Furry tales (Part Three)

The story so far:

Dyson (hunter-cat) had managed twice to pull down the hamster cage. From his first try, Basil (male hamster) is still missing, but Rosemary and Lavender (the two girls) survived. Unfortunately, the girls died in his second attack, but Lewis (the replacement male was unharmed. The wire cage is still under the desk in the hope that Basil will be caught.

Snowball (superior furry-human cat) is annoyed that Dyson has not been punished, but he can't be held responsible for his feline nature.

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A week after Basil had gone missing, we found that the cage door was shut. We couldn't see him inside so assumed that he'd eaten, and tripped the door as he left. At this point we didn't see much point in re-setting the trap. We left the cage where is was. After all, it was out of the way, under the back corner of the desk.

At this point I should tell you something about Snowball's regular habits. Snowball isn't the most social of cats, but she does appear a couple of minutes after I've gone to bed and curls up to sleep next to my pillow. Then she taps me on the cheek at precisely 05:34 in the morning to let me know my alarm is going to go off in one minute; the only other time she tries to get my attention is when she wants food.

Except ... on the Saturday night, when Basil had been on the run for over a week, Snowball didn't come up to me. She stayed near Luc until he came up to bed, when he left her curled up asleep under the desk.

The same happened on the Sunday night. And on the Monday.

On the Tuesday morning I fed the two cats and settled down to check emails, etc., before leaving for work. Snowball tapped my knee. This was unusual as she's been fed and I was already awake ....

"Snowball, you've been fed".

Another tap, and she disappeared under the desk.

"Snowball?" I looked under the desk. She went to the cage and rattled the tray we had placed on top of it to make it darker.

"Snowball?" I knelt on the floor and she gently tapped the wire of the cage.

I looked closer, and came eye to eye with Basil, sitting on top of his house.

All we can think is that he must have been hidden in the bedding when we checked on the Saturday - he is a very small hamster after all. And Snowball had been standing guard over him (well, sleeping guard) for three nights.

Even though they are both male, we decided to try putting Basil in with Lewis in the hamster condo; it's plenty big enough for them each to have their own area and, since it was placed on top of the vivarium and we've made sure that no furniture is left anywhere near, Dyson hasn't managed to get anywhere near. Well, once he could a paw within six inches, and found himself showered with discarded hamster bedding ..... He hasn't even tried since.

There were a few skirmishes, and then the two of them settled down happily.

That was four or five weeks ago, and all has been well since then. Except .....

One evening, about a week ago, Luc said "Jane, you need to come over here!"

"Ok, what is is?"

"You need to take a look at the hamsters."

"Oh no ... what's wrong?"

"It's Lewis". A pause - surely Basil hadn't killed him? "He's had babies!"

Yes, it seems that Lewis is not male after all. So far we're not sure how many babies Lewis/Rosemary II has had as we can only see the outline of movement through the opaque wheel she chose as her nursery (Luc has taped it up so it doesn't revolve) and we don't want to disturb them, but there are at least three.

Dyson is working hard at ignoring them all. And Snowball has been named as Furry Godmother!

Happy New Year!

Furry Tales (Part 2)

The story so far:

Dyson (hunter-cat) had managed to pull the hamster cage (temporary wire version because the smart cat-proof one was delayed in the post) off a five-foot high shelf. Rosemary and Lavender (female hamsters) were safe, if somewhat shell-shocked) but Basil (male hamster) was missing.

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Luc arrived home about five minutes after me, checked the girls over and declared them unharmed, and transferred them into their new habitat. If only it had arrived one day earlier!

We then started to look to see if we could find any trace of Basil. The good news was that there was no blood anywhere - but that doesn't mean much.

Then .... we caught sight of him scurrying behind the sofa for cover!

It quickly became obvious that we weren't going to catch him. (well, think about it - if Dyson couldn't, we had no chance), so our best idea was to try to trap him.

