pets

Poor Fish!

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: This is among the last of my British purchases made on a whim before the Trump tax kicked in and made all my purchases from England (a favored source) more expensive. Postage had already started to get out of control and the extra bit is a combined big bite. That’s not to say I won’t buy from my beloved dealers there, but it is slowing me down, especially on the sorts of thing I buy sort of without thinking much.

Nonetheless, this wandered in a door a while back from the very lovely Stephen Phillips (http://@woodenhilltoys) via Instagram. His videos of the tables sporting his wares at shows all over Britain tend to make me salivate for an alternate life where I live there and drive around following him and others to these various wonderful shows – I guess I additionally live in a wonderful little cottage which is crammed full of all of the stuff I collect. (As opposed to this very small apartment and the less romantic but now much beloved Cape Cod alternate home base in New Jersey.)

The precise question of what exactly this is remains open. It is adhered to a sheet of linen type fabric and there were other bits also attached around it which I have kept but are of no particular interest. Under magnification it appears to be printed. I had some folds which the framer has done a pretty good job of pressing out.

Hard for me to imagine Mr. Blackie as a murderer of anything.
The girls get my vote – I think Cookie is most likely to enjoy a good waterbug now and again.

Here we have one of my beloved black kits (think Beauregard and Blackie), out in the wilds of somewhere having caught himself a fine meal. The fish is very large in relationship to the cat, it must be said. That fish would have given that cat a run for his money. I would say just this side of not possible.

Playing off the violence of the feline hunter is the pleasant greenery and flowers around him. Pansies and other flowers bloom and trees, green hills and a pleasant cloud filled sky are juxtaposed against this violence against this large carp-type fish.

Mugshot of Beau – unlikely but not impossible mouse killer.

However, whoever painted the cat caught the weird combination of feral and fluffy. This is a domestic round, cute and fluffy fellow (or girl as they are the big hunters) for what we can see, yet there is something in the eyes which reminds us cats are indeed instinctual killers and happy consumers of small game. There is also something in his or her look which is the cute kitten look, hoping for approval. Here in our apartment cat catching (fortunately) never seems to rise above large water bugs and the rare mouse in the house in New Jersey.

Hobo back in 2023. We know he could do the deed.

Having said that Hobo, our outdoor denizen in New Jersey for several years, was once found adding to his protein consumption by munching on a newly caught rat – a robust population of those in the yard there given our proximity to the water. The caretaker, Winsome, reported this as well as the more recent mouse body in the living room. Very icky! Without knowing for sure I attribute that catch to our feral female Peaches who stubbornly refuses to even be touched by human hands, but who survived as a lost kitten in a basement in a nearby town until she fell down a hole and someone heard her persistent meowing. There are five cats in that house but my money is on Peaches. I have done my best to stuff up any entry points with steel wool. I have to say that it is a pitifully dumb rodent that wanders in there.

Peaches is the most likely to kill a rodent in my opinion.

Although I did tell Winsome I thought we had to congratulate Peaches on a job well done – not like I want to encounter mice in my house dead or alive – it is not generally the favorite aspect for most of us domestic cat owners. Of course working cats live in bodegas and in barns with the expectation that both their very presence as well as their hunting prowess will be employed as a deterrent. This newly framed picture will travel to New Jersey where it will serve as a reminder of the other side of the nature of our sweet kits.

As I end this I feel compelled to add that in the time I was working on it I had a message from Steve and sure enough, he has a few cat prints for me. Guess I am not out of it at all yet!

Family

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: I feel like I used to find more photos like this one for the Pictorama archive. I discovered this on eBay. Unfortunately it is quite faded, I have even assisted it a bit here. Still, this family with their mostly matching haircuts and each girl sporting a member of a kitten family was too good resist.

This photo postcard was never mailed and the clothes on the kids are sort of timeless, but I would guess maybe the 1920’s or 30’s. They are posed by the “side of the house” from what I can figure. I would say spring considering the shortness of the grass, the clothes and of course the kittens they hold.

My sister Loren in an undated photo I keep next to my desk at home. Judging from the car I would say from the early 1980’s. If I was in NJ I might find a photo of all of us. Will have to wait!

