I am grateful that my readers are so passionate about the subject of feral cats and the proper treatment of them. But I have not been clear, I see now, and readers that are not familiar with this blog may not appreciate the situation here, so please let me clarify (not that I expect to change any minds).
I live in a desert. It is probably a place that you can barely imagine. In the summer the temperatures soar to over 50 Celsius (120 + Fahrenheit), in the winter they drop to below 10. There is no rain to speak of.
The native population of humans love to hunt. Most of the indigenous species - from oryx to desert mice are extinct locally. One species that has survived the extermination sprees and has adapted to co-habitation, is the sand cat, felix margarita sp. These are indigenous 'wildcats'.
Our golf course cats are unlikely to be pure 'wildcats', but they show characteristics of those species, mixed with some Arabian domestic cat signs.
My use of the words 'feral cats' has no doubt conjured images of monstrous domestic cats that decimate local wildlife populations in places like Australia. Cats such as these are a menace and should be controlled.
Some of our population was also made up of pets who live on the compound, and sadly former pets, who have been abandoned. A few of us have tried to look after these cats, feeding them, taking them to the vet when they are sick or injured, and having them neutered and spayed.
One of the comments from the previous post maintained that TNR programs are also cruel and seemed to suggest that it is more humane to euthanise the cats immediately. I can see this argument; however, cats are territorial animals, and believe me, there is an unending supply of them here in Exile. We hoped that by maintaining a stable population of neutered and spayed cats, they would look after the newcomers and chase them away.
If 'all' the cats are eradicated, in a few weeks we will have a new population to dispose of. The idea of an endless treadmill of catching and killing cats does not appeal.
We all know that the world is far from perfect and there are many many calls on our charitable natures. Perhaps for some people, caring about starving animals is frivolous. Perhaps for some people seeing a kitten die a wretched death from poisoning is 'ok'. I am not one of those people.
As for the abusive comments ... I can see that the subject is one that arouses passions - quite rightly. I am happy to listen to your point of view, whether you agree with me or not. I will not resort to name calling or personal nastiness, and I expect the same of you. I have not blocked any readers nor deleted any comments, yet, but if you are unable to be rational and reasonable, I would prefer you did not read my blog.
x
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Sunday, January 29, 2012
I am heartsick
Our neighbour, the golf club, is having a big tournament this weekend.
I suppose peacocks and feral cats are untidy.
A week or so ago, we had 16 feral cats, well-fed and loved. So far, LG has survived. My friend R, who gave her succour during her post-op recovery, is going to try to catch her and keep her at home in protective custody.
Last night there were 4 cats.
Two more bodies were found this morning.
There are almost no peacocks.
It seems poison has been laid to 'tidy up' the wildlife problem.
All of LG's kittens, including the ones in the photo from a week or so ago, have disappeared, presumed poisoned.
Macc and Ming do not go out of the garden so they should be safe and I will be keeping Wolfe indoors for the rest of the week, because she does go for strolls and loves to eat.
I am heartsick.
x
I suppose peacocks and feral cats are untidy.
A week or so ago, we had 16 feral cats, well-fed and loved. So far, LG has survived. My friend R, who gave her succour during her post-op recovery, is going to try to catch her and keep her at home in protective custody.
Last night there were 4 cats.
Two more bodies were found this morning.
There are almost no peacocks.
It seems poison has been laid to 'tidy up' the wildlife problem.
All of LG's kittens, including the ones in the photo from a week or so ago, have disappeared, presumed poisoned.
Macc and Ming do not go out of the garden so they should be safe and I will be keeping Wolfe indoors for the rest of the week, because she does go for strolls and loves to eat.
I am heartsick.
x
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Big Toys and Road Safety
Thursday's newspaper had 'Road Deaths' as its leading article. On the same front page, was a commercial press release, masquerading as 'news', about a wonderful demonstration of an F1 car for the public. That happened on Saturday, closing down the city centre and encouraging more hoonism.
Today's paper had a report on the excitement, detailing the 300 km/hr speed achieved on what is normally a public road, and the many '360s' the professional driver performed for the adoring crowds.
I am a bit of a petrol head myself. I confess.
I am also appalled by the road fatalities here, one of the highest rates per capita in the world (and astronomical when you consider how much of the population is bus-bound and unable to drive). The biggest cause of death on the roads is speed; closely followed by not wearing seat belts, driving dangerously, being distracted by texting or the video playing, and all fuelled by a fatalistic disregard for personal responsibility.
