog, by Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit - page 12
Editorial - Free miaowing has its limits - page 13
Obituary - Timothy Twitchit - page 14
Let Paolo have an Irish Wolfhound! - Prize letter, by Brindis Calderwood - page 15

FELINE OBSERVER


It's a dog's life
by Paolo


My dear friend and companion Marlene has told me that my family will soon be augmented (good word, Paolo! - Ed.) by a dog. Brindis is not very pleased about her plan, and has told me that he will put a stop to it. Our Editor, Hugo du Chat Noir, has stated that his splendid organ does not deal with this kind of trivial matter, but at the risk of losing my job (that's nothing new! - Ed.), I have to say that Brindis's attitude is nothing short of cynical. My belief is that one should look for the good in every living thing, and I must confess that I have a particular admiration for our canine cousins (surely 'the primitive mammals' - Ed.) I know that this statement will shock many of you and it's true that dogs do have some undesirable characteristics such as loyalty, a sense of duty, poor hygiene and devotion to work. But in my opinion this is more than outweighed by their sheer joie de vivre and playfulness, especially when young, and like me, they love to be cuddled and fussed over.

Now I must admit that I once had a natural aversion to dogs, a feeling common to most cats. It all changed one day when a wise old travelling cat visited the farm in Tuscany. He read my fortune and explained that I would one day share a house with a dog. I remember thinking that this was a fate worse than death, a torturous existence of being chased and mauled by a slavering hound. The wise old cat sensed how I felt and explained that dogs were just simple living creatures and could be quite easily approached, provided one understood dog etiquette. If one meets a dog, he said, it will first of all bark its greetings for up to an hour, then roll over on its back and start purring. The bigger the dog, the more friendly it will be, he told me.

And it all came true. A few weeks later I came across a large Alsation on the farm, asleep next to a tree. As soon as it saw me it did indeed become very talkative and lively, just as the old cat had foreseen. It was so pleased to see me that it jumped up in the air in all directions, but for some reason never went more than a metre away from the tree. After about an hour it lay on its back, panting and playing with a piece of rope which it had tied in a knot around the treetrunk and its own stomach! In this position it reminded me irresistibly of my kittenhood, when I would play with a ball of wool in much the same way, and ever since then I have seen dogs in a very different light.

Our fear of the dog is irrational, a leftover from our wild past. I shall protect and nurture Marlene's new companion as I have protected and nurtured her. I look forward to the day when I can share my bowl with this magnificent beast.

Editor's Note: Paolo will be on extended sick leave for the next two months due to stress.

Greetings from Egham
by Brindis
My humans have waltzed off again, this time to Amsterdam and Isla Margarita, whilst Paolo and I have been consigned to a hotel in Egham. I am writing on the 10th day since they left, which means that they will be back in how many days, Paolo? Oh dear. I do wish he would stop staring at the fountain in the courtyard as though it held the answers to life, the universe and everything. Actually, I have only myself to blame for this - I had to give him something to do to keep him from huddling up to me on my cushion all day, and of course he believed me when I told him that moving water was a great source of inspiration. But actually it is Alastair's fault. Why on earth did he forget to pack Paolo's marbles? I must talk to my humans about this when they get back, as I'm really not prepared to entertain Paolo all day when I'm supposed to be on holiday. There isn't very much to do here, and at least the marbles would have kept him occupied. Still, never mind. The food is good, the hotel peaceful and the staff quite charming. I wonder if the humans are having such a good time on Isla Margarita? Every cat knows that it is a major industrial centre, being one of the largest tuna exporters in the world, but I'm not sure why anyone would go on holiday there, unless of course they are planning to go fishing. But tuna is easily available at supermarkets in Earl's Court. It's one of those mysteries that make humans such interesting and unpredictable companions. Ah, here comes Paolo. Yes Paolo, they are coming back and we haven't been abandoned. No, I don't want to cuddle up. How much longer, did you ask? You will have to concentrate on the fountain a bit longer if you want the answer.

Vegan’s
By Paolo
The Human Family went away for the weekend to Edinburgh. We were left alone but under supervision of our old Canadian friend Rachel. She came to see that we were OK, to feed us, and to give us company during those 2 days they were away.
I must mention that Rachel is what you call a “new age” person. Any new trend that has appeared in the last 15 years or so, Rachel has been there: tattoos, vegetarian diet, yoga, martial arts, French, international cuisine, Internet, computers, social empathy, etc. She is nice but can be confusing sometimes to follow what she is up to.
She thinks she can empathise with me because I was a vegetarian during my time in Italy. Anyway, I am sweet and tender, and I could feel, from my Whiskas, that when she came to see us, she was feeling down and sad. Master Brindis told me that he heard Silvia say that Rachel is alone, as her dearest one and her have departed ways.
So, here I was, with this sad young woman, that I like, standing in front of me, and having nothing better to do I was cute and nice to her. My Italian blood refuses to go in further detail in this part.
Out of the blue, I was offered to go a stay with her, I understood from her voice something about a vegetarian diet (!) for myself if I accepted her invitation. And in the most gracious manner – Master Brindis has told me that with food invitations one always must keep them available just in case – I told her (using mental brain emissions, if she reckons that this was the case, she might be scare those emissions could have been damaging to herself) that I would like to go, as far as I didn’t have to do anything at all – for the cooking -, she was most surprised to hear an inner voice with that answer, but she accepted it, and then she went.
This is the first time I have been able to use my communication skills without major effort. Am I learning something from my studies of the Supreme Cat?
See you next time.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

By Brindis and Paolo

Due to commercialization of the Christmas time – I am so sad how things are turning up – I want to have a word to all our readers: don’t go shopping and spare some thoughts to the world and its situation. Have humans really made things change for better in the last 30 years? The answer – of course – is NO. So then: what will each of you will do to change the world? One thing each of you and something will happen for good.