You can’t really see it easily but there is a great variety in kittens here. From left to right we have a tortie, a tabby, a sort of gray soft stripe and a gray tuxie. Not at all impossible that they are all from the same litter however.

These kids are clearly also of the same litter! Far from identical, however there is a strong family resemblance brought out further by their matching bowl style hair cuts. Each one wears it a bit differently though – bangs aside or straight, one where they are cropped short. The girl in the plaid dress is clearly the eldest but the exact order of the others is left to our musing.

A close look at their faces and the girls look more alike to each other than they do with the man who I have been assuming is dad. Family resemblance is a strange thing I always think. Sometimes I am sitting on the subway or walking down the street and a family passes and all I can think is that they could never deny all being related. This always comes to mind in my reading of early novels (someone denying a child is theirs) and this was satisfied as a plot point in a Rose Mulholland novel recently – the striking resemblance to her father could not be denied! More on that possibly as a tomorrow post.

A still young Cookie and Blackie bearing some resemblance here.

My family sort of mixed and matched with familial likeness – not looking alike, stronger resemblance to one parent when young and then another. My sister and I, she of the curly hair and I of the straight, never looked much alike however once someone who knew me from work walked up to my brother and announced we must be siblings. (We were at a rare moment, like these girls, when we were sporting approximately the same haircut.)

My brother may be surprised to hear me say it but, although he and I have always looked more strongly like my mother’s side of the family, I saw a recent photo where he looks very much like our father. (I think it is the beard Edward.) Kim has a rather extraordinary family likeness with his brothers and I gather his fraternal grandmother from whom he inherited his distinctive eyes. There is an additional family resemblance though also to both his mother and his father.

This is of course also true for cats and cat families. My mom used to quote from an old genetics text that this kind of cat and that kind of cat likely to produce this or this cat. I could never keep it straight.

There are days when you can tell that Cookie and Blackie hatched from the same mom and dad combo. Other times, Cookie being smaller, mightier and a tuxie to Blackie’s bigger all black handsomeness makes it appear as if there is no resemblance.

Beau (left) and Blackie meet for the first time.

The one litter of kittens I grew up with bore a remarkable resemblance to each other (variations on gray and tabby striped), but not to their mother (Winkie, a tortie) at all. And for that reason perhaps, she utterly disowned any knowledge of them after a point. I have commented on how Blackie and Beauregard (the all black male kitty of the Jersey Five) stared at each other, clearly in recognition of the fact that they looked alike. (A post about the New York cats meeting the New Jersey cats can be found here.)

It is too bad no one thought to include the mom cat in this photo – assuming she was a denizen of the same household. It would have rounded things out nicely. It is fun to speculate that the cats and the kids grew up over time side by side.

Hat’s Off

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: As I wake up on this pretty fall morning, the folks over here at WordPress told me that some of you are hard at work reading away. It is fun to see and thank you all as always for your dedicated reading and attention. It’s nice to know that you are out there and I hope you are enjoying your wander around the Pictorama world. Welcome today to all readers both new and longstanding. It pleases me to think that there are folks who want to read about cats, toys and my minor exploits.

I have an interesting little addition for this post, a postcard from the big buy a few weeks back, of a cat having chewed through a hat. Seems like an odd image to make a postcard of – have to wonder if the artist had a real incident on his mind. The cat is rather pleasantly benign for a chapeau eating demon. He is of the, aren’t I cute so you can’t possibly kill me school I guess. Why would he chew through a hat though? Must have been so pleasantly stinky.

This card appears to have been produced in Eastern Europe – ambitious felines there I guess. It is an embossed image, a very old, worn man’s hat with this sweet faced, long haired kit having munched through it. This card was mailed from Fort Scott, Kansas at 11 AM, on March 21, 1908.

Back of the card. Is actually a bit easier to read in this photo than in person.

The pencil writing on the back is very faded and a bit illiterate. The best I can make out is, 3-20-1908 avrr – all ok and a card from Pec. he did not say when he was coming back expect we wont come til Monday if you children are all well. love to all Mother. And it was addressed simply to: Carles J. Pierce, Appleton City Mo. Must have been a small town.

