The Best Toys

Young human children understand that the best toys are boxes and wrapping paper, not whatever was in the packaging.  Except for my toy mice, my favourite toys are "discards," especially anything string-like.

 

A long piece of grass waved like string is excellent for jumping, pouncing, chasing in circles, or just about any other hunting behaviour.  The best part about playing with grass is that I can eat it when I am done with it.  My human insists grass must be twice as long as I am before she will play with me, something about my sharp bits drawing blood otherwise.  It is not my fault that humans have such thin skin, and her fingers end up between me and the grass.

 

Apparently I have to leave discussions of live bird pouncing for another post. Anyway, in Australia, the sulphur-crested cockatoos shed lovely long white and yellow feathers, which are perfect for artificial bird games, which my humans call "feather."  The best game of feather is to stand on the cat tree and have the human run the feather under the platform or along the post so one has to listen, track, then pounce.  Again, my human insists feathers have to be a certain length before she will play because she has been tagged by my sharp bits too many times.  Really, she needs to pay more attention, work on her reaction times, and just admit that I am simply a superior hunter.  "String feather" involves tying a feather to a string and having a human move it while one jumps to catch it.

 

One of my nicknames is "String Thing" for a good reason.  If it looks like string and twitches like string, it must be string and therefore needs to be pounced.  My favourite piece of string is a long edge of silk fabric and silver thread that my human said was a thin rolled hem she cut off a sewing project.  She was actually going to throw this treasure in the garbage!  Obviously she was not thinking, as it is one of the best cat toys ever found in our house.  It has gradually been worn down from a length of approximately two meters to about one meter, and I have heard sacrilegious comments about it becoming too short because my sharp bits are moving too close.  (Sigh.)  My human really needs more training.

 

My favourite found toy is always wrapping paper.  It just cries out to be shredded.  There is nothing like sinking ones claws and teeth into a stiff piece of wrapping paper, and ripping.  It wants to revert to its natural state of a million individual fibers.  I am not creating a mess, I am aiding entropy, the inherent tendency towards the dissipation of useful energy.

 

Wrapping paper is also excellent as a screen for setting up an ambush.  My human thinks this picture speaks for itself, and would direct your attention to the sharp bits.






Santa Claws always brings the best presents



Next time, we will discuss the joys of live toys. 

Choosing Family and Habits of Affection

At the moment, my family consists of my two humans and me.  Until last September, I had never been an only cat.

Our family history is simple enough.  In 1996, my human Brett adopted Keiko, a tabby about two years old, rescued from the RSPCA.  He worked long and odd hours, and despite his best efforts, could not give Keiko all the attention she wanted daily.  Keiko never liked other adult cats, so Brett decided to adopt an eight week old Siamese kitten, Chyna.  Keiko initially tried to kill Chyna, but after a couple of weeks, Chyna became "her" kitten, and Keiko was extremely protective of her from that point forward.  Two years later, they adopted my other human, who always says that her husband was a package deal who came with cats.

Keiko and Chyna were the best of companions for the next twelve years, when Chyna suddenly became ill and died.  For the first month after Chyna disappeared, Keiko kept looking for her.  Both Keiko and Brett were heartbroken, and it showed.  So my other human agreed that they could adopt a kitten to be a new companion for Keiko, thinking it would be another rescue cat.  However, Brett did some research, and he wanted a kitten with characteristics typical of a Siamese, but which did not look like a Siamese.  He discovered the ocicat, part Siamese, part Abyssinian, part domestic short hair (tabby).  Ocicats were not common enough to hope to find a rescue kitten, so I was adopted from a breeder.

At eight weeks old, I moved in, and it was not love at first sight with Keiko.  When my humans reached home, Keiko stepped out the back door to greet them, and Brett showed Keiko the kitten he had just removed from the car.  Keiko looked mildly curious, and I started hissing at her.  Over the next six weeks, it became obvious that Keiko was going to ignore me as much as possible or else put me in my place, and I was going to continue to express my belief that I was the Queen of the World.  The humans decided that I needed a companion my own age with whom I could run off some energy, and yet still provide some company for Keiko in quieter moments.

Enter "the boy."  Washington Appomattox was my cousin by genetics, my brother by adoption.  He was three weeks younger than me, and had a much more accommodating temperament.  He may have been part dog, as his approach to life was "Do you want to play? No? Okay, I'll just go play by myself, or maybe find a new friend. You sure you don't want to play? I bet you want to play, don't you?"