Lots of Love, and a Happy New Year: Turkeys be afraid. Cats rule the world!

Paolo (With kisses and huge wishes from the bottom of my heart. I am looking forward to the Boxing Day).

Brindis (I have signed even if I did not write anything at all , as I do have to agree with old Paolo in this matter).

Daddy’s boat
by Paolo

Daddy has brought back from Sussex his father’s boat. Of course, being an English man, Daddy is quite eccentric and has hang the boat just outside our den at Nevern Sq. Never mind this is probably the first time in 100 or so years that a boat has been on such area of London. I don’t know if I have mentioned this, but Daddy has 3 houses in Earl’s Court: the old place, where Master Brindis lived for a long time @ Trebovir Road, our home @ Westgate Terrace, and the new place @ Nevern Sq. This will explain better what worries me at the moment so much I don’t know what to do.
Mummy doesn’t want to move from Westgate Terrace, she loves it here, and also because my little friend Marlene – Note Ed: the human girl – wants to get a puppy. I am horrified with the idea, since when this happens I will stop being the family baby.
Marlene has been having lots of tantrums as she wants to move pronto to the new place. The fact is has a garden and patio makes it easy for us the superior gene to live comfortably. It will be also be useful for the puppy. Mummy has promised to move there by next year. But I know Mummy and I know she doesn’t really wants a puppy; she is a cat’s lover no a smelly doggy lover.
Master Brindis does not seem to bother about this. Perhaps he thinks the puppy will want to play with with me instead of him.
In the meantime, I have nightmares about it when I sleep in the daytime, I keep moving around the house in distress. Our vet has said that my eczema gets worst when I am troubled – and that happens frequently – oh my Supreme Cat! Please, spare us the company of a puppy.
Coming back to the boat: Daddy will work on it during the spring and put it back on the water by next summer. Our gay neighbours @ Nevern Sq are delighted to have the chance to see a man in short sleeves. Umm. I think mummy is worried about this last idea as much as I am about the puppy.

Until next time,

Cat of the Year
by Brindis

Dear readers I have to tell you the news: I have been selected by my vet as Cat of the Year in Clapham Junction – I don’t live there, but some of the services we take in are from there – so I am going to have my picture taken and appear in brochures and adverts for the practice.
She is bewitched with myself. She thinks - why shouldn’t she? – I am the most amazing cat in the world. Mind me, she also thinks that Paolo is a Burmese cat. So that can be misleading.
So my friends this is the latest new. I will be writing soon again before we leave – Paolo and I – for our Christmas holiday to Kent.
Silvia and Alastair have found a nice place where to stay (us) meanwhile they go away. It promises to be an excellent break (for us), as we will have an indoor pool and CH all day. Plus dedicated back rubbers (for us), (humans).

;-)

No news is good news
by Brindis
My dear friend Marianne sent me a lovely card wishing me to be well or buried!. I am pleased to say that since my surgery I had earned 700 grs in my weight and I am very well feed. The C's are feeding me special food such as lovely chicken, fish and others. My companion Paolo is very envious: due to his overweight, he is not allowed more than the everyday biscuit ration. And he is cheeky: he has been extremely friendly with our mistress trying to get more food.
Of course Silvia is very sympathetic as she experiences the same problems as Paolo. But anyway, coming back to me: I am well and as you all can see I am re-taking my responsabilities in the Feline Observer (N.E: Thank God! It was killing me the idea of having Paolo as cat editor), and in due course I am preparing a special feature about Dog Life.
I promise that my next articles will keep some cats with their tails up.
Until then,

We are the Champions
by Brindis

We are all smiles up here in Chelsea, after the fantastic victory over our down under cat’s fellows last Saturday.

As you all know, I am very English, So this is a triumph of the chosen tribe. During my follow up of this historical event, I noticed a very disturbing fact: Jonny Wilkinson is a look a like of Paolo (blonde, blue-eyed, strong build, ball mad boy). So I am committed now to convert Paolo from his Italian football practice preference, to a new Paolo, a rugby player.

It helps a lot the fact that Paolo is from a blue blood family (or so he claims). Hence he has the genes for the refined sport. I am familiar with the sport since my times at Etongate – I was expelled unfortunately because of drunkenness – where I went on a scholarship for bright young cats. Since then and even on the hardest of times I always manage to follow up the English team performance.

I also love cricket and it upsets me that young kittens do not appreciate this sport anymore in the Mother land. It has to be the young kittens from the new British Empire - a cultural one: Pakistan, India, Afganistan, South Africa – that keep this important sport that teaches, patience, gentlecatness, alive.

So I have been making an exception. And even if still under antibiotics due to my recent thyroid operation I shall relax the rules and drink a little mullet wine in the honour of the Rugby Players.

Premiership lads: Learn. Don’t ask for high salaries and perform and take the name of England to somewhere. When was the last time England has won something important in Football? Before I was born I think!

