El Andalous - Cleo or...

 

Cleo on the Watch

Okay, I said this wouldn’t turn into a cat blog, but this is a story that has to be told…

Cleo started to make a big fuss about wanting to go outside. She’s supposed to be an indoor cat, but I felt sympathy for her as she’d stare at me while I sat outside on my balcony. It didn’t seem fair. I let her out. Ironically, the first time I opened the door, she just remained sitting inside, like she was making a fuss just for the sake of it.

Then she wanted to go out in the evening. After she yowled at the balcony door for a long time (I would be rubbish at bringing up children as I’m way too soft), I gave in. Off Cleo went, crouched under the bush opposite and started yowling. Another cat, somewhere up on the roof, yowled back. Oops. The neighbours will hate me. It sounded like mating calls, but I assumed she’d been spayed. Out I rushed and Cleo dashed back indoors. Phew.

The next day, she was desperate to get out again. Again I gave in. Only this time, after five minutes, she disappeared. I searched the gardens and in the storage room beside my flat, but I couldn’t find her. I had to give up. She’d be back in time for dinner.

Sure enough, I came back from my swim, opened my balcony door and called Cleo. She dashed out, looking rather dirty, from under my balcony sofa and zoomed straight inside.

For some reason, I related this to a friend online and she mentioned that Cleo wasn’t spayed. What! Nobody told me that.

I felt Cleo’s behaviour changed after having escaped that one day. She was more antsy and wouldn’t stay still. I looked up how to tell if a cat is pregnant – apparently it can be difficult to tell but by week two or three, their nipples show more. And cats remain fertile all their lives. Each day, I’d stare at Cleo’s belly and as the weeks went past, I became convinced her nipples were becoming more prominent. Apparently, it’s dangerous for old cats to be pregnant as they often don’t survive the birthing.

I had to get her to the vet. To cut a long story short, after five cancellations for a home visit (I couldn’t catch Cleo to get her in the pet carrier), the vet came. I’d never seen Cleo run so fast. She leapt up behind my kitchen taps, she ran up my curtains, she howled. He eventually caught her (after Cleo had broken a few glasses) and then noticed her clipped ear. This meant that she was already spayed apparently. And, therefore, not pregnant. I asked if he could cut her nails, but he refused. He remarked that there was no way that Cleo was twelve years old, and she was extremely healthy, although he didn’t hazard a guess at her age.

This left me with a problem. Maria (RIP) had told me that Cleo was sixteen years old; Cleo was advertised for adoption as being twelve years old. Another friend of Maria’s said that Maria had the cat for twelve years. But if my cat is actually only, say, eight years old, then whose cat do I have?

I recalled seeing the photo of Cleo when they were advertising her for adoption and my memory of the photo is of an older-looking cat, sitting up. Cleo doesn’t sit up that often. She flops on the ground. She’ll only sit up if she’s on the cat tree looking at something outside. Not as a casual sitting position. Again, is the cat I have really Cleo? I asked for the photograph to be sent to me so that I could look but I haven’t heard back.

When I relayed to my friend to say that Cleo was already spayed, she said she was very confused about that information.

So, now, Cleo is a mystery cat! And what happened to the real Cleo?

PS. Advanced warning – I’m planning to move my blog to a new platform as I want to get away from Google. I’ll keep you informed as I'm still working out how to use it at the moment.