cats, cats, and loads more cats!

What better way to make a wombling comeback than with a cute kitten video!

Yes, Agatha's been at it again... and again!! Two more litters since last I wrote means we somehow let her pop out FIFTEEN little ones within twelve months (gulp!). But you'll be relieved to hear that thanks to the phenomenal help and support of a lovely newly-found neighbour - what I mean by 'help and support' is that Marta basically did everything for us - and a lot of patience, she's finally been caught and neutered.

We've also been getting the hang of this kitten rearing thing so that all five of the six-month-olds survived and have homes (two beauties live with us). As for the two-and-a-half-month-olds, well, why don't you see for yourselves? ...

design contest

I've been working on a new project recently - an entry for a logo design contest run by a new Dutch vacuum food container company called VacuVita.  It's been so much fun and very absorbing, and has shown me once again that design is definitely something I want to be doing more of.

Here's the finished product:

And some impressions of how it might look in use (if it gets chosen).

I tried to capture as much of the existing band image as possible, using the lines, sinews, colours, sturdiness and quality of the product as my starting point.  To that, I added visual representations of the components of the name: a spiral inside the letter 'a' to represent the vacuum system on which the product functions, and sprouting leaves at the base to represent the extra vitality and longvevity that the product gives its contents.

The result I was aiming for is an iconic, almost retro-feel logo which conveys a fun, quality, trustworthy brand, one which will endure through generations of affectionate users.  How do you think I did?

There are ever more entries being added to this contest, and some of them are very good quality entries from bona fide design studios, so there's a lot of finger crossing and hoping going on at wombling HQ.

If you're on Facebook and have a few moments to spare, you could always help out by registering your vote! This is the link. You'll have to like the Vacuvita page before being allowed just one vote per person through Offerpop. Designs need 25 votes before they can even be considered by the judges, and then there's a separate prize for the most popular entry, so your support is really very much appreciated.

Keep wombling on, lovely folk :)

wombling wreck

I'll admit it: I felt I'd displayed a fair bit of calm, head-on-shoulders resourcefulness through the crisis.  I'd go so far as to say I was feeling quite proud of myself.  But pride comes before a fall, and that afternoon, I went to pieces.

Like a character I'd once seen in some awful, hammed up, straight-to-TV movie about a phantom pregnancy,  I was haunted by distant cries (well, mewings). I chased shadows of ghost cats behind walls where no cats were to be found and went back to scour the already scoured tool shed more times than is reasonable or - if I'm honest - sane.  I was a bag of shaky nerves.  I just prayed that Agatha would come back, that we'd be able to confirm that she had both Joe AND Fred with her.  But she had disappeared. And so had all trace of the kittens.

If my class that evening was a slow-motion car crash, well, that's just the way it was, I'm afraid.

It's a strange form of helpless grief that comes from unexplained loss like that.  No story, no evidence, no closure, no idea if there's anything you can do or could've done.

I'm dealing with it better second time around.

She finally showed up for dinner at 11pm, and continued to come for the next few days without ever giving her position away.  She moved stealthily and didn't dwell in one place for long.  She looked like she was still giving milk, but how could we really know?  Her eyes were full of sadness, but was it just for Ginger?

They were full of mistrust and suspicion, too.

She'd stationed poor Charlie way up on top of the high wall to keep watch over her that first night with Smokey Joe, and it seemed like the whole event had left her with a very immediate and tangible sense of threat that took her a long time to shake.  At the time, I read it as pure paranoia, but in light of the last two days, I wonder if maybe it was a form of sixth sense or premonition.

They did come back in the end, you see, Agatha, Smokey Joe and Fred.  But barely a week later - just yesterday morning - it became apparent that the little ones had gone missing; simply vanished into thin air, as far as we can tell.

It's Agatha that's the wreck this time.

Haunted by mewings, chasing shadows behind walls where no kittens are to be found, scouring the neighbourhood over and over, howling into the darkness.
She's one sad cat.

And it simply breaks our hearts to watch.

Sad Agatha 

Where do you look for missing kittens?

When do you give up hope of finding them?

How do you console a mourning mother?

Anyone got any answers?

adoption

It was early morning, and Ginger was mewing in the shed on her own.

We looked, but Fred was not there.

There were muddy adult pawprints around, and no sign of struggle, so we were hopeful it had been Agatha, and not an aggressor.  We quickly beat a retreat, in case we had interrupted the move and went out the front to have a peek at the rest of the family.  But the spot where we had left Agatha and Smokey Joe was empty.

Agatha did not come for food that morning.  In fact, we did not see hide nor hair of her all day and come lunchtime, Ginger was still on her own and hadn't been given any sustenance for nearly 24 hours.  She was shakier, too, and every so often went through phases of mewing inconsolably with all her might.  Still Agatha didn't come.

So I did all I could think to - phoned for professional advice and ended up bundling her into an old wine box...

... and taking a taxi with her to the municipal cat sanctuary, Gatil, to see what they could suggest.


What they suggested was leaving her with them.
So that's where she stayed.


She had her own cage with a corner to hide behind, bedding, water and food. A vet was to see her shortly to give her a checkup, but the initial once-over by the guys manning reception gave hope that she had a good chance - of survival and also of adoption.  A thick ring binder full of papers represented only adoptions in 2012 so far. Warm, reassuring smiles.  She'd be okay.  This was what was best.