The young drivers have high-powered cars and love to decorate the road with skids and tyre burns from their antics. They hardly need to be encouraged in their madness by 'professional' drivers setting a bar for them to emulate.
Marius and I did not venture to the main display, but we did witness the marshalling of the parade of private vehicles that preceded the main event.
Feast your eyes:
x
Today's paper had a report on the excitement, detailing the 300 km/hr speed achieved on what is normally a public road, and the many '360s' the professional driver performed for the adoring crowds.
I am a bit of a petrol head myself. I confess.
I am also appalled by the road fatalities here, one of the highest rates per capita in the world (and astronomical when you consider how much of the population is bus-bound and unable to drive). The biggest cause of death on the roads is speed; closely followed by not wearing seat belts, driving dangerously, being distracted by texting or the video playing, and all fuelled by a fatalistic disregard for personal responsibility.
The young drivers have high-powered cars and love to decorate the road with skids and tyre burns from their antics. They hardly need to be encouraged in their madness by 'professional' drivers setting a bar for them to emulate.
Marius and I did not venture to the main display, but we did witness the marshalling of the parade of private vehicles that preceded the main event.
Feast your eyes:
x
Thursday, January 19, 2012
10 Days Long
I've stopped leaping up at every unidentified voice now. I oscillate between acceptance and hope. Eventually I will possibly stop hoping and resign myself to acceptance, but so far, I keep hoping (pace Seneca).
Ratty was last seen, full of beans and energy, the morning before we returned to Exile. My domestic assistant gave him and the other cats their breakfasts and then let them all out into the garden for an airing. Apparently Ratty climbed a tree and skedaddled over the wall. Indrani tells me that while we were away, he took off on adventures twice before, once for two days, but he always came home.
When I am feeling optimistic, I think Ratty is out on an extended bachelor jaunt, like he used to have before his accident in early October. When I am feeling realistic? pessimistic? I think he must have had a final 'neurological meltdown' and has gone off to die by himself, as cats do. I worry that he may have been hit by a truck out on the big road, or he ate poison on the golf course, or he got swept up in a 'trap, neuter, return (somewhere else)' program.
I've spoken to all the other cats on the street, including LG (his little sister) and none of them have told me news of Ratty. I've looked in unoccupied gardens and through the fence, and I still call him from our garden. I've spoken to the maids I see out walking their employers' dogs, and I listen to all the voices of the peacocks and children, hoping to hear Ratty.
If I find his body, then that is that. I'll know he has gone. And yes, I expect I will stop hoping to see him on my doorstep, but not yet. I miss him.
LG is well and her fur has grown back. Strangely enough, she is still feeding her kittens in a haphazard way, although they are nearly as big as she is. They are devastatingly cute:
Soon it will be time to try to organise for more neutering and spaying as we have an abundance of gorgeous young cats on the compound. They are flourishing because people feed them, which means they are healthy and will soon start breeding too. In fact Seams' May brood are already big enough to be multiplying.
x
Ratty was last seen, full of beans and energy, the morning before we returned to Exile. My domestic assistant gave him and the other cats their breakfasts and then let them all out into the garden for an airing. Apparently Ratty climbed a tree and skedaddled over the wall. Indrani tells me that while we were away, he took off on adventures twice before, once for two days, but he always came home.
When I am feeling optimistic, I think Ratty is out on an extended bachelor jaunt, like he used to have before his accident in early October. When I am feeling realistic? pessimistic? I think he must have had a final 'neurological meltdown' and has gone off to die by himself, as cats do. I worry that he may have been hit by a truck out on the big road, or he ate poison on the golf course, or he got swept up in a 'trap, neuter, return (somewhere else)' program.
I've spoken to all the other cats on the street, including LG (his little sister) and none of them have told me news of Ratty. I've looked in unoccupied gardens and through the fence, and I still call him from our garden. I've spoken to the maids I see out walking their employers' dogs, and I listen to all the voices of the peacocks and children, hoping to hear Ratty.
If I find his body, then that is that. I'll know he has gone. And yes, I expect I will stop hoping to see him on my doorstep, but not yet. I miss him.