The wire cage was put on the floor under the computer desk, next to the sofa, with food and water inside. A tray was put on top to make it darker, and the door was wedged open with a cocktail stick in the hope it would break and snap the door shut if Basil went in. Yes, Luc used to watch the A-Team .....

Unfortunately the plan didn't quite come togther. Almost, but not quite. The following morning we had an empty hamster cage, door still propped open - and when I say empty, that includes the food and drink. Basil had obviously satisfied his nutritional needs, but then made (another) clean get-away.

Two or three more days passed. We didn't catch Basil. And since a male hamster was somewhat essential to our breeding plans, he had to be replaced. Suddenly, male Chinese dwarf hamsters seemed awfully rare ....

But then we found Lewis. Lewis was introduced to the girls in the smart, cat-proof hamster condominium (I'm not joking!) and, after some initial skirmishing, they seemed to settle down quite well.

Luc broke the bad news to me when I got home from work a few days later. He had come downstairs that morning (after I had left for work) to find the new cage on the floor, one of the girls seriously injured .... and the other in the process of being eaten by Dyson.

Dyson must have climbed from the desk on to the back of the chair and jumped, and managed to drag the whole set-up off the shelf.

We couldn't blame Dyson - he is a cat, after all, and we had put temptation in his path. Well, five feet above his path .....

The other girl hamster died within a few minutes. Lewis seemed shaken but unharmed, so he was put back in the hamster condo ontop of a vivarium, about six feet up. Procedures were put into place to make sure that no furniture was left where Dyson could use it to get at Lewis.

Snowball (the cat who doesn't believe in cat-like pastimes) looked rather smug.

And we were left wondering what to do with one male Chinese dwarf hamster.

Furry Tales (Part one of several)

Firstly, and apology: I'm sorry I've blogged so rarely in 2010. It will be one of my resolutions for 2011 to do so much more regularly.

So I started to think what I should have blogged about .... And here's a multi-part story involving a number of animals. It's sad in some places, happy in others, has mystery, suspense ... has it all.

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In the autumn, we decided to start small-scale breeding of Chinese dwarf hamsters. If you think about it, it would have to be small-scale - they're dwarf. We ordered quite a smart habitat but, as it was delayed, got a second-hand wire cage for starters. We also bought our first hamster, a male.

We don't have that much experience of naming pets (and yes, they are pets as we well as a breeding programme) - both cats were named before they became part of our family - but Luc remembered Basil the Siberian Hamster from Fawlty Towers so, even though he's a Chinese dwarf rather than Siberian, Basil it was.

We do, however, have experience of cats. Although Snowball doesn't seem to think she's a cat (I think she believes she's some sort of superior furred human), Dyson is very much feline. It's in his nature to hunt. The cage was put on a shelf five feet off the ground.

Basil was soon joined in the wire cage (the posh habitat still hadn't arrived) by two females. As they couldn't both be called Sybil, there were named Rosemary and Lavender. After a few little skirmishes, they settled down quite well together.

Then one Friday evening I came home to find Dyson trying to look very innocent (which is not something he's terribly good at). Hamster bedding was strewn across the computer chair, and the wire cage was smashed open on the floor. Dyson must have climbed on to the desk and jumped, hooking his claws round the wire of the cage .....

A quick check showed Rosemary and Lavender were still in the cage - they had sought refuge in their house - but Basil was missing.

Oh, and the smart habitat had finally turned up.

Cyclists: Beware!

I commute into central London on a daily basis, and finish my journey with a brisk 22 minute walk from Charing Cross station to Whitfield Street (parallel to Tottenham Court Road). Although I have a number of variations, my usual route takes me up St Martin's Lane, Charing Cross Road, Greek Street, Soho Square, Rathbone Place and Charlotte Street, thus avoiding Tottenham Court Road and a significant section of Charing Cross Road.