Ongoing readers know that my current gig at an animal hospital has set me contemplating things that pets ingest that they should not. (Foreign Object Friday anyone?) The favorite by far seems to be dogs eating ear buds (owner might even find out because they are gently pinging in the pooch), one of the worse is marijuana they pick up from discarded roaches on the street (very bad for animals, please dispose of thoughtfully), and while it is hard to choose most exotic might go to a corn cob which sort of startled me. Shoes, underwear and socks are not safe from your large pup, I’m telling you that right now.

Just for kicks and giggles – this photo from one of my very first posts. Someone named Dally Petit shown in true cat hat splendor.

However on the cat side, this image reminded me very much of a cat we had as a child, Zipper. I have told of his exploits as the swaggering sort of tabby cock-of-the-walk, feline ringleader in our old neighborhood.

I was quite small when for whatever reason one day Mom had to take Zips to the vet. Evidently she was short of a cat carrier and she enlisted me as well. (Later in life she always made sure she had more than enough to move all the cats if necessary, which it was during hurricane Sandy when she moved at least five.) On this occasion she placed Zipper in a rather picturesque antique straw picnic basket and somehow secured the top so he couldn’t bound out.

Zipper was not a cat easily cowed and he sent what we called war whoops and howls from the seat next to her in front (this was an old car and I believe the front seat was all one, not broken into separate seats like they are now), and I was plopped in the back, but of course watching this unfold. Well, Zipper was not to be contained and began systematically eating his way through the side of the basket. (In retrospect, whatever ailed him wasn’t that serious I guess.) It wasn’t long before he was thoroughly stuck, head out but unable to go back in. I can assure you he was a good deal more demonic looking than this puss. Mom, for her part, just kept driving.

I have no idea how we got him home, nor was I there when the vet must have cut him out and most likely asked mom what the heck she was thinking. I wish mom was still around to ask her about that part of the story. This card will always remind me of it however.

Sadly I cannot think of a single family photo that incorporates Zipper – he was a will o’ the wisp of a fellow, always on the move. Somehow he never quite got documented to my knowledge. I suspect it had to do with his aversion to being picked up. A true ally cat, he was very selective about who could touch him and how much. He lives now only in my memory and imagination.

A couple of rather wonderful items wandered in the door this week – a good week at the online auctions. This and that needs to be done before I can share them but some rather wonderful things coming up soon so stay tuned.

Treats

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today Kim and I are venturing off to the fall edition of the vintage postcard show down in the West Village so I hope to have a new stock of interesting bits to share. I am also hoping to stop at the spice store I highlighted on a trip earlier this year (in a post about Washington Square Park here). If I make it there today my goal would be to buy some curry and related spices.

I have a whim to explore more entirely vegetarian recipes (less fish) and am curious to see what I can add to my arsenal. For those of you who follow that particular line of thought here at Pictorama I hope to share some recipes in the future. Tomorrow’s cooking adventure will be root vegetable stew topped with Bisquick dumplings. Last week was a pretty fair chickpea stew. It was filling but I suspect that the root veggies plus dumplings will be more so.

However, today’s topic is treats and while I will get to today’s tin in a moment, treats were just a topic in the apartment earlier. Yesterday I was lucky to have a chance to see Temple Grandin give a talk at work. (For those who don’t know her, she is a remarkable animal behaviorist who is also significantly autistic. She has written about both, but was addressing some of our vet techs at a conference I got to sneak into.)

Temple shared many thoughts about living with animals, largely focused on training them (both domestic and farm animals) to be less fearful. Much of the root of that seems to be treats! Associate new things with something good like treats – when introducing a new place or person, teaching them to be handled, etc. So today I am eyeing the cats and the Churu and wondering what inroads in behavior we might make.

Found this online and wish it wasn’t cut off but who could resist, Hail to the Toffee King?

Back to today’s tin which came to me in a big haul in NJ this past summer. It held Mackintosh’s British candy. Their candy appears to have been toffee. I have a big soft spot for toffee – not a huge dessert eater but when I see salted toffee something I lose all control and quite simply must have it. I like it on its own too, although not sure my dentist would be pleased to know this and luckily it doesn’t get put to the test that often.

This for sale on eBay at the time of publication. Clearly from a period when they were producing toffee in New York.