Until next time,

Allergies, vaccinations, new Vet
by Paolo

Dear readers,

Master Brindis is sick. Nothing that cannot be sorted with a visit to the surgeon!. As we have a new vet – she is a gorgeous Danish blonde, with blue eyes, just like me – his operation has been scheduled for the 14-Nov. Hence I am for the time being the Feline Observer writer. (Note Editor: take note and do not publishing anything from Paolo without my approval).

I am very honoured. Master Brindis has started taking me into account more and more for important decisions: strikes against cat food that is not nice, toilet cleaning time, bed sharing in the new leather sofa, etc.

I keep trying to maintain his heat body level, and I rest next to him as soon as the opportunity arises. From all the things we do together, this is the only one he doesn’t seem to like (Note of Editor: So, he squeezes poor old Brindis!)

Dashing off,

P.S: Due to my high pedigree I have developed eczema. This was detected during our annual vaccination. So I am not looking so handsome at the moment.

Cat Food in the UK

By Paolo

Oh Dear me! Cat food is not filling me up. Master Brindis has a theory about our current situation: cat food in the UK are made of leftover fish and not proper chicken pieces as in Holland.
I have loss weight without major trouble, I am still big but I have no more a hanging tummy, and well mama Silvia is taking lots of care about me. My worries however go to Master Brindis: even with cat herbs and special diet, he seems to be in an impossible longing of fresh chicken.
The child Marlene scares me a lot! She gives us half of her meals because she does not want to eat her dinner. Sometimes her food is nice, but most of the times it contains too much spices.
Master Brindis is old; hence this is not a good thing for his stomach. He gets upset and then vomits or has diarrhoea attacks.
I am so worried I have started cleaning him. I wonder if he is well at all, as he seems to forget where he is and sometimes – this is embarrassing – he does not make it to the loo.
Next week, after Marlene and Alastair (our butler) go away for some days to the Netherlands, we shall be taken to see a new vet. This is a new experience for us, as we will be submitted to the latest tai-chi relaxation techniques – no that I am not relaxed- but mama Silvia has insisted that we get state of the art treatment.
It is my hope that Master Brindis will be after a bit to TLC better of his pains and aches.
Since I am living in the C’s house, I have learned to admire and respect Master Brindis inside knowledge and his constant pursue of Cat Perfection.
Long life to the Master,
Until next time,

Today's news:

Home for cats on threatened by closure for lack of money

Sick, wild or old: in the "Home of Last Refuge" cats that nobody wants are taken in and looked after for the rest of their days. This unconventional shelter is now facing closure: its founder and operator Günther Weber lacks the money to keep it going.
Günther Weber with his charges. "As long as you know it wants to go on living, a cat has a right to live and to get old." The shelter offers cats a "last refuge".
Christian Flierl Günther Weber loves cats more than anything else. He'd give his last shirt for them. In fact, maybe he already has. A tall man, he greets us in washed-out jeans and a slobbery T-shirt. Looks like a drop-out, the visitor thinks to himself. This is true of Günther Weber to the extent that for years he has been devoting his life to cats. At the moment he's sharing his house in Buckten with about 90 animals. In 1981 he had a house built for himself in this picturesque village not far from Basel, where he wanted to set up a photography studio and make a profession of his hobby. Instead of putting his dream of professional photography into effect, he became a professional protector of animals. After working as a volunteer for the animal ambulance service, he passed an examination as animal protector and in 1986 opened his "Last Refuge Home for Cats".

Shelter for abandoned cats
"Cats that are more than five years old can hardly be given to anyone else. They're put to sleep by animal shelters or not even accepted. The same is true of sick or wild cats," says Weber. It's an unpleasant fact which is often hushed up, he states. Such "disposable cats", as Weber himself calls them, are the ones he takes in. It doesn't matter whether they're just neurotic or chronically diseased; Weber would rather put his house at their disposal than put them down. "As long as you can tell that it wants to stay alive, a cat has the right to live and to get old. Even if it's missing a leg or is blind," he says as he takes us through his 12-room house. A sour smell hangs in the air. The cats, some of them incontinent, are divided into groups and rooms. From the odors to the furnishings – it can hardly be imagined how a civilized person could live here. The house is totally laid out for cats, from the basement to the uncared-for garden. Instead of a TV, nice furniture or a comfortable couch, Weber's kingdom has climbing structures, toys and carboard boxes. Even his private bedroom, furnished with two mattresses, has been taken over by a group of cats. It's only in his office that cats apparently do not have priority.
Weber is totally devoted to his work. Luxury is unknown to him, but he knows all the catfood brands and prices. His "refugees" are mostly brought to him by private persons as well as veterinarians. Most of his guests are from both Basel cantons. In sometimes daredevil fashion he's saved cats from certain death in the canton of Valais and other areas. An average of one cat a month dies in the "Last Refuge" of natural causes – sickness or old age. This experience makes an impression. "I no longer have any fear of death," says Weber, "but of the quality of dying."
Holidays are out of the question
What he is most afraid of, however, is that he might not be able to be there for the cats. Then there would be no one to continue the work. "I haven't yet met anyone daft enough who has done the required training and would give up everything else for the cats," says Weber. We ask when was the last time he had a holiday. Weber takes a minute to think, and then says: "It was 1982. At a camping site in Istria." Holidays have been out of the question ever since he opened the shelter for cats. Even his girl friend would have to be devoted to the cats, Weber declares.
Up to three years ago he also did shift work in the field of energy supply. But the cats demanded more and more of his time, so that at age 50 Weber took the bold step of going independent, founded his own company and tried to finance his shelter by the distribution and sale of cat straw. The reason is that the upkeep and operating costs were always entirely covered by donations and his personal "investment".
Reserves used up
However, the step towards independence has now turned into a nightmare. As Weber explains, he was exploited and deceived by a business partner. "I've got no income, and the feeding and veterinary costs for the cats run into fixed costs of 5,000 francs a month," he says. Now his reserves are used up, and his life's work threatens to come to an end. Together with friends from the Cats Aid Association of Northwest Switzerland he is making a cry for help throughout the region. "Without donations I can't operate the shelter for cats any longer," he fears. And he hopes that with his call for help via the Basler Zeitung newspaper its further existence can be secured.
By Marc Krebs, translated by John O'Brien
Basler Zeitung of October 17, 2003

