Quilter, Seeking Quiet Place To Recuperate Mentally

 What do all these things have in common and why are they driving me crazy?  Read on and find out.

Ambrosia is trying to drive me crazy.   I don't know why she's set herself this goal, but the evidence is irrefutable.  The trouble is I think she's succeeding.

For those of you who haven't met Ambrosia and her sister (by adoption) Nefertiti, you can read about them here.  http://lifeatspringrock.blogspot.com/2010/01/introducing-ambrosia-and-nefertiti.html

My granddaughter Claire has moved into her Big Girl's Bed and of course needs a quilt to go on it.  On Saturday night, when I was frantically trying to get Claire's quilt finished to give to her on Sunday when we attended her baby sister's Christening,  I searched for my thread conditioner in the little blue box (Thread Heaven it's called).  I knew that the chances were pretty good that Ambrosia and once again failed to resist the lure of the little blue box and pilfered it.  I finally found it under the chair I sit on to hand sew my quilts.  I put it on the table beside my sewing chair in the lounge room (I was watching television while sewing) and got back to what I was doing. I needed to go get the cream thread from the sewing room to sew on the label.  I was sewing the label before I'd finished all the binding because it would be more difficult to sew down the label  in the car as we travelled up to see the grandchildren on Sunday.  I knew there was no way I'd get the quilt finished on Saturday night.  If I'd known the whole night would turn into one unsuccessful treasure hunt I may have given up there and then and gone to bed with an icepack on my head.  I put the thread on the table near my chair and then had to go do something else (I can't remember what - I was doing a number of things at the same time as usual).  When I returned to my chair I couldn't find the thread anywhere.  I checked under the chair, inside the chair, back to the sewing room in case I'd absent mindedly put it down in there.  I looked everywhere it could possibly be and some places it couldn't possibly be, but it was nowhere to be found.  I spent a lot of precious sewing time looking for the thread and finally decided it would be a lot faster to just go get another spool of a close enough colour.

I got another greyish cream thread, settled down to sew the label on and turned to get the thread conditioner from the table.  It wasn't there!!!. Holding on tightly to the spool of thread (I wasn't going to risk losing a second one!)  I searched all the places I'd just searched for the thread with just as much success.  By this time I was sure I was going mad.  I told Graeme the sad truth about my sanity and he mumbled something I couldn't hear - most probably that I'd been mad for years in his opinion, but as I couldn't hear exactly what he was saying and I was preoccupied with planning a nice long stay somewhere quiet while my brain recovered, I didn't take issue with whatever it was he said.  I just didn't have the time at the moment to debate the exact date I'd lost the plot in his opinion.   Besides he might have mumbled something complementary about my mental state.  Yes, that was obviously what he was doing right?

Even though I remembered putting both the cream thread and the Thread Heaven on the table, the table was definitely cream thread and Thread Heaven free.  Luckily I had a spare unopened box of Thread Heaven I'd been saving for when the one I was using was all used up, so I opened  that and finally got the label sewn on.  The rest of the night's sewing remained uneventful.  I didn't leave my chair for anything though, I wasn't going to risk coming back and finding some other sewing item had fallen into the black hole located somewhere near my sewing chair.  Neither missing object appeared throughout the night.

When I'd finally decided  that it was bedtime and I couldn't possibly sew another stitch, I put Ambrosia and Nefertiti in the bathroom for the night as usual.  I usually just pop them into the dark room and close the door quickly so I don't end up chasing them around the house after they've escaped.  We've had quite a few rodeos lately when they've managed to see my intent before I picked them up.  They bounce off the walls, skidding along the kitchen floor, scoot into the lounge room to hide under furniture and generally manage to evade my attempts to grab them.  But I digress.    