Ironically, as soon as Washington moved in, Keiko and I became the best of friends, united in a common cause against "the boy."  My human thinks that is because a) it is a known fact that boys smell, and b) Keiko and I could reach détente because I could assert my alpha status over someone else.  Washington might have been bigger than me, but I usually won the fights.



Mera, Washington, Keiko and their human Brett

For the next three years, we were a family of five.  Keiko died three years ago, after our first year in Australia.  She had diabetes, cancer, and old age.  My humans think she was 15 years old, but she may have been older.  We missed her, but everyone adjusted quickly.

Despite the fact that he was a boy, and smelled, and was not nearly as brave as me, or as good a hunter, or as quick, silent and invisible at escaping, or many other things, Washington and I were a good match.  I ignored him until I wanted to pounce him, or steal the spot he had just warmed up, or become the center of attention for play time with the humans, or just generally bully him, and he kept coming back for more.  As I said, he was probably part dog.

It turns out Washington's big, sloppy, loving heart had a congenital defect.  The simple version is his heart did not beat properly, he ended up with congestive heart failure, and died last September just shy of four and one-half years old.  This time my other human was the one devastated, because Washington was "her boy."  Since then, we have all been trying to adapt. 

"My human" is Brett, we bonded immediately.  My "other human" and I did not establish the same connection.  Oh, there is nothing particularly wrong with her, and she has proven to be eminently trainable, but mostly she belonged to Washington, and I was never as openly affectionate as Washington, so I left her to him.

But now there is just me and my humans.  It was not obvious that I missed Washington; I was independent in all things.  Yet things have changed gradually over the past few months.  I have become openly affectionate, and my other human wonders if this is just a new expression of myself, or if it is because I saw what netted Washington the most attention.

I am a cat, I like warm spots.  I have always snuggled up to people when I wanted to, but I have never been a lap cat.  Over the past few weeks, every time my other human sits down, I have jumped into her lap and made myself comfortable.  If she moves to another place, I immediately follow and repeat.  The year that she worked from home, Washington used to climb into her lap and sleep while she worked, while I watched from the cat tree near her desk.

I stopped purring when Washington moved in.  I have started again, as it seems to be a good way to get what one wants from humans.  At least my humans seem to be more responsive to purrs than meowing, or at least purrs in combination with meowing.  "The boy" had a very loud purr, and he was a master of manipulation with it.

Head butts on the bathroom counter first thing in the morning are a great tool to initiate a scratching and rubbing session.  I started doing this about a month ago.  It is something that Washington had done, but I never had.  He used to extract up to 15 minutes of attention with "rubs and kisses" this way, and probably would have stretched those sessions longer some days if my other human did not have to insist on getting ready for work.  Now as soon as the alarm rings, I run to the bathroom to initiate my own "rubs and kisses" session.

So I have started bonding with my other human, and she is trying to learn who I am and who we are as a smaller family.  More obvious affection is the first step in our changing relationship.

Where Are You From?

The answer to "Where are you from?" is presumed to imply that one connects with a certain place and shares values with others from that place.  We all answer differently depending on the context, and how much the other person might know about our places.  One of my humans answers country, region, province, then city, because unless she is talking to someone who has spent time in her part of the country, her city name and even her province are meaningless to most interlocateurs.  My other human answers country then city, because he is from the national capital, but you might be surprised how many people do not know the capital city of Canada.

My humans are Canadian.  That is an easy first answer for them.  Not for me.  We have moved almost every year of my life, and I am five years old.  I hate moving, and this time it really shows.
 

Washington and Mera in Quarantine
Australia 2009

So perhaps a better question for me is "Where have you lived?"  I was born in a small town in Pennsylvania, U.S.A., and when I was first adopted, we lived in Arlington, Virginia, which is across the river from the U.S. capital of Washington D.C.  Four months later, my human's work assignment ended, and we moved to Ottawa, Canada.  Eight months later, we moved to Sydney, Australia.  Actually, eleven months later we moved to Sydney, because we spent two months in a kennel and one month at the quarantine station.  Two year later, we moved to Melbourne, Australia.  The next year, we moved back to Sydney.  In less than two months, we will move to Saskatoon, Canada.

I am a cat.  I care about sunbeams and warm places to nap, how much time I can have outside, where I can explore, and what I can hunt, or bring home as a toy.  I am a kept cat, so food has never been an issue. 