Mackintosh candy was founded by a husband and wife team in Yorkshire, England. They established it the year they married and while he continued to work a factory job she ran the shop. Violet, who had worked for a confectioner previously, must have done a good job because it grew like topsy. In fact, it was their product which changed the toffee from a generic for sweet to the chewy delight we think of today. John set out with an advertising campaign declaring himself, The King of All Toffee.

Expansion took place over time, first a warehouse and then a larger one. However, notably, in 1909 they opened their first overseas factory in Asbury Park, New Jersey of all places. It must have seemed like a good bet with the amusement pier there. (Is my tin one that kicked around from that nascent New Jersey period? It says Made in England so likely not.) Sadly the venture failed however. Not that this kept them down for long and the company continued to grow (with setback during World Wars, fires, etc.) and eventually merged with Rowntree in 1969 and exists in that form today.

The Asbury Park of the day they would have emerged into.

Meanwhile their tins proliferated and many are available. A quick search doesn’t turn up this particular one, but dogs were frequently on the tins which as useful items were saved. (This seemed to be part of their advertising strategy overall.) I purchased this one for the cheerful dog because readers know that I lead a pretty doggy existence for someone who is mom to seven cats! My thought is to take this fellow to work and keep some of the errant bits and pieces on my desk in it.

According to a Wikipedia entry about the candy today: The toffee is now sold in bags containing a random assortment of individual wrapped flavoured toffees. The flavours are (followed by wrapping colour): Malt (Blue), Harrogate (Yellow), Mint (Green), Egg & Cream (Orange), Coconut (Pink), and Toffee (Maroon). The maroon-wrapped toffees do not display a flavour on the wrapper. The product’s subtitle is “Toffee De Luxe” and its motto is “a tradition worth sharing” Egg & Cream?

Hopefully more tomorrow from the postcard show. Wish me luck!

Everything’s Swell!

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: It’s impossible for me to see this card without hearing a certain sort of cartoon cat voice from my childhood – vaguely sarcastic, probably based on a motion picture idea of what a citified gangster sounded like. His friend and sidekick would reply, Yeah, right boss!

This is among the last of the cards I bought at the big postcard show over the summer. (Never fear, there’s another show coming in early October.) This card looks like it could have been drawn by one of those cartoon animators as a side gig. It has a pro feeling to it. The cat on the fence with the big orange sun setting – a glowing sunset behind the fence we realize when we really look. We get a peek at a yellow field and a house behind. It is as if the world is very beautiful glowing yellow and civilized just on the other side of the fence from where these three cats gather.

The two males on the fence seem to be tuning up for a night of caterwauling, while the girl cat belongs to someone who has place a bow around her neck. I guess she matriculates through both worlds. There is a garbage can which has overflowed – I guess that can be investigated and raided later if the boys need a snack.

Blackie and Cookie on the bed recently. They have only just reconciled with each other upon our return to the NYC apartment.

Not surprisingly it has me in mind of what we called alley cats when I was a kid and which occurs to me right now to be a term you don’t really hear any longer. (Do we no longer have alleys? Or are cats no longer their denizens?) Instead we talk about strays and feral cats – terms people seem to use interchangeably which arguably are not. Domestic cats that have been abandoned are now strays but they are not feral.

I have written about our first stray found when I was a small child, Zipper. (I wrote about him and other tabbies I have known in a post here. Zipper’s interest in our tropical fish can be found here.) He was a classic alley cat, a tabby with a broken tail where the tip was always at an angle. Mom rescued him outside the laundry one day (this was before we had our own washer and dryer – yes, we’re talking quite a long time ago) where some boys were abusing him.

Zipper was super scrappy though and grew into a beautiful cat. I suspect in retrospect that our rather prim but gentle domestic cat Snoopy was probably utterly shocked by him. He kept his streetwise wits about him and became a ringleader of the neighborhood cats of the time. (Our cats were of the indoor/outdoor variety at the time.) Zips would round up his buddies and make raids on an eel box kept for bait up the street. What pussycat parties those appeared to be! Puking for days after and a need to hose down the garage. These two on the card would have happily attended and then gotten into a few fights.

Mr. Miltie, our old, old timer. A long ago rescue from Newark.

Spending time outside our cats would get into scraps and occasionally come home with a gaping wound which would eventually abscess and require a trip to the vet. Once I remember my mother couldn’t find a cat carrier and stuffed Zipper into a picnic basket which he promptly chewed right through – head sticking out and therefore somewhat stuck, on our the way there.

