Signs And Sounds

Squeaky scowling as she tries to get comfy in her deckchair.

Cats are puzzling, especially trying to work out what they are thinking. Of course, body language reveals a lot about how your moggie is feeling, but when it comes to my kitty, Squeaky, she has several facial expressions that tell me whether she is happy or not.

These expressions are:

1. The relaxed look with eyes closed when lying in the sun.
2. The scowl with opened eyes, furrowed brow and mouth downturned. Her usual reaction when I try to take a photo of her.
3. The blissed-out look with eyes shut tight and mouth upturned. This is Squeaky’s expression when kneading my lap or lounging in her deckchair.
4. The frightened/on edge look. This is her reaction, with eyes wide and face low to the ground when I’ve failed to catch her and put her in her carrier before going to the vet.
5. The disdain look, an intense, wide-eyed look. Her response when I’m singing to her.
6. The cheeky/excited look, with a glint in her eyes. This is the look Squeaky gives me when I chase her around the house or up a tree.
7. The bored look, her eyes are closed and her chin is resting on my ankles when I’m in bed. This is how Squeaky appears in the morning before I stumble out of bed.

Squeaky look cheeky and smug up the pear tree. ‘You can’t catch me.’

A strange thing about Squeaky is that she rarely miaows. When greeting me she lets out a soft trill, but she also purrs, hisses and snores.

The Human.

Expectations

Squeaky in the centre of the window box seat.

Squeaky is a stickler for routine. Her reaction to any change is not subtle. She gives me a penetrating scowl and lashes her tail up and down.

Every morning we sit together on the window box seat. I’m eating breaky, while she’s waiting for her daily brush. The moggie has to sit in the centre of the seat, while I’m seated on her right side. If I sit on her left, she refuses to settle and won’t snuggle. To appease the situation, I get-up sit where I’ meant to and she’s happy.

This past summer has been particularly uncomfortable, especially with weeks of humidity. Usually, while I’m watching T.V. at night Squeaky jumps-up on the couch and lounges across my lap. I’ll then place a cushion to support her head.

Squeaky on my lap with a cushion to support her head.

During these hot nights she’ll stretch out on the rug for awhile, but something inside her little brain makes her eventually jump into my lap. It’s stifling and I’m sweating within seconds, so I push her off. It’s fine cuddling up with a furball in winter, but not in summer.

Squeaky does have her own makeshift bed – a wool felted mat and shrunken, mohair knee-rug placed over the seat of an armchair. On hot nights she prefers to sleep on my bed, but away from me until it’s morning, then the torturing begins.

She expects food, fresh water and the back door opened. I know I’m a sucker and that Squeaky has trained me well, but really, I don’t mind.

The Human.

Play And Relaxation

Squeaky Rolling Around.

Relaxation is a top priority for Squeaky, interspersed with spasms of play. While basking in the sun the chilled out furball rolls over one way, then the other. Wheee!

When I’m in the bathroom getting ready for bed, she will start to play with her predecessor’s miniature hand-knitted toys and mini rubber balls. When I hear a jingle (the bell around her collar), and her thumping across the floorboards I yell out, ‘I can hear you!’ With stops and starts the thumping continues.

I then walk into the lounge room and see her in predator mode, encouraging her as she pounces on a 5cm penguin. She bats it twice and it slides under the piano, then an even smaller toy mouse hurtles across the floor with a whack from her right paw. She stops suddenly when she realises I am watching her.

When I chase her around the house or outside, and while playing with her toys she is clearly having fun, zooming along like a wind-up toy.

A Cushion To Support Her Head.

While I’m watching TV, she’ll sit on my lap all night and after a few hours, I struggle to get-up. As I write in my journal in bed, Squeaky will jump up and groom herself. When It’s ‘lights-out’, she curls-up leaning against my lower thigh. I try not to move.

Early morning after having her breakfast and spending a few minutes outside, she’ll join me back on the bed resting her chin across my ankle, staring out the window, while I snooze.

The Human.

Trust & Punishment

Squeaky looking at the back door.

I had just joined Squeaky on the window box seat. Crouching, she leaned out to the side—her neck extended—so she could see the back door. Her eyes were wide, whiskers back.

Nothing scary was outside, but if the door was closed my kitty thought I was going to grab her, stuff her into a cage and take her to the vet. This was because a few months ago, her dreaded flea allergy had returned.

Squeaky wasn’t impressed when she visited the vet, then again 6 weeks later for her annual vaccination. Giving her a flea treatment was the final act that severed her trust in me.

Then, if I wanted her to stay inside in the morning, I couldn’t close the door. It was frosty weather. Only time, (5 weeks) would mend our rift, but she got me back by getting up early every chilly morning.

Squeaky waits for her friend.

One night after going to bed, I was still awake at 3.00am. At 4.00am I wasn’t very happy being jumped on. It continued along with scratching the doona. I was so tired and couldn’t get-up.

By 6.00am I relented, got up, fed her and opened the back door. There, hanging around on the deck was her black, moggie friend. I was surprised as she normally waits for him early in the evening. I was going to leave the door open, but he started moving towards me, so I promptly shut it.

Lumbering back to bed I didn’t get-up till late.

The Human.

Follow-up to Comfort And Torture

Squeaky in my chair.

The next day, I came up with a solution to stop Squeaky from stealing my deckchair. Simple really, just put out a chair for her. Sounds good in theory, but it didn’t exactly work.

As soon as I put out another chair for her, she leapt onto it and began rolling around, later leaning her chin on the armrest. Clearly chuffed, she stayed there for ages. I left to go for a walk and when I returned, she was still there, lounging and enjoying the sun.