I went to bed still thinking about mental therapy options.  The next morning when Graeme was in the bathroom he came out with a spool of cream thread.  He told me that I'd put the thread on the vanity unit last night and walked away without it.  I was 100% sure I didn't go into the bathroom after I'd picked up the thread last night, but who can tell.  When you are going crazy, blank spots are as common as hallucinations.  Ambrosia, who was sitting on my lap at the computer, assumed her most innocent face and changed the subject as soon as she could.  Then it was my turn to visit the bathroom and there, beside the cats' bed, was my little blue box of Thread Heaven.  All was explained!  

I knew Ambrosia had turned into a sewing tools thief but I'd thought I'd checked all the likely places she'd hide her ill gotten gains.  The bathroom never occurred to me.  I am continually pulling pins out of her mouth as she tries to make a get away with a mouth full of glass head pins.  She will steal my scissors if she thinks she can get away with it.   The reason the Thread Heaven was under the chair is that she loves to lift it from my table, jump to the floor an bat it around in her spare time and my thimbles are number her one great game.  She climbs onto my chair and delicately picks the thimbles up in her teeth, drops to the floor, spits out the thimble, and the game begins.  Nefertiti will then join in the improvised football (or is it hockey, I can't figure out the rules so I'm not sure) game as I chase them through the house trying to get my hands on my thimble before it disappears under the fridge or some other large furniture item.  Ambrosia and Nefertiti are happy for me to join in the game as long as I don't actually manage to get hold of the thimble.  I just don't play by their rules and they know if I manage to snag the thimble that will be the last they see of it until Ambrosia can sneak up and steal it once again. They are very fast and very talented kittens when it comes to thimble football (or hockey as the case may be) and I now have three thimbles missing in action.

Hmmm, there seems to be a trend here.  Is it possible that Ambrosia is stockpiling sewing notions because she's planning a quilt of her own?  I'll have to keep an eye on her.  After all she knows where I keep my stash!

Rain!

Spring Rock all bright and shiny after the rain.

As I may have mentioned a few times in the last few years, we are in drought.  Well hopefully that is no longer true.  We have had RAIN!!!  Well, we've had more rain in the last 24 hours than in the past five years if you ask me.  Four inches of it yesterday alone.  We had an inch the day before and considered ourselves lucky. Bec, Grant and their three boys were visiting this weekend and when the huge storm hit yesterday we all stood at windows just admiring the views of the water falling out of the sky and running along the roadways towards dams that really needed the water.  

 Our driveway just outside the gate to our carport.

Thankfully we are not in an area that ever floods.  There are no creeks or rivers close by.  Yesterday our paddocks made rivers of their own and they are still flowing this morning.  There are serious floods throughout Queensland at the moment and my heart goes out to everyone affected.  You can read about the Queensland flood here  http://www.couriermail.com.au/news/queensland/damage-from-southwest-queensland-floods-to-become-clearer-as-waters-recede/story-e6freoof-1225837963854

Being a country girl through and through, I've always loved rain and all my kids have the same happy feeling whenever rain happens.  Bec was once flooded in after a camp in Queensland.  She told me everyone was depressed or worried about getting out and driving home.  All except her.  It was raining so Bec was feeling happy.

All our dams are full and overflowing.  They form a continuous river from dam to dam and then onto the neighbour's dam and then across the road out of our farm. The dirt road from our farm to the tarred road into town is badly washed away.  It's more just rocks and potholes now all the dirt and grit has been washed away.  Our own farm roads are in a dreadful state as well.  I doubt the road that leads out to our neighbour's farm is usable any more because it was already in a bad state pre-rain.  Graeme will do a tour of the farm and assess what needs fixing as soon as the rain ends and he can move around the farm.

 The dams are full.  This dam was all but empty yesterday.

Having said all this, I'm not complaining.  The rain will give our crops a big kick along when they are planted later this month or early April.  The soil will hold a lot of this moisture until then.