All of this was brought back to me by a snippet on Instagram this morning about a British woman and her son finding a cat in the backyard and enticing him inside over a period of a couple of years. Reminds me of our Hobo in New Jersey who we never were able to get inside and who disappeared last year. They call him Boysie, another tabby, and it was a bad wound that finally made them urge him inside and to the vet.

Gus, on the bed. He came to the backdoor in NJ one winter. He can’t decide if he wants to be petted all the time or is afraid to at all.

Now we have dedicated people doing TNR (trap, neuter and release) of cat colonies which have mercifully cut down their numbers. Strays with docked ears show this has been done and our Stormy bears that evidence. Here in Manhattan strays are much less common than they once were even in my lifetime. Still, Stormy and Gus both came to the backyard at Mom’s and the other three were otherwise rescued, Beau and Miltie from Newark and Peaches from a basement in Long Branch. We know that shelters are full to overflowing and I am told that in the spring a never ending parade of kittens were dropped at our doors at work despite our not even being a shelter.

Recently an older friend lost her sister unexpectedly and the sister had just adopted a stray. I was very tempted to invite her to join the tribe although eight might truly be the tipping of that scale.

Peaches. I actually touched her for the first time recently. She was asleep on a chair and did not appreciate it. Peaches will generally only let me get within a foot or two of her. Still, she seems very happy. Stretches and rolls around. Just a no-touch kinda girl.

I think of our cat companions and how very special they are. Cookie is asleep atop a Chewy box surveying her kingdom as I write and Blackie is wondering if he looks longingly enough I will give him a Churu treat. (I am the soft touch for these and secretly am always trying to put a bit more weight on Blackie. He is a willing participant.) It makes me sad to think of those kitties that could have happy lives in homes but don’t get the chance. Here’s to finding them all their very best homes.

Hamlet Castle Wain

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I have opined on my devotion to Instagram. While I understand the downsides for many folks, having programmed my feed to be a fairly delightful walk through antique toys, cats (toy cats of course), antique jewelry, and vintage clothing (a shout out to @katestrasdin who I always enjoy – and I never stop being fascinated to what happened to silhouettes in the 1850’s!) generally makes me happy. I have written about it, intertwined with posts about my purchases. I am a rare 100% fan.

The secret may be that, although I will occasionally pause to look at Isabella Rossellini’s pigs, I generally do not follow celebrities and I do my best to avoid all political discourse. Of course I look at cats and watch cat videos. The biggest problem (or advantage, depending on how you look at it) is that I buy things. I buy jewelry (you can see a post about that here) and disparate bits and bobs. The Midwest and the South of the US tend to feed this habit – and of course England, the spiritual home of the early Felix and, like today’s acquisition, Louis Wain. (Several Wain posts exist! A few are here, here and here.)

It probably won’t surprise many of my readers to know that I am crazy enough that while scrolling through Instagram I will pause and happily look as closely as I can at tables packed with wares at far off flea markets. This is usually on my phone and therefore takes a certain kind of skill, gently expanding the image to see bits better.

This is a photo Steven Phillips sent me after I asked about the doily while still on the table.

This has actually resulted in purchases but the other day was an exception. This gentleman (@woodenhilltoys) in Britain had two items I decided I wanted if they made it through the day at the flea market. Luckily they were not sold and this doily is the first of the two.

It is very interesting as it appears to have been made contemporaneously with Louis Wain (1920’s), in his style, but not him. Although I found one other example at auction they are not common in my experience. In a sense this surprises me – Wain stuff has long been collectible and you’d think a fair number were sold and would survive but evidently not.

As noted in the title of this post, Hamlet Castle is one sign on the wall and Rehearsal of company 12 noon the other. (The auction site lists the doily by this moniker as well.) A Wain inspired cat (Hamlet?) with a club is getting read to pop this other kit (Polonius??) with a properly maniacal look on his mug. Go cat, go!

I’m not exactly sure how or where I will choose to display this tidbit. I tend to think it will come with us to New Jersey (later this morning as you read this!) where I will find a frame for it and hang it somewhere. It is a real treat. Stay tuned for the other acquisition and a story about a rather splendid item the seller shared with me but sadly he does not wish to part with. It’s a real Pictorama piece!

