Names that come and go
Well, the blog took a hiatus there for while. The truth is that for a long time I just couldn’t bring myself to continue to blog about the next set of kitty adventures.
Shortly after the previous post, Chime’s family line dwindled to almost nothing, except Tsilu who still comes to the house now and then. In the midst of mournful chaos more kitties arrived and went. I held a pessimistic wait and see attitude, uncertain who would finally make it, or, having survived, would stay around the house.
What happened? Well, life and death happened. After Pixit and Dixit’s arrival, Tsilu happily settled into the role of benevolent uncle. He played with the kittens and looked after them as if they were his own.
Dixit was first to go. A tomcat came for him as we rested in the heat of a summer afternoon. Chinta woke me with “Didi…didi…the kitty’s dead…” I got up to find her holding Pixit in one hand, and a large piece of wood in the other. The rogue tom was hiding under a couch to get away from Chinta. We got Pixit to safety, and chased off the tom cat, only to find Dixit with his throat ripped out and the body tossed aside like a rag doll. Tsilu and Pixit spent the rest of the day looking round and round the house for their lost sibling.
Chinta knew of a friend up in the villages with an orphaned boy kitten. The very next day she brought the kitten down to the house, wrapped up snugly in a bed sheet, and tucked in a shopping bag. I was so pessimistic about the newcomer’s chances I ended up naming him “Redux” (”Again”). Little Redux quickly made friends with Pixit and Tsilu, and the threesome readjusted to each other well.
Then one day Pixit left the house for a walk. After a day or so a tired Tsilu, his fur full of burrs, came in. He’d also been looking, apparently, for his wayward niece and had no luck. For the next couple of days I wandered the hillsides and waddies near the house, hoping to spot Pixit. But two days became four days, and four days became a week, and after a while longer both our human and feline family members realized we would not be seeing Pixit again.
Meantime, down the hill in Rewalsar, other feline dramas were occurring. Street dogs killed and ate a mother cat, orphaning three kittens in the process. One was taken in by a helpful Western visitor; the others by a Tibetan restaurant owner who knew little about cats. The visitor was only staying a short time, and the restaurant owner couldn’t keep the kittens long, so in time the orphans came to live with us at the Casa de Mommywizards.
In time the three newcomers began to display distinct personalities. “Wild Thing” earned her name almost immediately. Her MO was to bite first and ask questions later. Her brother, on the other hand, was a mild-mannered sweetie that all of the other cats sat on. We ended up naming him Steve, for a similarly gentle soul we knew back in the States. The last sibling was the one the Westerner had taken in. As a result, she rapidly became used to being the pampered one. She earned her name Shahzahdi (Hindi for “spoiled princess”) in short order.
All of the newcomers underwent the same regimen. Gentle (but insistent) flea treatments, meals of milk and tsampa, and separation from the older cats until we were sure there would be no killing. Meantime, a trip to town turned up a friend who wanted a little girl kitty. Steve was so shy and fragile looking we couldn’t give him away. Also, at that time…
…we thought Wild Thing was a girl. Sexing kittens is not for the faint of heart. Even with fairly simple rules to follow, mistakes can still be made. For years I’d been going by the “:=boy, ;=girl” rule, and so far had struck out. This time all three of us carefully examined Wild Thing’s underpinnings, and declared the result to be a girl. Oops. Wild Thing got along with his new owner for a while, only to run away during a road trip to Kathmandu.
So now we have: Tsilu, a grizzled and venerable three-year old uncle. Redux, the village orphan. Shahzahdi and Steve, the Rewalsar refugees.
And one more. A feral tom saw the comfy life the other cats were leading here, and decided he wanted some. Bit by bit, he moved in, finding a comfy spot to sleep and turning up for meals with the others. He’s partway domesticated by now, enough to flea-treat on occasion and pet on other occasions.
So, meet “Buddy”.