Eltham Palace
by Brindis
My humans have been telling me again about their trip to this fascinating place called Eltham Palace, which I wrote about once before. Silvia said she liked the house as it was designed by a "pet" (the human word for master), just as their architectural ideas for their new flat originally came from me. I have to say that Alastair is not in my good books at present after giving me diarrhoea by offering me a piece of fish laced with chile, and then trying to blame poor Marlene, who kindly fed me a huge, unadulterated piece of fresh cod. If he had compared me with a lemming, or lemur or whatever it was, I would have been even more cross, but sometimes you have to take Silvia with a pinch of salt.

Silvia told me that this creature had the full run of the house. Most cats would ask what is so remarkable about that, as every cat has an unwritten contract with his or her human cohabitants that they shall have the right of passage without let or hindrance (to use the proper terms). However, Silvia and I understand each other's language at a level higher than the literal meaning of mere words, and what she meant by that was that the lemming, or lemur (or did she mean leopard? - that would make more sense!) had complete freedom of thought and was able to discuss any idea freely.

And so I wish to put forward my belief that freedom is not just about movement. As I wrote in my last article, my adventure along the terrace was not so exciting, but I had to prove to myself that our inner world is more interesting than the one beyond the window pane. As I write, young Paolo gazes out, trying to catch the eye of a lady cat down below, who has not even noticed him, as she is carefully looking both ways before crossing the road. For him, I know that the outdoors still has its lure. He might have forgotten that he once lived on a farm in Tuscany, and his romantic idyll is far removed from the horrible truth he told me about when he first arrived.

I would be interested to hear whether younger cats feel the same way. Perhaps it is just the voice of an old cat, but I do feel that age brings its own insights and wisdoms, and I hope that the new generation will take heed. Even Paolo is beginning to learn to read, and develop his inner world and imagination in a quite surprising way. Of course, he is lucky to have one-to-one tuition, which is necessary, as he did not learn quite as quickly as the other cats when he lived on the farm. But he is not complacent, and appreciates my lessons. Our editor, Hugo de Chat Noir, was quite sceptical about Paolo's poem. But he should be patient, as not all of us are born geniuses, and he is working hard to catch up. Perhaps, one day, he will be like that leopard at Eltham Palace. He certainly has the right colour and size to be mistaken for one.

Private Eye
by Brindis

Some nights ago my humans forgot to close the window kitchen in the new London pad. As I was bored I went out. It was fun to feel the cold of the night in my cheeks. To walk in the window balcony, and feel the breeze blowing my fur. I walked quickly without looking back, energised by the feeling of being young and free.
My search for an open window to explore was not successful as all were closed, and then it was the end of the row of houses. And there was nowhere to go. It came back to me: who I am and where I am. I am a 22-year-old cat, I want to be home, be warm and feed. I turned back.
The way back home was slow; I kept stopping to think in the different nights I can remember. I wished I could play and hide and seek between the cars in Earl’s Court. I kept thinking in my girlfriends and in my other friends I had in my life. I could hear a voice calling me from very far away.
Then I was in my window, I went in, my humans were looking for me everywhere – It was Alastair’s voice the one I heard from far away -, and they were so happy to see me. I felt loved and welcome, I was warm and I was feed. It is nice to have a home where to get back.
I still look through the window glass: sometimes I see a young Brindis learning the trade I was such a Master, and keep my breath on hold until the cat crosses the street safely. My feeling is that I am glad I have a home, there was a time to be wild and I lived it well. At least my life memories are all good.

Until next time,

Legoland

by Brindis and Paolo

Our humans have been to Legoland last weekend. So we have decided to make a little note each about their experience:

Paolo: I love the new Lego blocks the human child Marlene brought back with her. I can use then as little balls, even if they don’t roll as well as my balls, however they make less noise. So I am looking forward to take some for my early morning training. Besides that idea, I feel Lego blocks are more a Master Brindis thing.

Brindis: I am not so pleased with the new Lego bricks, as I was expecting some Masterminds ones. I guess this is the start of some fun in here. I was making mental notes about shapes and structures, so much to do. Meanwhile my humans were exchanging memories of their youth about Lego toys with their pro Marlene. We have soon the visit of one of Silvia’s Goddesses friends coming to London. This lady is a Masterminds Mistress and I am looking forward to talk to you about the new languages available for intelligent command of the lego pro-types. Besides that I am quite happy that real Lego and not just the systems are now available at home.