We had to drive to the next major town (normally a two hour drive from Spring Rock) last night to deliver a Suffolk ram to a truck driver who will take the ram onto the farm where he is to live and love from now on, this morning.  We travelled through a lot of flooded roads on the way there.  On the way back we were stopped by various emergency services to check which way we were going because the highway was impassable in places.  We go to our turn off and we were stopped by another emergency crew who almost caused an accident themselves.  They were parked on the side of the road facing the oncoming traffic with ALL their lights on.  High beam, driving lights and emergency lights plus their blinking lights on top of the car which we could hardly see with all the other lights. to make matters worse, I could just make out the reflective bands on the men's coats and they were wandering all over the road!!  Graeme was blinded by the light and had to navigate his way through flooded sections of road with the lights blazing in his eyes.  When he finally reached the car and crew he suggested (rather strongly) that they turn off the majority of the lights.  The fellow talking to Graeme was very good about it.  He realised their mistake and told someone to turn off the lights straight away.  I felt so sorry for all these men and women through out the district standing out in the weather that alternated between rain and downpours stopping every car and working so hard for the safety of others. 

We were able to continue home - the road straight ahead  was impassable - and again had to navigate through flooded water with small logs floating by.  We got through all that and found the final tar road to our farm (the tar road that our dirt road leads off) was closed.  The way was blocked with those saw horse like things that road crews use and the sign said closed. There was just no other way home because our only other, very long way home was impassable as we'd just learned.   Graeme thought about it for a second and then drove around the barricade very slowly checking for problems all the way.  We went through some more flooded sections, but with our four wheel drive and the ability to raise the car higher with air suspension, we didn't have any trouble getting through.  The only danger was getting stuck in the water if the car stalled.  It wasn't fast flowing water across the road, or even really deep water.  It was run off from overflowing dams just like ours on the farm. Graeme is an ex rally driver so I wasn't worried.  He had lots of experience driving through shallow water both still and flowing.  We finally arrived home at 10 pm which means a four hour drive had turned into a six hour drive.  Not bad we felt.

 I had trouble getting out the back gate to take the photos.  I could only open it a few inches.  All this dirt has travelled down from the ram paddock behind the house.

While we were involved with all this, Bec and Grant were stopped on the highway heading for their home by an overturned truck on the highway.  She ran about 6pm and the truck had overturned at 11.30am so you can imagine the size of the traffic jam!  Their four and a half hour drive turned into an eight hour drive by the time they got home.  I really pitied them.  When I rang Bec to check she said Grant had heard about the road block on the two way radio so they stopped early and fed the kids at McDonald's.  She said the boys inhaled their cheese burgers and looked around for more food.  When I rang her they were stopped along the highway along with many, many other cars and the worst news was - she'd run out of food!!!  Bec always packs fruit and nibbles for the boys for these long journeys but they'd cleaned her out long before they reached home. Five year old Michael is going through a growing spurt and eats a phenomenal amount for his age.  Three year old Ethan is pretty good and putting food away too.  Bec rang and left a message on the answering machine at 10pm to tell me they'd arrived home safely.  We must have just missed her call when we arrived home.

Meanwhile Justin rang to tell us that he had stalled the car in a flooded area of the road near where he lives.  He'd been driving through with no problems when a log floated by.  He had to slow down drastically to avoid hitting it and he'd lost his bow wave, causing water to get into his engine.  He was ringing to see if Graeme could tow him out.  We were well and truly on our way in the opposite direction so we couldn't help out.  I rang him back later and he didn't answer the phone so of course I started to worry about him (along with worrying about Bec and family locked in a huge traffic jam with three little boys in the storm).  I was also worried about leaving the Suffolk ram all by himself in a yard designed for cattle rather than sheep and Tristan the ginger cat who was out and about when all the storms hit.  I sorted all my worries, prioritised them (I'm nothing if not organised!) and decided Justin was the major worry at the moment.  I rang Bec, who had texted me to tell me she was stuck in the traffic jam, so I could give Justin time to do whatever he was doing (hopefully not floating away in his car).  Bec and I chatted for a short while and then I rang Justin again.  He had been towed out of the flood but he couldn't get his car started.  He and Graeme discussed various ways of getting the car started again and later Justin rang to say he was home safe.  So my two biggest worries were allayed.  Now just the ram, Tristan and getting home safely to go. 

