Tristan
turned 17 at the end of last year. He
has grown into a very sedate, dignified old gentleman and these days, spends
his time sleeping on a little bed I’ve made for him on the lounge. He
occasionally generously shares this bed with Ambrosia or Nefertiti, but I
believe he prefers to while his days away snoozing by himself. The younger generation can be far too
energetic for him – washing their paws or sometimes his face while all he wants
to do is catch up on hard earned sleep.
Tristan
came to live with us in January 2003.
During one of our craft days here I’d mentioned to my friends that I
hadn’t owned a ginger cat since I was a child and I’d really like to own
another one someday. Aileen, my friend
and neighbour, remembered that comment and soon after asked me if I really did
want a ginger cat. My answer was a quick
yes. Aileen then told me her daughter’s
cat had had an illicit liaison (my words, not Aileen’s) with a feral tom cat
and the result, as it inevitably is, was a batch of kittens. Among the kitten population was a ginger tom
and he was mine if I wanted him.
After he
was weaned Aileen brought him to the next craft day and I became the proud
owner of the second ginger cat in my life.
My first ginger cat came into my life when I was a child. We named him Meggsy, after a comic strip of
the time called Ginger Meggs. Meggsy
grew up to be a huge cat who we all adored.
I had high hopes that this little scrap, who fitted comfortably in my
hand at the moment, would do likewise. I
named him Tristan to keep the Arthurian theme going with my cats - Guinevere
and Lancelot were still in residence at the time. Their opinion of this little ginger scrap was
decidedly negative. They felt that the
house operated well on a two cat basis and saw no need to over populate the house
with an excess redhead.
I’d like to
say that their attitude towards Tristan changed as time went on, but although
they tolerated his presence, they were never friendly towards him. If Guinevere or Lancelot was in a bad mood
poor Tristan was likely to be swatted around the head as a welcome if he tried
to lie down beside them. Tristan grew to
be twice Guinevere’s size, but she still remained the boss. Tristan made sure he kept out of swatting
range and Guinevere commanded the best spots on the lounge room floor. I’d made a cat pillow big enough for three to
put in front of the heater with the idea that they could all snuggle up and
keep warm. In the end I had to make a
single size pillow for Tristan because he wasn’t allowed on the larger
pillow. There were times when even this
didn’t work, as you can see in the photo, when one or other of the two older
cats wouldn’t even let Tristan lie on that pillow.
Guinevere (left) and Lancelot keeping Tristan
in his place.
Tristan
didn’t care about the two older cats really. As soon as he joined the family he found the
person he loved the most and spent all his time as a kitten trying to convince
Graeme that he should pick Tristan up and shower him with pats. Graeme couldn’t sit down anywhere without a
cute little ginger kitten sitting on his lap and looking up at him with adoring
eyes. Tristan won Graeme over in a very
short space of time, but he really had an unfair advantage with all that
cuteness working in his favour. While
Graeme is not an animal person I know he still has a soft spot for
Tristan. I hear him talking to our
ginger fellow from time to time and Graeme always has a pat for the old boy
these days.
For a while
it looked like Tristan was going to be the only sane animal in the Spring Rock
menagerie but it didn’t take long for the general lunacy among the four legged
population to rub off on him. He’d often
spend quite a bit of time channelling Meerkats for no particular reason. At first I wondered what he was looking at,
all stretched up like that on the floor, but our windows were too high for him
to be trying to look out of them, and there really wasn’t anything else in the
room interesting enough to explain Tristan’s strange sitting position. As with all my pets’ loony behaviour, I just
let him be – if it made him happy to sit like that then so be it. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the Meerkat pose.
Age and old bones makes sitting up like that
very difficult I imagine.
Another of
Tristan’s youthful eccentricities was his habit as a young cat to sulk with his
face turned towards the wall. If I
scolded him for some wrong doing, or Lancelot or Guinevere has been
particularly severe in their name calling, Tristan would walk over to the wall
near the lounge room doorway, turn to face the wall and then sit there staring
at it for quite a while. After Lancelot
and Guinevere died Tristan stopped this peculiar habit. I like to think that this was because he was now
the senior cat and felt he had to set a good example for the kittens, Ambrosia
and Guinevere.
When these
two kittens arrived at Spring Rock Tristan was six years old – a similar age to
what Guinevere and Lancelot had been when Tristan arrived on the scene. I worried that history would repeat itself
and Tristan would shun the new arrivals, but thankfully he gave each kitten a
sniff and a lick on the face and promised to be their friend for life. He has never gone back on his word. Like all siblings, there might be the odd
argument or even a heated battle, but once it blows over they are friends
again. He didn’t welcome Venus with the
same live and let live policy I’m afraid.