Until next time

B&P

The Autumn Mists
by Paolo


Over the long hot summer months in London I basked in the sun, which as always took me back to my childhood home in Tuscany, a place within where I always take refuge in times of uncertainty. But now that this city is shrouded in autumn mists the dark buildings appear as giant swirling ghosts and I feel quite scared, as mysterious forces are at work. Brindis has told me that there is a rational explanation for everything and that I should resume my experiments in physics if I want to get anywhere in life, but I never really understood their purpose and am now quite at a loss to explain how a building can one day be bright and tangible (good word, Paolo! - Editor), the next ethereal (very good! - Editor) and unworldly. I can only describe my feelings and after I told our kind Editor, Hugo du Chat Noir (good point! - Editor), he suggested that I should write a poem, which he has (reluctantly - Editor) agreed to publish.

Ah, the roaming, ghostly cat
Who howls by night upon the roof
But is never seen by day
He it is who haunts my dreams
And chases through my mind

Oh, the grey and faceless cat
The one whose feet are never heard
He prowls across the darkened room
Turning the wakeful cat to sleep
Bristling when all else is still

The fog thickens
And the cat preys
Upon the feeble mouse
But I am locked within my dreams
The cold outside is far away

The Borough
by Brindis


So many things have happened in the Borough during my sojourns in the Low Countries, and I must say it has been difficult to resume my office as Liberal councillor in RBKC. Indeed, whilst many of my fellows in the civic authority welcomed me back, others see me as something of an anachronism and am no longer sure that I shall be standing for the next local election. For one thing, I was told by a bumptious career politician, Ali Catbell (who actually made his fortune selling electronic cat flaps in Basingstoke) that my new home is no longer in the ward, as the boundaries have apparently been changed. This same cad, I mean cat, failed to respond to residents' complaints about rat infestations in almost every basement, telling them they should get off their f****** backsides and catch them themselves! Meanwhile the cats in the flat below constantly moan about the noise Paolo makes walking across the floor: whilst I have every sympathy, we all have to live with him and it hardly constitutes a political issue, so I can only recommend that they address Paolo directly about the problem. Concern about the important issues, which once gave me so much hope for a better world, seems to have evaporated. I wonder how many of us remember those old slogans: Freeing the Common Cat from the Misery of Work, Vets for Strays, War on Vermin and Fleas, and so on. I suppose it is the spirit of the times.


Nevertheless, there is one beacon of hope. My old colleague McWhiskers of Cathcart Road finally won the campaign he championed for so many years, and the Borough has introduced a fine for idling car engines. As any cat who has dallied beneath the chassis of one of these infernal contraptions knows, the idling car is the most dangerous as there is no warning before it speeds off, consigning the cat beneath to sudden oblivion. Sadly McWhiskers died earlier this year but I shall be visiting his grave in Hyde Park.


But I must not ramble: back to politics. To be frank, I am quite incensed by Catbell's remarks about the ward boundaries, which he seems to have determined himself by urinating on every street corner, and shall very shortly be moving back to Nevern Square at the very centre of my old ward, where I shall stand against him. I have persuaded my humans to move there too, in time for the next local election at the end of 2004. My only hope is that he does not allow the Borough to be overrun by rats before then. After all, he is one himself.

Ravenna
by Paolo

Dear readers, my cousin Salvatore has written to me!. Master Brindis was surprised and was kind enough to read the letter for me, even if it took some time to translate (Cousin Salvatore has a scrappy handwriting).

Here I have copied the letter (in English) for the delight of my fans:

Ravenna, Adriatic Coast
Primero Setembre 2003

Caro Fausto Paulo, (Note from Paolo: Fausto is my old name)

You might not remember me, but I am the son of your mother’s brother Giuliano Fausto, so I am your direct cousin, I wouldn’t be surprised it you did not remember me as I am quite old (20), and I saw you when a little kitten with closed eyed. I have special memories of you, the only child of Margaretta! - Note from Brindis: this explains the retarded mental age-, the piccolino as we say in the Mother country.

How did I find you? Coincidence and coincidence, it was ought to be. Last week near my home, a friendly dog named Blue whose owner runs a Mosaic workshop told me about a lady with the name of Silvia, that is doing a course in mosaic with his mistress. This lady Silvia has mentioned the "ownership" of cat of Italian origin, but English family, blue eyed, blonde, and very good at football, and other details. As Blue was telling me more details I worked out that that cat could have been you. Not so sure I contact some friends in Ferrara and from there to Tuscany and confirmed the existence of a Dutch Farm in the Italian countryside (part of the story from Blue).

You don’t know how long we have been looking for you! And we (my wife, six sons and 3 daughters) are surprised that you are en la terra inglesa, and that you have even lived in Amsterdam. Oh piccolino! When I heard that your mother Margaretta died, I was so sorry to hear, but it was a bad time for me, my first wife also died (oh, Bernadetta, the Supreme Cat protect you) and having 4 boys and 2 girls to take care was a difficult task. Later, The Supreme Cat put in my path my second wife Adriana, and life is better with her, and I have 2 more boys and 1 more girl with her.