Postcards – Behold the Beginning of the Stash

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: Readers from last week know that Kim and I went to a postcard show, held in the West Village, where I purchased my way through a whole lotta postcards. I came away with holdings that I will be working my way through for the foreseeable future. I am hoping you enjoy the launch of what I can promise will be a varied trip.

I am kicking off this visual feast with one of my favorites from the pile. Although there is a nominal kitten here, it is the attitude of this beautiful young woman I love. It is a suggestive card but her energy and winning charm are amazing. Our woman is looking right at us and pointing at You out there. Her be-flowered hat is placed properly on her head and she sports a pretty necklace if you look carefully, a tiny opal or pearl at its center. (I will vote for opal as we know I am partial to them.)

I own a few other somewhat salacious cat cards, the French produced a line of them around this time. One of those prior posts, photo below, can be found here.

French card. Pams-Pictorama.com collection. Another unhappy camera ready kitty!

She is wearing what I guess would have been called a petticoat although that is a bit generic and people who know about these things would probably know a more precise way to describe this chemise. Although it looks like tights she wears I assume that these were sort of the regulation stockings of the day, although with her little low boot shoes.

She supports the kitten with the other hand, his hold on the back of the chair is otherwise tenuous. It is a tiny tabby kitten – and actually close study shows he has no grip on the chair back at all – and that he is not especially pleased with his part in this proceeding. Kitten career as prop. I believe about his world at the time that he could have done worse than working for his living in front of the camera. Maybe he grew up to have a sideline in mousing at the studio. (Blackie is on my lap and I just inquired about whether he’d be up to a mouse if presented with one. He seems on the fence.)

This card was never sent, like so many of these postcards. There is an odd torn edge along the left side. Somehow it feels like it was torn way back in the day at the point of origin, or near to it. It was evidently once sold for 87 cents – I paid a lot more than that I assure you. Someone has also written 1900 but that might just be their guess too.

I can’t actually say I am partial to those cards that were never used although less beat up. The tiny missives on the back (sometimes a bit of cheeky text added to the front) of those that were sent always thrill me. They are windows into a brief moment in a life and I sort of treasure that.

Spike

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Pam’s Pictorama Photo Post: This card wandered into the house last night, in a pile of interesting mail, especially robust as we hadn’t picked up our mail in a few days – more on that in a bit. It was nestled against a wonderfully long, newsy letter from our friends Pete (Poplaski) and Rika in France. Kim read the letter aloud to me while killing time before picking up take out. A delightful distraction, but resulting in my just having a good look at the card now.

I have a weakness for photos of men with cats (see early posts here and here) and a dog seems like a bonus round. Since Spike is the only name in evidence I will speculate that it belongs to the dog or the man? Neither disinterested kit looks like a Spike. This is a photo postcard and nothing is written on the back. The card was never mailed.

From a very early Pictorama post, Men and Cats. Pams-Pictorama.com Collection.

If we look closely this chap is posing on the flat roof of a house, the eve of the house next door confirming this speculation. (The house in Jersey has such a flat roof out the bathroom window, but no plans for us to climb out onto it in the foreseeable future. Given the roof issues I’ve had with that part of the house I would say likely never.) This is evidently an old house with tatty, long and worn wooden shudders that look like they have done real window protecting work, hence their dilapidation. A bit of a decorative railing appears to one side of that and I wonder if the actual balcony was in theory limited to that area.

Our human is sporting a suit and tie, hat perched atop his head, and a big grin. He is sitting on a chair of which there is very little evidence – I thought at first he was squatting in order to get everyone into the frame at first. The cats, a lovely little tuxie and a somewhat spotty white one, are obediently perched on each leg.

Bonus video of Blackie considering a water “fountain” a friend sent him as he demands bathroom sink water constantly. While entertained by it not sure he actually “gets” it yet.

The dog, who wears a hefty collar, is at his feet and has a somewhat concerned look if we peer closely. The trees behind him and into the distance have leaves but seem vaguely half-hearted, perhaps it is fall and their denuding has begun. A very careful look at the horizon reveals a few other rooftops and more beyond, but that and the sky are completely burned out.