As you can see we arrived home safely, Tristan almost met us at the door and spent the night inside wishing he was outside (Tristan can't stand to be on the other side of any door) and we haven't heard from the truck driver to say the ram escaped, so I believe all is well there too.

I just hope that everyone else in our district fared well too.

 

The sheep are enjoying the sunshine this morning.  

Oh I Wish I'd Been There

Oh, if only I'd been there and had a camera with me!  All I can do is relate the story and fill in the missing details with what I know of rams.  Graeme simply said, "The rams developed a strange disease today."  Of course I asked what happened and he replied, "They had pink nose disease.  They tried to eat the foam marker blobs."  Graeme's attempt at a joke.

A little further questioning gave me the full story...

We had some very welcome rain last week - nearly 2 inches in the old measure 48mm in the new.  Of course, while the dams, house tanks and garden all rejoiced, so did the weeds in the paddocks.  So Graeme is now spraying weeds.  To do this he pulls a spray cart along behind the tractor.  On top of the tank that holds the spray is a smaller tank that holds super soapy foam marker.  Graeme uses fluro pink.  The foam maker has long arms the width of the spray boom and drops blobs of this bright pink foam at regular intervals to mark where the tractor has been so that Graeme can line up the tractor's next pass with the blobs so doesn't miss any of the paddock or respray parts that have been done. 

Yesterday Graeme sprayed the paddock the rams are in cleaning up the lupin stubble.  As he sprayed the bright pink foam dropped behind him.  The rams, who have been fed lupins out of a drum on the back of a tractor from time to time, must have decided that Graeme had changed their diet to include some pretty pink, fluffy food - fairy floss perhaps?  A dessert maybe?  While they'd never tried it before, they were sure it had to be better than the weeds, lupins and lupin stubble they were eating now because sheep always think something else is better than what they have.  One by one they followed behind the tractor, dipping their noses into the foam, ready to experience a new taste sensation and one by one the rams emerged with bright pink fluff on their noses.  Sheep are not known for their intelligence.  Well, to be truthful, sheep are known for their dumbness and White Suffolk rams hold up the tradition well. Each ram dipped his nose into the foam, was disappointed to find it tasted soapy, emerged with a vague, confused look and a pink fluffy nose and moved on to the next bright pink blob in the hopes that this one was the better tasting one.  Meanwhile, the rams behind him decided that he'd most likely dipped his nose into a bad spot and inspected the blob for a tastier area.  They too were disappointed, emerged with a nose decorated with the bright pink foam and moved onto the next blob already rejected by the first ram.  With each visit to a new blob the rams came up for air with a slightly larger blob on their nose.

Now I need to mention here that these foamy blobs have more staying power than your average soap foam.  In the cold weather these blobs in the paddocks can last up to two days.  Each ram was decorated for quite some time with the blob and the wool around their nose was dyed a pretty shade of pink for quite a while to come.  Of course our sale rams were among those inspecting the foam blobs.  This story is going to have to be told over and over again to clients to explain the mysterious pink marks on their noses. 

I wish I'd been there with a camera to record Graeme and the tractor being followed by a stately procession of rams all with pink fluffy mountains on their noses.  After all who is going to believe me if I don't have pictorial evidence?

Spring Rock

I was showing a dear friend some photos of Spring Rock yesterday and thought the rest of you might like to see where all the animal happenings take place.

The view from our ram paddock.  

All these photos were taken before the drought.  Spring Rock still looks a bit like this in early spring but the crops aren't looking quite as lush or the grass so tall and thick these days.  Hopefully the drought will break soon and Spring Rock will be returned to all its glory.