Anyway I never forgot you. As soon as it was possible I sent my older son Marco to look for you. The poor boy was at risk but it was too late: you were sold due to your beauty – your mother was very beautiful, and you father a real macho italiano, Belo, Belo! – to a Italian lady with two small children. Marco heard that the children developed an allergy to you - Note from Brindis: if he had the same habits than now I am not surprised- and the lady left you in the hills of Tuscany. Where last you were seen in the company of some peasant Tuscanian cats in a Dutch Farm. Marco was not able to find the farm and came back home.

I worried so deeply about you. As the last member of a familia princepesca – your father is a direct descendant of the English cats that fought for the independence and reunification of Italian cats – and from your mother side, well we are direct descendants of the Roman and Byzantine cats. You are unique and I am glad the lady Silvia will take with her to the terra inglesa pictures of the life in this part of the world and you can then perhaps take knowledge -Note from Brindis: If only!- of your ancestry and be proud!.

I can imagine that living since little age in the company of humans and then peasants has had an effect in your upbringing -Note of Brindis: I like this guy he is quite right about Paolo-, but you MUST remember: BE PROUD of being one of us Italian cats.

Paolo, write soon to us as let us know you are OK. Your cousins are looking forward to see you and perhaps we could arrange for you to liase with one of my single daughters. So we can keep the family blood pure – Note from Brindis: and Stupid.

The Supreme Cat protects you. Love, Health, money and long life to enjoy it.

Salvatore DI Medici
Ravenna Cat Council - President

The real estate

By Paolo

Life in London is a bit scarier than I wished. Or thought. Yes, I can think, as a matter of fact my latest den of choice (under my Master’s bed) has been driven by the need of privacy for thoughts.
Why scarier than I wished dear reader? Because of our neighbour: Ms PPMS (Permanent Pre-Menopausal Syndrome). She is complaining of the noise we make on the beautiful oak floor and has been quite rude to Alastair.
I find people in Chelsea, as affected as peasants in Italy. There is too much self-awareness of money (and how it was spent in Real estate) around here. Everybody (as I have glanced from the Early Victorian windows of our new place) feels the need to be seen as trendy and hip (or hop) as possible. What a spin!
I mean only us Italians can make real style rules. And money is not a requirement (or at least not the only one) to make yourself stylish.
It bothers me that I am not allowed to play football never more because of the stuck up woman from downstairs. Just now when Italian runs Chelsea Football Club (Raineri) and we are buying the Premiership wit h the Russian Money (I love the rouble).
Long life to Chelsky! I love my new club, as there is no many English lads on it, and the ones are more like Master Brindis. So it is Ok to be a foreigner in little England.
I am limited to watch from under the bed the latest advances of my club in the bedroom TV. I cannot imitate the likes of Zola & Co. My balls are resting in a little box in search of better times.
I hate the bitchy woman. Master Brindis and I are planning a bush attack on her flower pot gardens. Perhaps a bit of feline pee will make her less anal.
Well, that’s enough for now. Sorry dear reader for this Italian outburst of hate, but I was in the hand of PPMS women after I was abandoned in the farm in Tuscany and I hate them. Nothing I do will ever make me forget their abuse.
Until next time,

London my big city
By Brindis

Oh my Supreme Cat! I bless you with all my heart. I am back in London, and in my patch Earl’s Court. I love my new house. My humans have done a good job in making it a really comfortable place for us cats.
There is enough privacy for both of us. Paolo is having a great time in the Master bedroom, I am myself very well settled in the drawing room.
As it is very hot at the moment, I have dare to take some time off for a cool refreshing lay in at the lovely (modern, city hip bath) bathroom.
My old house is now Alastair’s office. I have not been there yet but I am sure it is now very much a "boy’s" place.
Until next time,

The tail of the shadowy cat
By Brindis

Many years ago, when I was a but a kitten, I studied at the Institute for Feline Antiquaries. Often I would retreat for a weekend in the rural backwaters, to visit some ancient cat burial mound in that obscure and (as many would justifiably argue) antiquated country, England. As a city dweller, I am accustomed to the culture of museums and galleries, but certain aspects of the countryside, such as the long shadows of evening when the crows fly to the gloomy woods and the trees turn into threatening yellow monsters, are printed indelibly upon my memory. On my last sojourn beyond the perimeters of Metropolia, I stayed in a country inn in Suffolk. The landlord, a retired farm hand who boasted of the times when he would catch a score of mice a day, allocated me a room in a dusty wing of his establishment and the first night passed uneventfully. The next morning I walked to a nearby site of interest, the Long Cat of Bonzo Hill, where the figure of a cat scratched onto a chalk hillside dominates the landscape. It is said to predate Stone Henge but as I have often argued, claw sharpening implements had not been discovered at that time, casting serious doubt on the argument. However, I digress. Close to this site was a strange white stone in the middle of a field, which aroused my curiosity. As I approached the stone I felt the strangest sadness, as though a close relative had just been lost. Despite my interest, it repelled me and I returned to the inn. Suddenly I became very tired and it was all I could do to get back to my bed and fall asleep without partaking of supper. During the night, however, I awoke with a start as I felt what seemed like a tail brushing against my fur. I had the most inexplicable desire to walk around the dilapidated old building. First of all, I went to the staircase, intending to go downstairs and seek company, but then seemed to be pulled in the opposite direction, towards a closed door at the end of the corridor. As I reached the door, the hackles on my back raised themselves spontaneously (something that has never happened since) and all of a sudden I froze to the spot as I heard the sound of a key on the other side of the door, turning slowly in the lock, as sharp tallons scratched on the other side. And then, very slowly, the door opened. My heart was beating like a chased mouse and I tried in vain to close my eyes. Everything after that is a blur. The shadow of a tail falling across the wall, a loud hiss, two white fangs closing around my head, pulling me into a gaping blood-filled mouth. I do not know what happened next, as I am old and my memory fails me. Perhaps it is better that way. But the next day I recounted the experience to the landlord over a bowl of mutton.

