Critters I have known

and loved

I have known many animals, some of them may not have been mine, such as the family Cocker Spaniel, Sue, and the black cat, Whiskers, of my childhood in Hove, Sussex. During that time there was the bay pony Satellite, probably a gift from my grandmother Eva de Roux.

When I was at school in England, I had an apricot coloured hamster. When at home she used to escape from the cage, climb the stairs and we would find her in my father, Stan’s, sock drawer. This happened more than once. I also had a fierce black and white rabbit that I named Pardon, so that when people asked me what his name was I would say, “Pardon,” very few got the joke. They never understood I had early on been inspired by my father’s brand of humour.

In Jamaica there were cats that belonged to no one, two horses: Cherry a chestnut mare, and Penkeeper a bay gelding, and our Irish Setter dogs Bacchus, Pet, their son Chinook and daughter Tanja, who I took to Toronto, Canada. I gave her to good friends of mine when I left Toronto for New York, who gave her the best life until she died.

In Toronto, there was a black dog of unknown breed, who was disappeared from my apartment, and Greymalkin the grey cat that never returned when I lived in a walk up apartment. He used to be let out the kitchen door and walk down the fire escape to who knows where. I have always hoped he used to pass someone’s home who let him in, and he never wanted to leave again.

In New York there was KT Kitty and a red cat that I gave to separate people when I decided to leave for Rome, Italy. KT Kitty was supposed to have travelled to Rome when I was settled, but her foster mum didn’t want to give her up and she eventually went to live in Texas. Red cat, Vito, died when his family went away and left him at a boarding kennel.

In Italy, I didn’t have an animal for a very long time. I could barely take care of myself. Friends had animals that I came to love. There was Pupa the cat, who lived with Mara at the riding stable in Pisciarellli, and the fluffy German Shepherd, Bosco, she had found in the woods, (Bosco means forest). There were the cairn terriers and other dogs belonging to friends. When I lived in Bracciano I came to know a number of horses. Their owners had more than one, and would invite me to ride when they went out on a weekend. There was an Avelignese or Haflinger, and horses from the Maremma. There was also a chestnut mare from Sardinian.

Finally, when I began to feel more settled, even had a job that seemed to be fairly stable, I decided it was time to get a cat. It was my friend in Anguillara, who called me one day to ask if I would like to meet a kitty she had found on the street. He was a young black and white cat, not so far away from being a kitten. He had attitude, ignored me because there was an interesting crumpled ball of paper he was playing with, I loved him immediately. I took him back to the apartment where I was living. I wanted to call him Tom Cat, but after a few days I noticed how his markings reminded me of the painter Matisse’s cutouts, and he was named Matisse.

The first night I made a bed of soft woollen sweaters in the corner of the room, promising him I would get a proper cat house as soon as I had the time. He immediately pooh poohed this idea and jumped onto the bed, lay on top of me and started to purr. I knew from that moment I was trapped.

Because I had a cat, I decided it was time to move to a place with a garden. A friend called and there was a nice place with land and a barn and the rent was exactly what I was paying for my comfortably sized apartment in the middle of Bracciano. I was able to move. The house came with two orange cats and three dogs, and I was asked if I would mind taking them on. No, it would be my pleasure.

Somehow, because I had the place to keep a horse, I decided to buy one. Everyone with horses said that I would find that I rode more if I did not own my own horse. If you have a horse, they said, you will have to have two or three because they cannot be alone. If a horse belongs to someone else than they pay the farrier and vet bills. You will regret it, they said.

Thinking back I really don’t know why I was in such a rush to buy a horse. I found a huge chestnut gelding, who actually bucked while I was out on the trial ride, and I should never have bought him. I kept him for a few months, but found he had never actually left his home in Tuscany, and was always happy if we were travelling to the northeast, but if I wanted to travel in any other direction he would put up a fight. I managed to sell him to a man who could handle him better than me, and who lived closer to Tuscany, but won’t forget how this horse looked at me as he was being taken out of the field in the trailer, and realised I was still on the ground. I went to visit him the day after and he ignored me. I hadn’t realised he was that attached to me, or maybe he missed the other horses he shared the field with. It really hurts to sell a horse, I only learned by how much at that time. It feels like a death.

The other horses at that time included ones I was taking care of, and a couple I part owned. There was Sully, a leopard spotted Appaloosa who gave birth to Selva, Pepita, and Nutmeg. Pepita was sold to a friend, and then sold a few times becoming on the way a champion Western Pleasure horse. Sadly, I did not have the funds to buy her when she eventually came up for sale again. The youngest was Nutmeg, who was with me until she was at least seven and was sold to a friend, who gave her the best life possible until Nutmeg became ill and died of cancer.

The three dogs at the house I lived at Poggio, outside Bracciano, were Cherokee a giant, golden coated, female wire haired, sweet-natured creature; Bear her son, who was huge, black and fluffy; and Porgy who didn’t belong to anyone but lived there because he was in love with Cherokee. Porgy was a mixed blood Italian levriero. Black with a white patch on his front, floppy ears and a cheeky grin. I never thought of him as being mine until he disappeared for a few days and I found him hiding in the storage area. He had been badly bitten around his tail, and was in great pain. I scooped him up and took him to the vet.