This morning I was waiting to cross Shaftesbury Avenue at its junction with Charing Cross Road, which is a difficult and busy junction with a sharp left hand turn into Shaftesbury Avenue made more difficult for large vehicles by the presence of a bollard. A large lorry was turning left, taking it slowly and carefully, so it brushed the nearside curb and avoided both the bollard and a bus waiting at the lights in Shaftesbury. As it was making its manoeuvre with a good deal of care, a cyclist came up Charing Cross Road behind it, mounted the pavement as it turned left into Shaftesbury Avenue, undertook the turning lorry whilst on the pavement, then swooped back onto the road in front of the lorry just as it finished its turn and started to accelerate.

The lorry and cyclist did not meet, but if they had I would have been a ready and willing witness for the lorry driver.

This evening I reached the point where Rathbone Place meets Oxford Street. Here, there are massive roadworks on Oxford Street rendering it one way, westbound. The very ends of the roads either side are also closed to traffic, making them pedestrian only for around ten metres either side of Oxford Street.

The crossing lights turned to green, I looked to my left for oncoming traffic (remembering that this is a one way street while the roadworks are taking place), and - seeing it to be clear - stepped into the road.

I was hit by a cyclist who came off the pavement behind me and turned left to head the wrong way down a one way street. He didn't stop.

Had he been hit by the oncoming traffic, I would, again, have been a ready and willing witness for the unfortunate driver.

I really believe it is time that cyclist in London were required not only to have third party insurance, but also some form of clearly-visible identification. I would sorely (and I use that word advisedly) like to be able to track down the cyclist who hit me tonight.

The Beast of Belgium

So here we are at the end of our Belgian holiday. We haven’t had that much internet access so I’ll probably write a retrospective once we get home, but this morning’s escapades were … well, something else.

This year, Dyson stayed at home being looked after/spoilt rotten by friends. He’s getting older and doesn’t travel all that well now, so we thought that was the best for him. Snowball, on the other hand, really pines if parted from us, and she travels reasonably well, so she came with us.

This morning was the pre-return visit to the vet.

A week ago, we contacted the vet recommended by our hosts, only to find he handled only agricultural animals. If there’s one thing Snowball is not, it’s agricultural. Then we went to a vet in the middle of town, only to find the practice was locked and treatment was by appointment only. So on Monday, I telephoned and made an appointment for 10.00 today. The timing is important because, under the Pets Passport scheme, Snowball is required to have her treatment 24 to 48 hours before the return journey – no more, no less.

So, as I said before, this morning was the pre-return visit to the vet. Snowball obviously knew something was up as, for the first time since we arrived, she hid under the bed in the furthest corner. Eventually, she came out and we had a bit of a battle of wills before she ended up in her box.

We arrived at the vet early at 9.45. The surgery was locked, and the only people there were the builders putting the finishing touches to the vet’s new swimming pool. A neighbour told us the vet had gone out an hour before with his bag. As we had an appointment, we waited.

By 10.20 there was no sign of the vet, and I was getting concerned because of the time requirements for the pre-entry treatments, so I decided to ‘phone round other vets to see if we could get a short-notice appointment.

This was when I discovered that, although I had confirmed with my mobile ‘phone company that I was registered for international roaming and had put extra credit onto my ‘phone, I was limited to emergency calls only. Luckily, Luc’s ‘phone worked, and the first vet we tried was able to give us an appointment at 11.00.

So forty minutes later we descended the stairs to the consulting room of a very pleasant young vet. Snowball came out of her box, charm and beauty personified (or should that be catified?), and I explained what was needed. It became obvious that this particular vet had never done the UK re-entry treatments before, but he was very happy for me to explain what was required. Thank God we had chosen to stay in a French-speaking part of Belgium! (Ik spraak geen Nederlands!).

The flea treatment went on the back of her neck with no problem; she didn't like it much, but she didn't play up at all. Then came the worm tablet.

I had forgotten quite how much Snowball hates tablets. In future, we must insist that this is done by vaccination instead.