Evidence of our battle with the Afrin bottle. Bloody but now bowed.

Zipping back to life here in New York City. Those of you who follow me on Instagram may have already seen allusions to Covid having come to visit Deitch Studio. Shown above is the evidence of Kim and I going to war with a bottle of Afrin whose childproof cap proved to be largely human proof. We ultimately scored a victory over it, but it cost Kim a bad cut on his drawing thumb and a less significant one on my wrist. (My thanks to him for his sacrifice to help clear my head!)

Kim, who was felled first, seems to have reached the shores on the other side of well while I am getting there, slowly. Cats are very spoiled, with a lot of me petting and treat time – all discipline with them out the window in my malaise. All this to say, there are some great toys waiting to make their debut, a belated birthday to ultimately celebrate. Hopefully I can tackle some of these with renewed tomorrow.

Concern for cats…

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: I used to say that I would like to retire to a cat farm in Connecticut. Now, far from retired, those of you who follow my story know that it does appear that I roughly run one in New Jersey in addition of course to the feline folks here in New York. Additionally, my work life is now very animal centric and I can say I find myself in a place where I can have some very catty days indeed. Today I am dedicating a bit of space to my feline friends understanding it may not be the cat’s meow for all readers.

Peaches sees a bird out the window. She is ever watchful of the outside perimeter.

Just last Friday at work I found myself having a delightful hour crawling around on the floor of our member’s lounge with two new visitors, such good kitties they were out of their carriers and investigating the premises. Their mom adopts special needs cats only and is able to devote time and resources to their care. They are remarkably well adjusted cats and sat on my lap for pets and purrs.

Stormy is most likely to be seen at meals.
Milty, grand old man, napping.

In general, unlike dogs (some actually seem to enjoy a visit to our premises – others less so) cats are rarely up for an actual visit when they are at the vet. This is certainly true of mine. If left with me in an exam room Blackie will immediately start to examine all possible exits for a getaway, first checking the perimeter of the room and gesturing to the doors – come on mom, we can make a break for it. I had another cat, Otto, an excellent jumper, who would look upward and the next thing I knew she went from my shoulder to atop high cabinets and had to be fetched by office staff. It is more than fair to say I meet many more cats these days, albeit those under the duress of being at the vet.

Beauregard who has recently discovered the pleasures of Zoom and sitting on my desk in NJ.

My work integrates daily thinking about cat projects as well – fund a cat recovery area in surgery or ICU anyone? Pay for some research? The largest number of patients are dogs, and frankly we care for many exotics (it seems to me I have seen a lot of guinea pigs coming and going lately and even heard tell of a goldfish). One day in the hall one of our staff rushed past me with a teeny, tiny turtle in a plastic tub. However, cats are far from uncommon.

Cats (dogs – and other animals) which need to be rehomed are sometime detailed and emailed to staff as it is, obviously, a huge network of animal people. This in addition to a daily dose of cat tales and woes on posts via the internet where adoption and loss seem to vie for attention. Lovely adult and senior cats who have lost their home due to circumstances changing – illness, death or indifference.

Sunny front door action at the NJ house. A prime morning spot.

As much as the New Jersey cats are tended and adored in my absence I worry about them. Although it has worked out better than I thought it would and it was definitely how my mom wanted it. I continue to consider it a work in progress.

Here in New York, Blackie continues to confound us with a newfound desire to drink water from the sink. I have had other cats develop this desire, but Blackie is single minded in his demands. Yes, he has had all sorts of tests run about it and even taking his diabetes into account it is unclear where the increased water intake has come from. In part, one cannot separate out the entertainment factor of making your human perform simple tricks such as turning the faucet on for you when you caterwaul. Still, there is definitely a corresponding urge and he also drinks considerable water from his shared bowl with Cookie.

Gus on the bed in NJ. He is one cat I think misses getting singular attention.

Blackie’s sister Cookie has become a more affectionate cat as she gets older. She is demanding in her own way (in fact we sometimes call her Demanda) but usually for pets, preferring morning and evening specially for those. Cookie is unusual in that she is the only cat I have ever known who truly likes having her tummy rubbed – like a dog. She will roll and stretch and request our attention for this. She and Blackie will share the bed during the day, but once I get into it at night she eschews it. Blackie has the job of waking us in the morning and only if we refuse to stir by about 6:15 will Cookie take matters in hand and race across the bed a few times to see if she can eject us manually.