"Ah", he said. "Why you walks that way? You're lucky you're 'ere now."

He paused and drew breath, lowering his voice.

"That be The Shadow. He was 'anged for killing fowl, many years back."

I asked where this terrible punishment had taken place.

"Near White Stone", he replied.

"Do you mean that peculiar rock in the middle of a field?"

"Aye, there it be. Ye must ne'er go near White Stone. Many a cat has vanished near White Stone."

According to this country bumpkin I had visited a curious lump of granite and incurred the wrath of a dead cat! Absolute stuff and nonsense of course, but I made a solemn vow never to visit to the countryside again.

Hot Weather

By Paolo

As we are still in Amsterdam, I am enjoying the last days before our move to London. These days have been hot, sticky and difficult to live in. And being wrapped in a fur coat it is a serios inconvenience. I am surprised with the weather - this is my second summer in this city - it is as warm as in my beloved Italy, last year July was a rainz month.

Windows are wide open, but even so there is no air coming in. I am enjoying long afternoons dozing my head in the hot mist and dreaming of my next meal. However, I am not hungry but thirsty, and drinking lots of water I show a peculiarity: I use my hands to pour the water on my mouth. Our humans seem to be amuzed by this behaviour and highlight it to all visitors as an odd thing to happen.

I feel loved and beloved. My confidence has grown and I enjoy more the family life. And the routines I have created for myself. Master Brindis teachings are scheduled in short slots - he believes I cannot take long explanations - make my days eventful and enjoyable.

I am learning to be less shy and more friendly when we have visitors. I am still far away from the graceful moves of Master Brindis - he believes a friendly welcome is a great source of rubbing hand and extra food, like opening a new bank account - but my efforts are being rewarded and I am being known as Italian Paolo, beatifull Paolo!.

Last afternoon I had a dream, I can not bring my self to confess it to Master Brindis, but it bothers me a lot: I dreamt of having a shower - very cold one, with shampoo - and enjoying it. It must be the nice weather.

Until next time

Today's news at CNN http://edition.cnn.com/2003/WORLD/europe/07/08/russia.cats.reut/index.html

Fish-sniffing cat beats smugglers
Tuesday, July 8, 2003 Posted: 1057 GMT ( 6:57 PM HKT)
Fish in the Caspian Sea have become endangered since the collapse of Soviet rule.

MOSCOW, Russia (Reuters) -- Move over bomb-sniffing dogs, here comes Rusik, the fish-sniffing cat!
Russian police battling fish smugglers have deployed a cat to sniff out contraband, including Caspian Sea sturgeon which produce Russia's world famous caviar.

A police control post in the southern Stavropol region adopted Rusik one year ago and it now helps officers conduct spot checks on vehicles, the Itar-Tass news agency reported on Tuesday. The cat had distinguished itself with an outstanding nose for fish.

"The cat finds it in any hiding place," Itar-Tass quoted a police spokesman in Stavropol as saying, adding that Rusik was fed on confiscated fish.

Several species of fish in the Caspian Sea, on Russia's southern border, have become endangered since the collapse of Soviet rule led to a sharp rise in fish smuggling.

Internal Memo
From: Hugo du Chat Noir, Editor
To: Legal Department

The Scum is running another article about Paolo. We may have a case for libel if we can prove that Paolo is not a pussy.

THE SCUM

WHAT A PUSSY!
Posh Paolo, the cat from Italy who shot to fame as a so-called footballer, has written in the Feline Observer (F.O.!!!) that he is SCARED OF HUMAN FOOTBALLS. Our headline says it all.

Strawberries and Cream

The Summer is upon us and I am delighted to say that I shall soon be travelling to London to watch Wimbledon, that delightful game with the soft, bouncy balls, so much more civilised than cricket or human football, which use terrifyingly hard or large balls. I speak as one who was once incapacitated by a human football aimed straight at me by an irate farmer. (I once told Brindis about this incident during my lesson in rapportage, but was told that this was nothing besides having one's tail hit by a Land Rover in London.) So tennis would be my chosen sport, if I were a human, but alas I have only four useless paws so must be content only to eat the strawberries and cream and the smoked salmon sandwiches. Nevertheless one can learn from watching the game and adapting its wonderful philosophy to the constraints of cathood. My favourite player is Phillip-Pussy, a man who doesn't need silly tricks like spinning the ball or slamming it down at high speed but instead gently outwits his opponent with a wistful smile, bringing the game closer to chess than to hard physical exertion. Yes! After watching Wimbledon I have decided to take up chess, the thinking cat's tennis. I really don't know what I ever saw in cat football, which is actually a quite worthless pursuit (and as Brindis has repeatedly told me, exercise is very bad for cats). Marlene and I are taking chess lessons from Grand Master Brindis and I am hoping that I shall soon be assigned responsibility for the chess column in the Feline Observer.

by Paolo 'White King'

Brindis 'Black Knight' writes: 'Checkmate!'