It had been pouring down with rain that morning and continued to do so through the day, but for a brief while, just as I left the centre, the clouds parted and the sun shone down.  It had been the right thing to do, hadn't it?


Having left this blog address with Gatil, I'm hoping that Ginger's adoptive family might be curious to see pictures of her younger self and to understand a bit more about her background.  So if you are they, reading this now (and if you can understand English!) I'd love to take this opportunity to thank you, so much: everyone at Gatil and also in Ginger's new home, bless you.  Please look after her well.  And if you feel moved to share updates on her progress, in the comments section or by private email, we would all be so, so happy to hear about her.  We miss her, and lord knows Agatha does, too.  And how.

separation

Noone had been able to find Smokey Joe.

We had searched high and low in the bushes and the firefighters were about as sure as they could be that he hadn't been stuck down in the foundations of the wall with the others. Our last (and best) chance of finding him was Agatha, and find him, thank goodness, she did.

We still have no clue where he'd been hiding, but all she'd needed was 5 or 10 minutes in the quiet, post-upheaval garden, and a bouncing smudge ball was once again at her feet, and soon bringing what I'm sure was welcome relief to her heavy teats. Relief all round.

Short-lived relief.

It quickly became clear that she was now bound to stay with him, distracted from searching for the others.

My instinct upon realising this was to try and nab him and place them all together, but the bush was thick, and both mother and child ferocious.  It was also dark, and they needed a little respite from all the drama.  So against my better judgement, I left them be, hoping that soon enough she'd go for the others, find them in that snug, dry room, and take Smokey Joe to join them.

Hours passed, however, and she did not leave his side.

Fred and Ginger seemed okay.  Ginger was a little shaky, but both of them had sound instincts to hide together in dark corners and also less constructive ones to snarl at approaching hands.  I held them each to try and calm them, get them used to being stroked, try to sex them (I think we were right all along) and then to try to feed them wet kitten food on the end of my finger, but they weren't at all into it, hungry though they must have been. We mostly left them to themselves, and when bedtime came, left a hot water bottle and food and milk out for them, in case they decided they were ready to start on solids.  They seemed strong enough to last out the night.

So we slept.

And when we woke, it was a different world.  It was rainy day Thursday.

the calm before the next storm

The firemen had kept asking throughout the operation whether the cats were wild or not, and all we could do was explain the situation over and over: the mother had been someone's pet, but not for several years, and the kittens weren't used to humans. We'd been hoping that the mother would back off a bit to allow contact with them, but that hadn't happened yet.

On retrieval of the hissing, scratching kits from the foundations, however, Salvador had his answer.  Nodding, he grimly confirmed "These are wild kittens. But not to worry - five days or so looking after them in a confined room, and they'll mellow and be tamable."  So, I had prepared the tool shed: made it safe as I could and put together a nest with warm, clean bedding.

Would they not have a better chance of survival in their mother's care, though?  Salvador was vaguely surprised at the question, having assumed abandonment. As if on queue, Agatha, her undercarriage looking painfully swollen from lack of suckling, poked her head out from round the corner where she'd been hiding.  Well, of course they probably would stand a better chance with her.  Especially as they'd not been introduced to solid food yet.

Before they left, the firemen tried to round her up but soon realised what an impossible job that was, so in a painful reenactment of two weeks previous, I slowly carried the kittens to the other side of our house again (this time I walked around, not through), in full view of Agatha, encouraging a little mewing conversation to take place so that she might follow. But just as last time, she instead stood parallysed and confused and would not budge save for to bolt 10 metres down the road where she paced and howled like a mad thing.

Consensus was that she was anxious to be with them and would find them out by smell if I left the window of the tool shed open.  They would surely be safer there.  Far away from deep holes and the coming cold and rain.  And the sooner they could have a bit of calm, the better.

If and when Agatha found them, there was to be no guarantee that she wouldn't just carry them away with her again, of course, but that was just a risk we would have to take, it seemed.  She was their mother, after all.  And all the internet articles we'd read said they should stay together for as long as 12 weeks if possible.  We hadn't yet read the one which suggested some feral cats might only be tamable if separated as young as four weeks, and even if we had, wouldn't we just have thought that a little too harsh?

So, it was dusk, the firefighters had gone, the neighbourhood doors were closing and the two kittens were safe and calming down, snuggled together in a dark corner of the tool shed.

Would Agatha find them?  And where was Smokey Joe in all this?

Let's find out next time, huh?

what happened after that

Salvador.  Saviour.  There's a fireman's name anyone would be glad to hear, wouldn't they?  Could he and his buddy save the day, do you think?

Could they ever!  It wasn't straight forward, but well within the hour both Fred and Ginger had been pulled from the rubble by strong, safe hands and were trembling quietly in the corner of one of their previous abodes, each apparently in one piece and compos mentis.  Everyone agreed how nice the men had been, and then doors gradually began to close as dusk settled on the bairro once more.

Surely that's it? The end of the drama? They've been rescued, ergo - hassle over, right?  RIGHT??

If only it were that simple...