The old sharefarmer's cottage.  The middle bit was an extension built between the kitchen and living area (kitchen is on the left).  A fierce wind knocked the extension down the day before this photo was taken.  We've cleared away the rubble now.

The same paddock in summer and in spring.  Even when not in drought, summers are brown and without rain here.

Sunset on Christmas Day 2008.    

Our house front gate (the real front gate is 2 km south of here).  The beautiful lemon scented gum died two years ago, a victim of the drought.  It broke my heart to lose such a beautiful tree.

You should all recognise this one.  This is our windmill paddock with the canola in full bloom and a storm approaching.  Oh they were the days!

  

The sale rams enjoying  being let onto the feed wheat.  

This is a dual purpose wheat.  After the rams have eaten it down they were removed to another paddock and the wheat left to regrow and the grains develop.  We then harvested the wheat in summer

So now you can all see how lucky I am to live in such a beautiful part of the world.  I count living here as one of the true blessings in my life.

Introducing Ambrosia and Nefertiti

Ambrosia & Nefertiti Spring Rock's menagerie's latest additions.

Nature abhors a vacuum and Spring Rock abhors a lack of cats.  After I recovered a bit from the very sad loss of my two beloved cats, Lancelot and Guinevere, I realised that Tristan was now an only cat.  While Graeme was more than fine with this, Tristan felt lonely.  At first Tristan spent his days searching the house for his two old sparing partners and couldn't figure out what I'd done with them.  He tried all sorts of tricks to get them to come out and swat him, but the lounge room remained Lancelot and Guinevere-less.  Life became a lot more boring for Tristan.

I began my kitten search on the internet.  Up until now the vast majority of my cats have just moved in on us.  They have literally walked in off the street at times and set up house with us.  Others have been given to me by friends who know what a push over I am for homeless cats with sad stories.  I have wanted a Siamese cat ever since I was a child.  I began my search only to find that there was no way I could afford even a pet quality cat, so I lowered my sights to searching for any cat in need of a home.  In my search I also came across Bengal cats and they are another cat I've wanted for a while (if left to my own devices with unlimited money it's scary how many different cat breeds with which I'd fill my house!) but they cost even more than Siamese cats. I added my name to a Siamese rescue list and my one day learn of a Siamese cat close by who is in need of a loving home.

In the meantime found a cute little Siamese cross Moggy kitten in need of a good  home.  She was a dark tortoiseshell and looked nothing like a Siamese, but I made arrangements for my daughter Bec to pick her up and bring her down here when they visited at Christmas time.  My big worry was that Michael and Ethan would end up loving her and want to keep her.  I wouldn't have minded, but Bec would have!  Bec, like her dad is not a cat person (but unlike her dad she is a dog and ferret person) and has a reasonably low opinion of cats.  The kitten spent its stay at Bec's house in the en-suite where the boys visited her regularly and she meowed to be let out all the rest of the time.  The kitten was imprisoned  there for it's own good (sort of protective custody) because Bec's house is open plan with no way to stop the kitten getting downstairs and meeting their dogs, Charlie and Sam.  Charlie is a Labrador who would like nothing more than to open the rumpus room door and get to know the kitten. Whether this would result in a firm friendship or a quick meal for Charlie, Bec didn't want to find out.  The boys were constantly reminded that the kitten was Nana's just in case they forgot.

Michael, aged five, rang me to tell me the kitten had arrived safely.  He was very excited and filled me in on every second of her stay at their house so far.  I told him the kitten's name was Nefertiti.  There was a long silence on Michael's end of the phone (a very rare occurrence all by itself!) and then in a quiet little voice he replied, "We'll call her puss."  we moved on to other subjects less intimidating that pronouncing the name Nefertiti.  By the time they arrived here she was well and truly Christened "Titi" by Ethan (aged three).  As I said, Nefertiti looks nothing like a Siamese cat, but she knows the truth and so do I and that is all that counts.