I have decided that I am a Sydneysider.  In both Sydney houses, there has been plenty of sunbeams inside and out no matter the season, grass to chew, yards to explore, skinks (little lizards) to catch and bring inside, and rarely a leash to restrict my movements.  I once spent three days fending for myself in Sydney when my humans were away and the neighbour looking after us did not see my exit.  Sydney is warmer than Melbourne, and definitely has more skinks.  Unlike North America, I have never had to spend more than a week inside in Australia due to cold or wet weather, so there is no winter cabin fever here.  There is grass to chew year round.  There are more birds to watch and stalk, and rainbow lorikeets and sulphur-crested cockatoos have flocked to our yards by the dozens.

Soon we will leave Sydney permanently.  I will still have a house with sunbeams (I hope), warm places to nap, enough to eat, and humans who care.  There will be time outside, but it will be back on my leash, with my leash actively held by a human.  There will not be any birds to stalk, there will not be any skinks to capture and bring home, and the best I can hope for is a few bugs to hunt.  I might have to resume my hobby of digging holes instead, but even that will be seasonal and constrained by space.

I have spent sixty percent of my life in Sydney, and it is where I have been happiest.  So despite my record of birth and travel documents saying something else, I am really from the north shore of Sydney, where the houses meet the nature reserves so that the birds come to visit, and summer reigns year round.  It is an awesome place to be a cat.

What's In a Name?

Usually, the most immediate answer to the question "Who are you?" is one's name.  Your name says something about you, or at least something about the person who named you and what they wanted for you.  Your name becomes associated with certain characteristics as people get to know you.

Unlike human children whose names must be registered within a certain number of days of their birth, people can take more time to name their pets, and actually learn about their individual traits first.  People tend to pick names because they either like the name, or it represents something to them.  If one intentionally picks a historical name, it usually means one admires traits associated with that name.

My humans put a great deal of thought into my name - Mera Attilla.  Mera was derived because I was born and adopted in A-MER-i-ca. Attilla was chosen because I quickly demonstrated that I was a warrior, hunter, invader, conqueror, and all around alpha cat.  They wanted to call me Mera, but I was Attilla.  My humans refer to me as Mera, but I only respond to Mera Attilla, if I respond at all.

Then there are nicknames.  When my cousin-brother was in trouble, his full name turned into Washington Appomattox Garbage-Picking Trouble Dark-Cat. Want to guess what type of mischief he engaged in?  I have been called Mera Attilla Trouble Dark-Cat.   (By the way, all cats have hyphenated surnames, because our real surname is always Cat. Our human surnames are only for identification at the vet, licensing purposes, and other human paperwork.)

The first few days after I was adopted at eight weeks old, before I had my permanent name, I was Little Miss Hiss.  My humans took me out of the car, showed me to their 14 year-old tabby Keiko, and I started hissing at Keiko.  All attempts to introduce me to Keiko resulted in my hissing at Keiko, and Keiko ignoring me as much as possible.  So much for initial attempts for part of my identity to be "a companion for Keiko."  The Little Miss Hiss name still emerges once in awhile.

Then I was Miss Fierce.  I glower.  I pounce with purpose and vengeance.  I instigated fights with my much larger housemates, and I usually won.  I hunt and kill.  As far as my humans are concerned, Attilla means Miss Fierce.



Mera Attilla, 8 weeks fierce

Sometimes I am Shredder.  I could beat the cartoon villain of that name without a problem, but the name is for my other skills.  My human says that my work exceeds the standards set by any government for the destruction of protected information. I only shred important papers, and wrapping paper.  Of course, my human would prefer if she could finish reconciling receipts with the credit card statement before I intervened.  I fail to understand why my human wishes to pay attention to paper rather than me, so I simply remove the source of the distraction.  Hence why I only shred important papers.

I am also known as String Thing.  All string exists to be pounced, chewed, and thoroughly defeated.  This includes my human's hair, sewing materials, cords and cables, long grass, and anything else which could possibly twitch and move like string.  String is a endless source of amusement and skill honing, and is best when attached to a human.

So Mera Attila means fierce-pouncing-shredder who invades and conquers with an independent and self-sufficient streak.  I will be invading a new country again in two months, but that is another story for another post.

I am Mera Attilla

Mera Attilla

My name is Mera Attilla, and I am an ocicat.  My human has started this blog to chronicle her discovery of who I am.  We are not new to each other, I am 5 years old, and was adopted as a kitten.  But our family has changed, and our relationship is changing too.

For this post, we are simply discovering how the software works, and learning about set up features.

We plan to explore one trait per post.  Then we will see where life directs us.  We welcome you to tag along on our journey.