ramtops

It is with huge sadness that we relate the loss of Mustrum, a snow spotted blue-eyed Bengal, and the last of our Bengals.

He was officially An Old Man, and we could see it. His teeth were gone, his spots were gone, even his wonderful voice disappeared for a few days (which worried us enormously!) but it came back. But he was forgetful, and we worried about him getting lost, and then his back legs started getting weak. We had known the time was coming for a few months, and we did what needed to be done. Sarah, our vet, was wonderful, and I held Muss as he slipped away. We miss him dreadfully, but we did the right thing.

We got Mussum at the age of 12 weeks; we’d gone to buy a Bengal and found it hard to choose … we came home with Iggy, but went back for Muss a couple of weeks later. We actually traded him for a web site (long gone now, like the breeders).

He was always, somehow, Essence of cat. He loved life, and food (Big! Dinners!), and exploring, and people, and getting wet and being towelled off. He loved Moo the best of all; she was our stripey Bengal, prettiest cat in the world, and they were so, so close. He was devastated when we lost her to a car accident. And he was a big solid cat, his fights with Iggy were epic.

But his defining characteristic was his voice – he would squeak, and shout, and gurgle, and miaow. He used to like to be slapped too, and would shout for more, until the weight started falling off him.

We miss him so much, but it was time, and I’m not sure he would have coped with our recent move either.

Go well, Mussum – good hunting.

Mirrored from the Tribe.

On 18th November, I Twittered that I hadn’t seen Mustrum that morning. And we didn’t see him again for ten days, by which time we were both sure he was gone for good. He is microchipped, but a lot of places don’t automatically scan for them, I know.

He was a real roamer in his day, but Mussum is 13 years old now, and likes to be at home in the warmz, with his blobs to make a fuss of him, and it’s really not like him to be away for any length of time any more. We put notices up on local web sites, and went calling him – not helped by the fact I was ill and had lost my voice. We resigned ourselves to never seeing him again, and I felt positively cheated that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

On the 28th, at about 10.30 in the evening, Pete was talking to me; out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw Mussum in the living room by the sofa. I looked away, and looked back and HE WAS. He was home! I just croaked at Pete, right across what he was trying to tell me – we were overjoyed.

Muss was thin – about 20% of his body weight, I would guess. We live in a grid of Victorian terraced streets, and he’s never been far; our feeling is that he got spooked by a car or a dog, and just ran for it, and then got completely lost. We opened two tins of fatted calf meat (well, tuna Hilife) – one for him, and one for the rest of the Tribe. He got his bowl up on the worktop, and shouted while he ate it. I think he was as pleased as we were to be home. The others, remarkably, stood back and let him finish their bowl too, so perhaps they missed the old chap as well.

Two weeks on, he’s putting some weight back on, and settling back down. He was very clingy for a few days, which is why we believe he was lost and confused.  Mind you, he’s often confused; I maintain he is not very bright *at all*, although Pete says I’m being unkind :)

Anyway, he’s home. Don’t do it again please, Mustrum – my nerves couldn’t take it.

Mirrored from the Tribe.

Apologies for the lack of posts – I do have stuff to write, but have lacked the time and energy to write it! But I will soon, promise.

This is a photograph of Mustrum who, like all the others, is enjoying this time of year when the sun falls into our bedroom (which is large, and has two tall windows facing south.). They move sleepily across the floor – the cats, not the windows! – following the sunshine, and Mussie is under the chair.

We had to take Iggy and Mustrum to the vet this morning – they are going to have to go into a cattery for a few days in a while, and so they needed some jabs.

They don’t like cat carriers.  They don’t like cars.  They don’t much like being indoors at all when the weather is nice, which it is, so we felt that the whole episode was going to be fraught.  But actually, it went remarkably well.

I went down to the bottom of the back garden and did the “iggy” cry, which is a particular tone of voice that means waffer thin ham might be in the offing, and that brought him in – a trail of ham then neatly led him into the carrier and the door was firmly shut.

Then I went out the front (Mustrum’s stomping ground) and did the same thing, and it worked again!  I bet I’ll have to think of a new strategy the next time.

We conveyed them to Vim, who checked their teeth (not many, but fine), general health, and weighed them – they both weigh 5.1 kgs, which makes them fairly substantial chaps.  Nice to know they’re in rude health.

Mirrored from the Tribe.

Lilith and Mustrum

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