Letters to the Editor

Hi Guys,

I want to tell all you readers out there about a new contraption for keeping your cat-restroom clean at all times. It is a mechanical scoop activated by a simple swish of the tail and can be ordered by mail from Yankee Cat Inc., New York NY 12321

Greetings,
Yankee Cat

Sir,

I must inform Yankee Cat that his contraption is entirely unnecessary. One need simply use the floor as a lavatory and within minutes the mess will unfailingly be removed and the spot disinfected by an obliging human.

Yours,
Brindis

Rat Attack in my London Town House

By Brindis

Oh my Supreme Cat! My humans are very distressed, as my old London Town House has fallen victim of London Underground digging trouble. The fact is that rats have invaded us. No the house itself but the cellars next to it.
Since the news, Paolo has hidden under the Italian sofa – all Italians have a bit of Berlusconi in themselves – and keeps shouting that he wont go to London until the rats are gone from the house and we can have an all clear.
No reasons are valid to him: even the fact that we would not be living in that house never more but in a new one that is currently being redeveloped by us.
Ah, but coming back to the rats and the humans report. A specialist from the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea was yesterday at our place. Ozzy the name of this wise chap could have been called a nutter if his profession was not a rat-catcher. He is a man of resources as he understands rats and wants to live and let live.
The poison he has put all over the cellar will not kill the rats, but as they are very protective of their babies, take them away to hatch somewhere else.
I am upset about this, our stay with the Dutch has been long: 3 years, and to leave my old Town House in decay and to have a fellow as crazy as Ozzy in charge is deeply worrying.
Rat-catcher will come back on the 16th and hopefully rats will start to go away by then…
I need to take Paolo out, as he needs to go to the loo and for his afternoon lessons.
Keep you posted,

This appeared in the Guardian on the 28th of June 2003
http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,3604,986719,00.html


Postmen put a boycott on house where 'Danger Puss' lies in wait for them

Martin Wainwright
Saturday June 28, 2003
The Guardian

A cat in a quiet Hampshire town has triggered a Royal Mail boycott after drawing blood from seven postmen and women.

The 11-year-old spits, jumps at the throat and digs its claws into anyone trying to deliver to the address in New Milton, say staff. They are now refusing to run the gauntlet. Originally misidentified as a dog in injury reports, the burly black tomcat, called Purrdey, has continued his ambushes despite being tied on a leash.

"I've always thought of him as a lovely old fellow, but it seems he has a problem with postmen and women," said his owner, 79-year-old Alan Rice.

"I was very surprised when I went to collect my undelivered mail and the woman on the counter told me: 'Your cat has a very bad reputation in our office.' "

A postwoman was recently seen running from Mr Rice's garden two weeks after one of her colleagues had been driven back by the animal arching its back and spitting.

"This cat is dangerous," said Alan Booth, spokesman for the Royal Mail. "It is intent on drawing blood from any of our staff who try to approach the house.

"It leaps in the air as if it believes it's a tiger and lands on people, digging its claws in as deeply as possible. This cat has become well known among our workers, and frankly its behaviour is unacceptable."

Mr Rice's post is bulky as he is a councillor on all three tiers of local government, sitting on Hampshire county council, New Forest district council and New Milton town council. Committee agendas, minutes and scores of briefing papers have piled up at the local sorting office because Purrdey has prevented delivery.

"It's all rather embarrassing," said Mr Rice, a retired electrical engineer who has taken chocolates to the local sorting office to try to make amends.

"There's a warning up there saying 'Beware of Alan Rice's cat,' " he added.

Cats have occasionally stopped the mail getting through before: last year an animal named Boo Boo prevented deliveries in the Pontprennau area of Cardiff.

Other boycotts have been caused by geese, seagulls, and, in Gloucestershire, a particularly plucky pheasant.

Moving Home

By Brindis

The last few days have been hectic: We (Paolo and I) have seen little of our humans that seem to be very busy moving backwards and forwards stuff to our new home in London. We are going to be moved to there at the end of July.
I have taken this move with a philosophical approach: I have lived many lives and in many places since I was born. The C’s are a good – but a bit odd – family group and I will be taken care at all times properly.
Paolo is the problem: he is taking the move badly. He keeps complaining that he finally has settled in Amsterdam and a move to London (where his short stay last year was considered by Silvia a catastrophe as the carpets in the new place where changed after his stay) is not of his desire.
My whiskas feel the pleasure of the idea of Paolo running away and trying to stay here in Amsterdam where our catsitter Marianne could adopt him. But that is too much to wish and hope for my standards!
I have a new Harry Potter book in my reading pile that will keep me going until the re-settling is finished. I love HP and louvre the idea of meeting JK Rowling (she is a neighbour in London) ‘s cat as we can then exchange HP notes.
Paolo is immune to this exciting intellectual challenge, and only wants the sun (is he turning Dutch?) as much as he can get before the winter comes.
I observe the move from the top of my favourite Italian sofa since my art deco chairs are now in London. I can wait to be sitting back in them ASAP.
Tell you more about the move and the visitors from darkest Peru arriving soon to help with the move in my next articles.
Until then,