Of course this might have had something to do with the fact that the
first time he met Venus she was still basically feral and in season. To say she was grumpy was putting it
mildly! She was against the existence of
almost every living creature on Earth and was more than happy to prove it. When she muscled her way into the house one
day Tristan met her at the door and offered a friendly nose rub, despite
Ambrosia and Guinevere, mumbling obscenities in the background. Venus lulled Tristan into a false sense of
security by returning the nose bump and looking the picture of innocence. Then, when Tristan turned his back on her,
she jumped him, landing on his back with her teeth firmly planted in his
neck. After that memorable first meeting
Tristan preferred to give Venus a wide berth if she came into the house.
Once Venus
became a domesticated cat she found the three residents could hold a grudge for
a very long time. They remained unforgiving
of her bad behaviour during her hormonal state.
Ambrosia and Guinevere said it with teeth, claws and bad language, while
Tristan settled for just a low growl and leaving the room if he found Venus in
residence. Tristan was the first to
unbend and tolerate Venus’ presence, but none of the three cats have ever
unbent enough to extend a friendly paw to Venus. We live in a state of armed truce here now.
As a young,
energetic cat Tristan used to like to roam over the farm, often staying away
for a night or two, or on a couple of memorable occasions, for a week or
two! He spent this time going down
rabbit holes and generally making himself a nuisance with the rabbits in the
area. We knew this because he would
return home with his ears covered in rabbit fleas. His ears would be black with them. Rabbit fleas seem to behave more like ticks
than fleas, for which I am truly grateful.
They’d burrow in to Tristan’s ears and stay put until Graeme and I had a
long flea removing session with Tristan.
I knew Tristan fully expected us to do something about the annoying
fleas, because as soon as he came home he’d sit on my lap and stare at Graeme
until the tweezers appeared and we got to work.
Once the job was done, Tristan would thank us and then go find somewhere
for a peaceful, flea free nap.
As he got
older Tristan’s forays outside have become fewer and fewer. These days he might stand at the front door
and ask to go out every now and then but it doesn’t take much for him to change
his mind. I’ll open the door and wait
while Tristan looks out, whiskers bristling forward while he debates the issue
or going or staying. Unless the weather
outside is perfect Tristan will back up and tell me he’s changed his mind. He always has a look of regret on his face,
remembering the days of his youth when nothing would prevent his spirit of
adventure calling him outside. When he
does go out these days he rarely wanders off the front veranda and only stays
out for a few minutes. We all slow down
when we get older and Tristan is no exception.
Tristan is
now showing signs of arthritis and I’m waiting for the Covid-19 virus to abate
so I can take him to the vets’ to see what can be done for him. In the meantime I bought a grooming glove so
I can groom the parts of his body he can’t reach (down near base of the tail
and along his spine mostly). Thus Tristan’s
beautiful ginger coat is maintained. I’ve recently bought him a pet heat pad, on
which he can spend his days napping in warm comfort. I’ve placed it on the lounge on top of a
couple of folded quilts with a faux fur throw over it for added comfort. It’s Tristan’s new favourite spot. He is happy to share it with Nefertiti, who
also likes her creature comforts, but on the occasions when she gets a bit
uppity and tries to hog the whole thing, Tristan has proved he isn’t too old to
defend is territory and with a quick nip and growl, sends Nefertiti about her
business.
My old ginger gentleman enjoying his heated pad.
Tristan likes
to keep his coat glossy with an egg a day. He wanders out to the kitchen when he hears me
making lunch and will simply sit and look at me until I remember my responsibilities.
His daily egg has to be “mushed”. Tristan has never been a fan of egg white so I
began whisking his egg to encourage him to eat the whole thing and not just the
yolk. Tristan liked this idea so much he
now refuses to eat his egg until I has mushed it for him. He once waited half an hour, sitting beside his
bowl, waiting for me to return and prepare his egg the way he liked it. I’d broken the egg into his bowl and then been
distracted by a phone call. I’d wandered
away to do other things, forgetting about the poor cat who could see his egg but
not eat it in its unprepared state. Eventually
it all got too much for Tristan and he came and found me, escorted me back to the
bowl and gave me a significant look to remind me of my duties. I apologised (of course), whisked the egg and presented
it to Tristan who nodded regally at me before tucking in.
I’m sure he was thinking that good servants were
hard to find these days.
