Tristan

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 aged 8 weeks.

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.

          Tristan doing the Meerkat thing.

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.