While Bec was returning the kitten to the en-suite at regular intervals (the boys kept bringing her out to show her something in the house she just had to see), I was searching for a little friend for her.  One kitten is a lonely thing, as I discovered when Tristan came to stay, two kittens are much better.  They have each other to play with and can gang up on humans and older cats alike. It was meant to be!  I found a Bengal kitten that was ridiculously cheap and it lived only 50kms from Spring Rock, in the town we do our weekly shopping!  She was the last one left in the litter so I quickly laid claim to her and made arrangements to pick her up as soon as possible.

To say that Ambrosia was reluctant to change homes is an understatement. She had a blanket that came with her with her mother's and sibling's scent on it but this didn't make her feel one bit better.  Ambrosia meowed this strange feral sounding meow all the way home, demanding that she be returned to her rightful home.  Every now and then a pitiful little kitten meow would sneak in with a helpless little pleading edge to it.  These meows tore at my heartstrings and I felt very guilty about my life of crime as a kitten stealer.  We finally arrived home and Ambrosia was released into the lounge room.  At first she refused to leave her prison, despite the fact that she'd been demanding release ever since she'd entered the cat box. I left her to her own devices and she was soon out of the box, slinking around expecting trouble with every tentative step.  She soon found it.  Juliet (of the famous Mr X and Juliet love story I wrote last time) was still in residence at that time and not yet in season and loving  the world.  Kitten and grumpy cat were quickly removed from each other's company and peace reigned once again. 

When Nefertiti arrived rather than a firm friendship being forged, a kitten war began.  Both kittens spat and swore, using language I was shocked to hear that kittens knew, whenever they came face to face.  No actual blows occurred though and each kitten preferred to give the other a wide berth.  Slowly, day by day, the spitting and swearing receded and sniffs and delicate swats with paws came to the fore.  Eventually small games would break out and end just as quickly as two shocked kittens realised they were having fun together.  By the end of the week they were firm friends, though their relationship with the two older cats, Tristan and Juliet, was fraught with peril if they got too close. 

Juliet eventually returned to her home and just lately Tristan has mellowed where the kittens are concerned and will give them a good morning nose kiss as the kittens emerge from their bedroom (our bathroom) each morning.  Tristan has been spotted trying to play with them, but usually just ends up running alongside the game - he's now five years old and well and truly out of practise where kitten games are concerned.  Kittens can make a game of just about anything, and an adult cat like Tristan has trouble seeing the fun in swatting the base of a chair or chasing invisible balls, but he tries.

Billy and the ferrets have had quick glances of the kittens but I am not trying to promote a friendship with Billy yet.  One good sniff from his huge nose and I'm sure the sniffed kitten would disappear up his nose never to be seen again.  The kittens first encountered Billy on one the very hot days when he came inside to share our air conditioning.  They couldn't believe their eyes, for that matter neither could Billy.  The kittens decided there and then to give him a wide berth and realised quickly that Billy wasn't allowed on the carpet while they were.  They now sit under the dining room table staring at him and making him crazy to get nose to nose with them.  Something they are determined will never happen.

Ambrosia has had one unfortunate encounter with the ferrets.  They too were inside enjoying the cool air when she put her nose through the bars of their cage.  Now anyone who owns ferrets will know that if someone new puts any body part through the bars of a ferret cage the resident ferret or ferrets will nip it, just because it's there.  Ambrosia was duly nipped and has held a grudge ever since.  Eventually, when the kittens are a bit bigger I'll introduce them to the ferrets when the ferrets are set free to roam the house when Graeme is out and about on the farm.  The kittens don't realise this is in their future and I'm not telling them.

So, Ambrosia and Nefertiti have settled in.  They are still enjoying the halcyon days where Graeme likes them.  He pats them occasionally, will allow them to sit on his lap if they jump up and ask nicely and has even been heard to talk to them in a friendly manner.  I keep trying to warn them that he'll well and truly go off them when they are larger, less cute cats and will just tolerate their presence in the house, but both girls remain supremely confident that their cuteness will not wear off they they and Graeme will be BFF's.  Tristan just smiles knowingly remembering receiving the same treatment when he was a kitten.