The tablet went into her mouth, and was spat out.

The vet put the tablet into a delivery device and tried again. Snowball lashed out with her claws – something I’ve never seen her do before – started foaming at the mouth, and spat the tablet out again.

Another try by hand, Snowball attempted to bite the vet, more foaming at the mouth and the tablet was spat out and disappeared some distance across the floor.

Our pretty little Snowball had become the cat from hell. I’ve never, ever seen her like that before.

Another attempt with the delivery device was unsuccesful.

It was on the fifth attempt that the tablet went in and wasn’t seen to come out. I wouldn’t swear she swallowed it, but there was no evidence of it external to Snowball.

Then came the “fit to travel” examination – and a lot of growling.

Despite all this, the vet remained calm and polite, and even asked about our holiday – did we have family in the area? Come to think of it, perhaps he was trying to establish if he might ever have to deal with the Beast of Belgium again .....

Just a spoon full of chocolate ....

Just a few quick words from Belgium, where we are on holiday.

Yesterday we went food shopping and found ......

Chocolate All Bran!

Full Snail Ahead!

Yes, I know it's been a long time since I wrote anything here. I've been busy.

I'm now volunteering at Beaver Water World (http://www.beaverwaterworld.com) for one day most weekends, as a reptile handler. I sit in the educational unit (or at a table outside if the weather's good enough) and give visitors the opportunity to touch and hold various snakes and lizards, answer their questions, explain the events we can provide (children's parties, school and group visits, etc.), and sometimes introduce the idea of adopting a rescued reptile from us.

It's great fun and very rewarding; almost every time I've been there I've helped people overcome their phobia of snakes.

It also has some quite funny moments.

By the nature of the place, you never know what's going to happen next. Take, for example, the Giant African Land Snails. Please.

In theory, anyone asking us to take in animals should be referred to the Director, Stella. In practice, certain of the paid staff will agree to us taking in corn snakes, bearded dragons, leopard geckos and the like; they are common and easily rehomeable. That's the reptiles, not the staff. Anything more unusual really should be referred to Stella.

One Sunday a month or so back we had hit a quiet patch in the educational unit when Stella marched in and slammed a small tank down onto a table.

"Snails!"



It turned out that someone had 'phoned up, spoken to one of the staff, and been told that we would take their collection of Giant African Land Snails, and had then arranged for them to be brought in on a day she wasn't working. Sure enough, at around 2.30 they brought in and left a small tank containing around a dozen snails of varying sizes.

Stella wasn't happy. She explained that she'd had nothing to do with GALS for the last 30 years, and wasn't planning to start now. As far as she was concerned, the staff member who had agreed to take them in could take them home the next day she worked. And in the mean time, Stella didn't want to see them, which is why she had brought them to the educational unit rather than keep them in the main block.

Stella left, and some visitors came in, so we resumed handling.

A little while later, a father and daughter came in. From their behaviour and what was said, we guessed that parents were divorced or separated, and father had the little girl - aged seven or eight - at weekends.

The girl loves the snakes and lizards we had out for handling, and wanted to touch and hold everything. And, to be fair, she was very good with them. She also kept asking "Can we have one?", to which the answer was no.

Just as they were leaving, she spotted the tank of GALS on the table by the door.

"Can I touch one?" Yes, of course.

"Can I hold one?" Yes, if you can detach one from the side of the tank. In fact you can have them if you like.

Father looked interested. GALS are easy to care for, and don't take up much room. In fact, they are just about the perfect pet to be put in a corner and ignored for the week, then to be fed, cleaned out and petted at the weekend.

So the girl held one, stroked it, inspected it in detail, and asked "Can we have one?"

Father asked "Could we really have one?" Yes, you can have them all if you like.

"In that case, I'll need to get a tank". No, you can take the whole set-up, just as it is.