LG is well and her fur has grown back. Strangely enough, she is still feeding her kittens in a haphazard way, although they are nearly as big as she is. They are devastatingly cute:
Soon it will be time to try to organise for more neutering and spaying as we have an abundance of gorgeous young cats on the compound. They are flourishing because people feed them, which means they are healthy and will soon start breeding too. In fact Seams' May brood are already big enough to be multiplying.
x
Monday, January 16, 2012
Holbrook Lamingtons
In my post Driving Home I mentioned lamingtons. There is a wonderful bakery at Holbrook, on the Hume Highway, roughly midway between Sydney and Melbourne, which is famous for meat pies and lamingtons.
Many years ago, when we still lived in Sydney, both Marius and I worked full time. With two small children, and restricted leave, we struggled to manage the holidays. Our generous parents would help out by letting the children stay with them for a week or two at a time. This meant that rather than having separate 'childminding-only' leave, we were able to take our holidays as a family.
Marius's parents lived about three or four hours drive away, which is easily manageable on a weekend. We would deliver the children, stay over night and drive back to Sydney (and work) the next day. My parents lived in Melbourne, which in those days before multiple by-passes and dual carriageways, was a twelve hour journey, making it impossible to do a return trip in a weekend. We developed a wonderful scheme where we would meet my parents (and sometimes stay overnight) at Holbrook, famous for its submarine. After we had handed over the children, we would head north to Sydney and my parents south back to Melbourne.
If we were not staying overnight, we would stop and have a picnic together in one of the lovely parks. At Holbrook we discovered the Holbrook Bakery (now sadly competing with imitations) where we sampled the meat pies, sausage rolls and especially the lamingtons.
I am delighted to report the Bakery is still operating, and the lamingtons remain fabulous. (A lamington is made from plain sponge cake, cut into 2 inch cubes, dipped in melted chocolate and then covered in dessicated coconut. Avoid ones filled with jam and/or synthetic cream as they are decidedly inferior.)
Just after Christmas last year, on the way up to Forster, we stopped for our picnic at Holbrook. It is the perfect distance from Melbourne for lunch, if you leave between 8 and 9 in the morning. When we pulled up outside the bakery, there were plenty of people milling about, dithering over the menu, but Prima and I walked up to the counter and ordered three meat pies and (amazingly conservative) a half dozen lamingtons. By the time we walked out of the shop with our order, the queue was out the door and onto the footpath. Popular place.
On the way back to Melbourne, Marius and Primus stopped at Holbrook again. They bought 2 dozen lamingtons and managed to eat a quarter of them on their way home.
It is lovely when some things remain the same as the shrine in one's memory.
x
Many years ago, when we still lived in Sydney, both Marius and I worked full time. With two small children, and restricted leave, we struggled to manage the holidays. Our generous parents would help out by letting the children stay with them for a week or two at a time. This meant that rather than having separate 'childminding-only' leave, we were able to take our holidays as a family.
Marius's parents lived about three or four hours drive away, which is easily manageable on a weekend. We would deliver the children, stay over night and drive back to Sydney (and work) the next day. My parents lived in Melbourne, which in those days before multiple by-passes and dual carriageways, was a twelve hour journey, making it impossible to do a return trip in a weekend. We developed a wonderful scheme where we would meet my parents (and sometimes stay overnight) at Holbrook, famous for its submarine. After we had handed over the children, we would head north to Sydney and my parents south back to Melbourne.
If we were not staying overnight, we would stop and have a picnic together in one of the lovely parks. At Holbrook we discovered the Holbrook Bakery (now sadly competing with imitations) where we sampled the meat pies, sausage rolls and especially the lamingtons.
I am delighted to report the Bakery is still operating, and the lamingtons remain fabulous. (A lamington is made from plain sponge cake, cut into 2 inch cubes, dipped in melted chocolate and then covered in dessicated coconut. Avoid ones filled with jam and/or synthetic cream as they are decidedly inferior.)
Just after Christmas last year, on the way up to Forster, we stopped for our picnic at Holbrook. It is the perfect distance from Melbourne for lunch, if you leave between 8 and 9 in the morning. When we pulled up outside the bakery, there were plenty of people milling about, dithering over the menu, but Prima and I walked up to the counter and ordered three meat pies and (amazingly conservative) a half dozen lamingtons. By the time we walked out of the shop with our order, the queue was out the door and onto the footpath. Popular place.
On the way back to Melbourne, Marius and Primus stopped at Holbrook again. They bought 2 dozen lamingtons and managed to eat a quarter of them on their way home.
It is lovely when some things remain the same as the shrine in one's memory.
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| Prima and Primus, at Holbrook, c 1992 |
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