Porgy had to stay in the kitchen for a few days. He lived under the table and was definitely not used to being an inside dog. I would hear crashing and banging and go into the kitchen to find that he had climbed the step ladder I kept near the window so Matisse, the cat, could look out. Had he been trying to escape? Or was he only trying to remove the large plastic collar the vet had put around his head to prevent him from chewing off his stitches?

The two orange cats had no name, one was almost bald and friendly, the other was very nervous and extremely wild. They were brothers. The animals had once belonged to a family who had suddenly had to move to Viterbo, and had not been able to take the animals with them. So from not having any animals I suddenly had three cats, three dogs, and four horses. At least I didn’t have to pay to keep the horses anywhere.

Then, one day, as I was out taking Porgy for a walk, I came across a pretty blue eyed cat at the side of the road. She looked at me, and looked at the dog, and I realised she was asking me to get rid of the dog as she needed help. So I tied Porgy to a tree on the other side of the road and went to look at the cat. One of her back legs were dangling from a scrap of skin. I picked her up carefully, untied Porgy and took the both back to the house. I put the injured cat in the studio. She was very thin. I put down a little food at a time and water. It was a Thursday evening and the next day I had to go to work, but I called the vet in Anguillara and asked to take her in, possibly to amputate one of her back legs.

When I went to the vet, I, said I had for the three-legged cat. The vet on duty didn’t know what I was talking about. He later explained that four vets had spent three hours sewing her back leg on. The break had been clean and fixable. I was given all sorts of medicine, injections to give her over the next few days.

I called my little cat Shanty, because my yoga teacher of the time suggested the name. However, injecting her with the medicine she needed to prevent clotting was a nightmare. I managed, but only barely, getting severely scratched and bitten in the process. Little Shanty was a fighter.

One day, I left to go for a two day ride, and had to spend a night away. It was a friend and neighbour, Luigi’s birthday, and I did not want to miss this celebration. When I returned, Shanty was clearly not well. She was on the bed and very wobbly. I held her in my arms all night. She survived, but ever after walked with her head slightly to one side. My companion, when he eventually met her, named her “Quarantacinque gradi” (forty-five degrees).

I had to move from Poggio, a house I should never have left, and something I have written about, and will share at some point. I had planned to take both orange cats. In the end one could not be found when I had to move, so I packed Houdini, who later came to be called Rosso, Matisse and Shanty into three cat carriers, and put them in the car. Porgy, who was friendly with all the cats, and had registered as my dog, came too.

I moved from Poggio to Sanbuco, near Manziana. One day while out driving around the lake, I found a white puppy along the road. She had crawled out in front of my car. I stopped and picked her up. I walked to all the houses close by but no one had lost a puppy. She was well fed, but exhausted, and very thirsty. I took her with me, as I was on the way to visit my yoga teacher. She was placed in the garden under a bush and given a bowl of water. I called her Nelly, after a loved aunt.

While I was still living in Lazio, there came a time when a good friend asked me what I was doing with three horses. “You can’t ride them all at once,” he said. He kindly helped me find a buyer for Nutmeg, who, as I’ve mentioned, sold to a friend. Sully became a companion to his Quarter Horse mare out in the pasture.

When I left Sully at the gate to the pasture, she looked at me, and I know she understood I would not be visiting her as much as before, I would no longer be looking after her. That look cuts deeper than can be explained, unless you have experienced it first hand. Sadly, my friend’s mare was stolen ,and Sully suffered a colic and died alone in the field. She was brought in from the field carried in the front loader bucket of a tractor. My friends tried to make me turn away, but that image remains with me.

Before that time, at Poggio, I was attempting to lunge Selva my Appaloosa. I became angry and shouted at her. She looked at me and started squealing while stamping her front feet at me. She looked so much like I must have done to her that I broke down laughing, and have never shouted at her again. Selva is still with me. I have had her since she was six months old.

There were other moves, and then I found myself in a tiny village in Friuli Venezia Giulia. There were the two dogs Nelly and Porgy, the cats Shanty and Matisse. Rosso had been bitten, I think, by a snake, and his kidneys had failed. I called our vet and he was put to sleep. Another very difficult thing to do, and I was full of questions. The vet explained that there was very little I could have done to save him.

I phoned my riding stable friend, and asked if I could bury Rosso there. I found a large oak tree and buried him in a place I had been happy, a place my cat had never known, but I knew that as long as my friend owned that land my cat’s last resting place would be safe. It had been Rosso who had taught Matisse how he should walk when around dogs: slowly and methodically.

So many times we have been told that cats are solitary creatures, but I have found they enjoy each other’s company, and will look out for each other. Granted, each cat is different, as are people.

Matisse, Shanty, Porgy and Nelly are no longer with us, having passed on to other realms. Today I have three cats that were part of a litter of four. Their mum Suria, had appeared in the garage, and we had started to feed her. We kept the first littler: Nerina, Whicky, Mikey, and Primo. Sadly, Primo and Suria died at different times under suspicious circumstances. Porgy was eighteen when he died, Nelly was around fourteen.

Today, as I write, there is Lilly the white Maremmano Abruzzese sheep dog sleeping flat on her side beside me, the horses Selva and her daughter Tara out in the pasture. The cats Nerina and Mikey are curled up asleep, and Whicky is looking out the window.

That’s all for now, thank you for reading! Until the next time.