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| Cleo Settling In |
I’ve already written about Maria’s death
(RIP). She left behind her cat, Cleo. Maria doted on Cleo. When we were on
holiday, she’d always save any cheese that I didn’t eat so that she could give
it to Cleo on her return. Cleo was her pride and joy.
Somehow, a home had to be found for Cleo or
she would be put down. I agreed to take her in if no one else would, explaining
that it would not be my preference, but if there was no other solution, I’d do
it. Apparently, two others had said the same thing, but their homes were less
suitable due to both of them already having too many waifs and strays in their
care. It didn’t seem right for Cleo to be put down, and also disrespectful of
Maria’s love for Cleo.
This meant that Cleo ended up with me. Joke
reported that Cleo was a very shy cat and spent all her time hidden in the
wardrobe since Maria’s death. A shy cat is good for me. I don’t want an
aggressive, boisterous pet.
We’re not really allowed pets in El
Andalous, but there are quite a few owners who have them. Since I’m now one of
the longest residents, I felt no one would complain if I took Cleo in. However,
I didn’t particularly want to advertise that I was taking on a cat, just in case.
I had to wait until Joke could get a vet to
transport Cleo as Joke believed Cleo would need to be sedated first. As it
turned out, apparently, the vet only had to throw a towel over her and shuffle
her into the cat carrier, and all was good (relatively speaking).
To my extreme embarrassment, when Joke
arrived and picked up the carrier, Cleo wouldn’t stop yowling. I’d thought we’d
shuffle quietly past reception without them realizing what was happening.
Instead, Cleo made sure that everyone knew just what was going on. But nobody
stopped me from bringing her into my flat.
When released, she immediately hid behind
the television cabinet (where it’s not particularly clean). Joke warned me that
even though she’d fed Cleo every day since Maria’s death, Cleo still wouldn’t
let her stroke her back; she’d only accept Joke stroking her head.
After Joke left, Cleo had a little
walkabout and decided that it was even safer if she hid behind the shower
(where it was even dirtier). I was a little worried that she’d yank out the
electric wires connecting to the shower (it’s a fancy thing that does steam and
all sort of other things if only I had the instructions). Fortunately, she’s quite
gentle.
I talked to her every now and then as she
lay behind the shower, but otherwise I let her be. I moved her food and water
to the bathroom. By the time I got up the next day, she’d eaten her food and
pooped in the litter, so it wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be.
At 5pm, it was like a lightbulb. She
suddenly strode out and decided to make friends with me. She let me stroke her,
showed me her belly, sat next to me on the sofa, then curled up in a ball and
seemed very content.
I went to bed and she hid behind the shower
again.
The next day, she yowled by the front door.
I couldn’t let her out, of course, but I cringed at the amount of noise she was
making. She returned to hide back behind the television (progress) until 5pm
when she followed me about and sat next to me wanting cuddles.
The following day, she allowed me to stroke
her back. I felt privileged. But now she stared and meowed by the balcony door.
Poor Cleo. She misses Maria and her old home, no doubt.
Today, for the first time, she played with
a pom pom ball that I’d made for her. It was nice to see her play. She’s twelve
years old and her lack of interest to that point made me wonder if she was
beyond play, but obviously not.
I’m surprised at how much affection I feel
for Cleo and it’s so lovely to earn the affection from her. I can see myself
turning into one of those awful pet owners that insists on showing pictures
every day of their furrbaby. Long live Cleo!
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