As I've mentioned before, Graeme was raised very badly.  He never owned a pet of his own in childhood and pets in the family were a rarity anyway.  He came to a life of  a household filled with pets too late in life to change I'm afraid, but we persevere.  I regularly remind him that when he first met me I personally owned a dog, two cats, 10 rats and a galah and within two weeks of going out with me I increased my pet quota with a horse and a pup.  He can not say he wasn't well and truly warned!

Mr X & Juliet - A Love Story

Juliet in her pre-loving the world mood with butter on her paw to encourage her to love us.

 Warning:  The following story may contain ACO material (suitable for adult cats only to read).  If you prefer not to know about cats in season falling in love with totally inappropriate males don't read any further.

Juliet has fallen in love.  Sadly her feelings are not reciprocated.  The object of Juliet's love is very embarrassed about the whole thing, is not a cat person and would rather not discuss the whole sordid incident, so we'll call him Mr X.  I'm sure none of you have the slightest idea who Mr X could be even though Graeme is the only Mr anything in the house.

We are minding Juliet for a few weeks while her real parents, my son Justin and daughter in law Savannah, are on holidays.  Juliet is a beautiful Domestic Long Hair tabby cat, about seven or eight months old I think.  They had tried to arrange cat sitters closer to home but I think their friends must have had a premonition about what was about to befall us all.  At first Juliet wasn't too keen about moving in with us and took quite an aggressive position on the whole "here for a holidays" idea.  She hid under chairs, sulked in corners and generally made us all feel guilty about relocating her.  She used language no young cat should even know and used it regularly.  She swatted and scratched any living creature who came within swatting or scratching range and generally acted like a very feisty hostage.  I tried the old "put butter on a cat's paw" trick to see if I could calm her down a bit.  She enjoyed the butter, but retained her dark thoughts about us.  Little did we know that this was all just PMS.

Even though I'm not totally convinced it's not an old wives tale, I've used this trick successfully on most of my cats when they move in with us and usually, by the time they have finished the tasty treat and cleaned their fur thoroughly they zone out and are at peace with the world.

After Juliet had made sure she'd ruined any chance of Justin and Savannah enjoying their holiday she mellowed a bit.  Not much at first, but little things like not trying to shred my hand if I tried to pat her, and refraining from growling threateningly whenever one of us passed her hiding place, began to happen.  I hoped that soon she would at least tolerate our presence in her gaol.  Almost overnight Juliet's outlook changed and she began to view the world as a good place to be.  She began purring and rubbing up against our legs.  Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, the same mouth that I'd threatened to wash out with soap.  She'd hop up on my lap and politely pass the time of day with no references to being held hostage in our discussions.  Life with Juliet was looking up.

Then it happened.  The reason she'd mellowed became obvious.  Juliet was in season.  I have only lived with one other female cat in season and it was an experience I never wanted to relive.  I had been stuck in a tiny flat with three young cats, one of whom behaved more like a cat possessed than the friendly little tortoiseshell she usually was.  Topaz, the cat in question, climbed the blinds, crawled along the carpet on her stomach, tried to bite the heads of the other two female cats who had always been her best friends, and meowed a low moaning meow non stop.  The vet, when I rang him, said he couldn't spay her while she was in season, so I hunkered down and rushed her off to the vet's, along with the other two girls, as soon as Topaz was back to her normal self.  Having endured that over 30 years ago (it left a deep scar on my psyche as you can see) I wasn't too thrilled about Juliet's delicate condition.