"Do you really mean that?" Yes. He still looked disbelieving, so I offered to go and check with the Director.

I found Stella in the main block, in conversation with someone else about rehoming some snakes. I apologised for interrupting, but explained we had a father a daughter wanting to take the entire GALS set-up.

Stella looked at me in disbelief for about 0.3 of a second, then asked "How much do they want us to pay them?"

So I returned to the educational unit, and informed the father that he really could take everything, then and there. He immediately took out his wallet and gave us a donation to the charity, then took the tank and snails back to his car, before continuing his tour of the zoo with a very happy daughter.

At the end of the day, we met up with Stella, reassured her that the GALS had gone, and handed over the donation. I've rarely seen her happier!

A stitch in time saves .....

Thanks to the prolongued winter weather we've been having, I've been getting a good bit of use out of my old ski jacket. It may be old (it was a Christmas present in, I think, 1991!) but it's warm and practical. Then eight or nine days ago I noticed a little bit of the stitching on the right shoulder yoke was missing, and made a mental note to repair it (some time!).

Three days later I was down at the reptile sanctuary (still wearing my trusty ski jacket - still unrepaired) when, for reasons I won't go into, I was handed Jake, a rather handsome red corn snake, to look after for a while. At first he was happy just to stay in my hands (possibly until he was satisfied his new "handler" wasn't going to drop him), then he started making his way up my body.

As long as he kept out of my face, I wasn't really concerned where he was going.



At some point, he headed over my right shoulder and started down my back. Well, the front part of him did; the tail end was still infront of me.

Eventually I decided I ought to find out where, exactly, Jake's head had got to. I tried to look over my right shoulder to my back, but that's not actually that easy. I thought I could feel him on the back of my arm but, no, I couldn't see him. Then I traced upwards from his tail ....

Yes, he'd found the small gap in the stitching of my jacket! By that time, Jake's head was somewhere near my right elbow, in the darkness and warmth of the lining of my ski jacket.

As a snake's scales are uni-directional we couldn't just pull him out, but had to undo a bit more of the stitching to retrieve him without damage.

Once he was out and my jacket was somewhere safe, Jake was happy to wrap himself around my hips, with a bit of a nose/tail overlap, like a rather exotic low-slung belt. From there he proceeded to make complete circuits of me at the rate of one every 30 minutes or so.

Eventually - and somewhat reluctantly - I had to un-belt him and hand him back. However, when we left that evening we had with us a young lavendar corn snake (called Ian, after Pike) who we have been asked to train up as a "party snake" for the sanctuary!

Dyson's new trick

I'd be the first to admit that Dyson isn't the world's most intelligent cat (that's probably Snowball!), but I think he's got more sense than he's credited with. Luc says he's got the brain of a sausage.....

We can't have a cat flap so, when he wants to go outside (Dyson, not Luc), he goes to the door and maows loudly. If no-one goes to help, he comes back into the main room and MAOWS, then goes to the door again and waits. One of us opens the door, escorts him downstairs, and lets him out of the bottom door into the garden. (Alternatively, if the window in the main room is open, he might climb out of the window onto the railing, and give us quite a scare - then one of us goes to the door and he follows).

Coming back in is another matter, as he can't easily get our attention.

Normally, if he's out, we go and check on him from time to time, and let him in if he wants. Sometimes, if the weather's good, the bottom door is propped open so he can come back into the communal hallway. If it's closed, most of our neighbours know him and will let him in to our block if they see him.

So once inside the block, he will curl up on our doormat until he hears movement inside the flat, and then scratches at the door to be let in (somehow managing not to damage the paintwork).

At least, that's what used to happen. Recently, there's been a change.

Four or five times over the last month, our doorbell has rung. I've opened the door, and Dyson has come in. No-one else in sight. We're guessing that, when one of our immediate neighbours comes in, he stretches up to the door ..... Yes, Dyson has trained our neighbours to get him let in.

Who's a clever sausage then?