Canvas doesn’t easily stretch, and with the material supporting her back she started to groom herself, placing a hind leg about her head. Immediately she began to slide forward. With claws out, she flipped over on all paws, but couldn’t grip the material.

Sneaking across to my chair.

I went inside for a coffee and came back to find her in my chair again. What’s the attraction?

The other night Squeaky graced me with her presence sleeping on the bed, (she stopped as I snore), and early morning as per usual, she stomped on me and bounced on the mattress.

The Human.

Comfort and Torture

Squeaky in my chair.

It was an unusually warm and sunny day in Autumn. I moved a deckchair onto the lawn and proceeded to eat my gourmet pie while reading a magazine. Suddenly, Squeaky jumped onto my lap. I made an ‘Erff’ sound, just managing to hold onto my pie. My solitude had been interrupted and my magazine was now under her behind. It wasn’t long before the furball started to slide off my lap as the ground sloped downwards. Digging her claws into my leg, she then leapt and perched on the armrest before jumping off. Relieved to be finally left alone, I finished my pie.

Later, I went inside to make a cup of coffee and came back to find someone lounging in my chair. ‘Hey, get off,’ but she didn’t move and just closed her eyes.

Squeaky lounging on my bed.

The furball also causes my grief every morning. Between 6.30am and 6.45am, I am tortured to get-up and feed her. At 6.30am she will jump on the bed and try the ‘nice’ card, purring around my head, but if no reaction, she’ll make me suffer.

She starts by scratching the side of my new mattress, jumps back on the bed, either walking across my chest or starts bouncing using the mattress like it’s a trampoline. If ignored she’ll jump off, run down the hallway and then return doing the sequence all over again. It’s relentless. Usually, I get up after two times and after finishing her breakfast, she’ll snuggle up on the bed with me.

The Human

Strange Happenings, Brushes & Connections

Small mounds of sugarcane mulch have been appearing in my backyard for a couple of years. Initially I though it was a paranormal activity, but no, it’s courtesy of Squeaky, my kitty.

As a gardener I have diligently spread sugarcane mulch around the back garden. When Squeaky does her business, instead of digging up soil, she pushes away a section of mulch, does her thing and covers it forming a mound of mulch.

After her breakfast she hangs out on the window-box seat waiting for a brush. She sits close as I start brushing her and then lifts her head. As I groom the sides of her chin, she leans against the brush, her mouth slightly open exposing upper and lower fangs. Her throat rumbles. I’m always cleaning-up fine strands of her fur which sticks to the seat, and lands on the leaves and flowers of my pot plants.

Squeaky On My Lap.

When Squeaky realises that I’m awake in the morning, she’ll saunter over, plonk herself against my head and start purring. I sit-up and find her looking at me, her eyes slightly open. It’s the same look when she’s curled-up in my lap while I’m watching telly. That’s when I realise that my rescue moggie who was abused and didn’t trust humans easily is now a contented kitty and considers me her mum.

The Human

An Enigma & ‘Something Between The Ears’.

Fashion And The Right Thing

Squeaky Wearing Her New Accessory.

Squeaky isn’t a fashion follower, and wasn’t a fan of wearing a funnel-type collar when she developed flea dermatitis on her skin. The vet shaved off fur 16cm long and 10cm wide along her back down to her tail. Being a rescue cat who was abused, you can imagine it was fun catching, bathing and putting cream on her wounds.

Wearing the hard, plastic collar made her sit upright and she wasn’t eating, so I purchased a soft collar. It was much wider than the other one, making it difficult for her to walk. I then pushed it downward. Initially, she looked like a kitty flower and a clown, which clashed with her new punk-style shaved back.

She adapted moving around, and then became obsessed with grooming—not much except the end of her tail and the collar. At night on the bed I’d hear a continuous rasping sound—her licking went on for ages.

She wore her new accessory for three weeks. I felt guilty because she would stare out of the window into the garden for hours, eat a lot and nap. Normally, she’d do her business outside, but now had to use litter. I wasn’t a fan of cleaning out her tray after she used it, and sprayed air freshener around.

Happy Kitty!

Finally cured, Squeaky was allowed out. I opened the door and she dashed outside only to suddenly stop. As it was winter, it was pretty chilly and within five minutes she came back inside.

The Human.

Instinct

Squeaky in  the garden.

Each bird from a family of magpies can chase Squeaky away. Unlike her predecessor, she is not a skilful hunter. Now when I feed the magpies, Squeaky lounges on the deck.

However, recently she surprised me—her instincts awoken—bringing in skinks, (tiny lizards), from the front garden. They are pretty cute and I’ll immediately try to rescue her prey from splayed claws, returning it outside. I’ve found a skink on the slimline venetian blind and even one in my bedroom.

The other day Squeaky released one in the lounge room, minus its tail—a survival mechanism in which skinks shed their tail, while scurrying away from their predator. After a few bats with her paw, and a glint in her eye, she bit off and swallowed its head. Grossed out, I disposed of the body. Squeaky pressed her nose to the spot and searched for her prey. Suddenly, she pounced on one of her small knitted toys. Dropping to her side, she clutched the toy between front paws and then chewed its head and kicked the body with her hind legs. My angel had finally evolved into a predator.

A few days later I was walking barefoot across the rug when I felt something cold and rubbery. I screamed. After gaining composure I looked down to see what I had stepped on. Ewhhh! It was the skink’s shrivelled tail.

I’ m grateful that Squeaky still can’t catch birds and was shocked while curled-up in my lap, she scratched me.

The Human.