Tummy rubbing time.

So this morning I find myself wishing I could give them all a home, but a bit overwhelmed by my own inherited menagerie at times. Wouldn’t trade my daily dose of cats however, although I am learning to appreciate dogs too – more to come?

Peaches

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Pam’s Pictorama Post: Today is an oddball post – I wish to introduce you all to Peaches, the second youngest, female cat of the New Jersey tribe of five. She’s also one of the meanest cats I have ever met. Perhaps considering her story she has some snark coming to her. I will let you decide.

Most readers know that in April of ’23 I inherited a house and five cats from my mother. At her behest, the cats continue to reside here where someone cares for them and the house when I am not here, as Deitch Studio in Manhattan is still our home base. This presents some logistical problems, but fewer than I might have expected when my mother first presented this request, as it became clear that her time was limited.

Shown here with Hobo, our outdoor visitor. They look so much alike! Seems impossible that they are related – Hobo lives too many miles away. But still…

For some background, my mother had briefly whittled her cat family down to something manageable a few years ago when she adopted, first, an all black kitten (Beauregard or Beau) from an agency in Newark, but then followed in rapid succession by two who came to the backdoor (Gus and Stormy) and Peaches whose story I am going to tell today. After the acquisition of Stormy (the youngest) I did request that she stop acquiring cats as it was clear that these were indeed going to end up being my cats.

Our holiday card featuring the whole family (including Hobo) for a quick cat reference.

Unlike the others who, as outlined above, either came through the front door via adoption or showed up repeatedly and starving at the back, Peaches was acquired sight unseen. My mother loved to tell the Peaches acquisition story.

Prized spot in our bedroom. Forbidden territory when the NYC cats are here.

At that time, now about three years ago, my mom had a cousin living with her. They had both grown up in a nearby town called Long Branch and her cousin inherited a house there, but lived with mom for a few years. Word was, back near her house in Long Branch, a friend heard a cat meowing over several days and had called Animal Control to find out what was going on and get the cat.

Seems somehow this cat had gotten away from the mother and the litter and was trapped in a basement after falling down a hole. Poor little thing was starving and crying.

Peaches does play with toys.

My mom knew that it was likely that a feral kitten would ultimately be put down as unadoptable. She called Animal Control in Long Branch as soon as the cat was picked up and told them not to put her down and that she would take it.

I guess the guy said, Lady, you don’t want this cat! It is the meanest cat we’ve ever had to catch. So wild we had to use a broom handle to move the carrier with her in it! And of course mom said she didn’t care and wanted the cat.

She very much enjoys watching the activity on the deck where chipmonks and other critters have been known to roam. Recently I found what I think were groundhog muddy tracks across it so quite a show.

She arrived and was christened Peaches for the woman who had heard her and called Animal Control originally. She entered our house at the time as the youngest and only female cat of the house. To my knowledge no one has ever actually touched Peaches since she came to Oxford Avenue. She hid at first and then slowly assimilated to the extent that she would hang with the pack of cats but keep a wide birth (six or more feet) from any human.

Left to her own devices (which she largely is) she seems quite content.

Over the past several years she has thawed slightly. She now willingly sit in the same room as us, sometimes quite close. When I am feeding them she will come right up to me but if I try to touch her or get too close where she is curled up she will hiss, spit and growl. On this trip however, she “accidentally” jumped up on the arm of my chair and stared me in the eye for several long moments before panic set in and she flew back off. I was as stunned as she was.

Milty and Peaches.

She has one outstanding cat friendship in the house, with Milty, our most senior cat. I will occasionally find them sleeping together. She’ll go over and gently groom him once in a while. It seems like an unlikely pairing, but I am pleased she has a compatriot among the cats.

This just the other day. Happy Peaches.

There have been days this summer when I have caught her rolling and stretching happily. I think she is a contented cat in general, even if her interactions with the human population are limited. I used to joke with my mother that in ten years when Peaches was happily installed on my lap being petted we would look back and remember how we couldn’t get near her. I am less sure of that future, but she’s one of the Butler family cats now to stay.