I must say Juliet was a lot more discreet about the whole thing than Topaz ever was.  Juliet began by flirting with us both.  She would drop to the floor, turn her tail to one side and then roll on her back, making demure little meowing sounds to entice us closer.  I took pity on her and patted her or rubbed her tummy and she appeared grateful for these small bits of attention.  Then, as the days progressed and we hadn't got passed the patting and tummy rubbing stage of our relationship, she started to prowl the house looking for a boy.  Our only male cat these days is The Redhead (Tristan our ginger de-sexed tom).  When he arrived home one morning after a night of chasing mice in the grain shed, Juliet met him at the front door, rear end first, tail cocked to the side.  She cast him what she felt was an alluring look over her back and gently meowed at him.  Poor Tristan backed up as quickly as he could, saying he wasn't that kind of cat!  To be fair, I couldn't blame him, Juliet's last welcome had been to attack him with claws out and bad language in place because he had the effrontery to enter his own house.  Now, here she was, a Jeckle and Hyde cat who wanted bygones to be bygones.  Tristan wasn't having a bar of it.

So, Juliet had to cast her net further in order to find a boy.  I can only think what happened next was brought about because she homed in on the only testosterone possessing creature in the house - Mr X.  She began her seduction more discreetly this time.  At first she wound herself around his legs, tail cocked to the side, and tried to whisper sweet nothings into his ankle.  His ear would have been better but it was almost six feet off the ground and Juliet measures about  15" tops on all fours and even lower in what had become her natural tummy on the floor, tail to one side pose.  When this got her a little scratch on the head and kind word, Juliet decided to up her seduction techniques a level or two.  She began to stalk Mr X.  Where ever he was in the house, so was she - purring and flirting.  She'd drop to the floor, raise her rear end and give him the come hither look over her shoulder.  When Mr X proved to be a slow learner she began marching her back feet up and down while still looking him in the eye and purring demurely.

Mr X finally got the hint but embarrassment was the only emotion Juliet managed to stir in his breast.  Mr X tried ignoring her, no longer giving her the little pats and kind words.  This had no effect on her pursuit of the new love of her life so Mr X began giving her not so kind words.  I found myself retrieving the love struck cat and putting her in another room at regular intervals throughout the day.  I'd give her a pat and a tummy rub as consolation, but as far as Juliet was concerned it just wasn't the same thing.

Things came to a head two nights ago.  Mr X was sitting at his computer and Juliet was under our bed, plotting her little heart out.  After a while she snuck out of the room, and crept into the lounge room.  There she eyed her quarry sitting at the other end of the room, concentrating on the computer screen.  Juliet sidled up to where Mr X was sitting and gazed up at him with adoring eyes.  Nothing.  She gave a tiny little mew to announce her presence and still nothing.  Finally she jumped up onto his desk and began rolling around on her back professing her undying love.  I'm afraid I wasn't much use by this stage.  I was rolling around myself, but with laughter.  Mr X assumed his now familiar hunted look, picked Juliet up delicately and put her on the floor a few feet away from his seat.  He then resumed his computer work.  Juliet,ever the optimist, began backing up towards him, rear end in the air as usual and kept backing up until she reached his foot.  Mr X didn't even notice.  I was still incapacitated with laughter so couldn't step in to retrieve her.  Finally I said, "He's just not interested Juliet."  Mr X looked up from his computer saw me still doubled up with laughter, looked down and beheld Juliet, up against his foot doing her best to radiate sex appeal from every hair, and he gave me a forlorn, hunted look.  He also mumbled something like, "And that's putting it mildly!" to the cat.  I took pity on him and once again moved Juliet to another room.

Juliet's stalking continued for another day or so.  Mr X found lots of reasons to be out and about on the farm and Juliet sought consolation buy sulking under our bed.  Today Juliet is back to her old, non in season, self.  She no longer loves the world as she used to.  She is back to tolerating my presence but really wanting her own Mum and Dad to come rescue her.  She hasn't given Mr X so much as a glance today.  He is able to come and go without assaults on his person by a small cat and is much happier for it.

Oh, and please remember - if Mr X ever finds out this got out - you didn't hear it from me.  OK?

Happy Christmas Everyone.  From everyone at Spring Rock