Home Patch - 2

The fresh haiku on the header reminds me that I have been meaning forever to write another post on the exciting events in the neighbourhood.

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I may have mentioned, once or twice, the street dogs that have established base around my home. A few years ago, the garage opposite was rented by a lady who ran a smallish boutique with dresses, bags, tailoring and the like. Now, she was fond of their company and took to feeding the dogs – a full family of two adults and a litter of four puppies. She let them run tame in her shop, and they indeed felt and behaved like pets. Until she shifted her shop and, in a spot of callous irresponsibility, simply abandoned the lot to their devices. The family disbanded over weeks but two of the siblings hung around here, latching on to Ramulu, the istri man who took over the shop. They continued to make themselves more familiar than anyone else was happy with. Now, we’ve conceded our terraces and our yards, and the dogs have signed the pact to not enter our houses.

These siblings – Kim and Mowgli, as the neighbourhood’s children have christened them – are interesting characters. Kim, the male is a thin, lithe fellow with a somewhat sly nature. Having received one or two thwacks many months ago for nosing into the house and ensconcing himself on the settee, he tends to side-eye me, giving me a wide-ish berth. That is not to say, however, that he’s afraid, and he certainly is not shy. Mowgli, on the other hand, is far more confiding and relies a lot on charm. She’s stouter than Kim, and not a good enough jumper of walls as her brother. Many times, if she’s unable or, I suspect, unwilling to clamber up to get across, she will just lie near the gate, whining till we come out and open it for her. 

To this mix was added a new puppy – who, thanks to her agile defence of the territory from other canine intruders, was named Sheeghrati Sheegram. Their interactions were most interesting. The siblings, being older and first on the territory outrank Sheegrati. And although they tolerate her and include her in pack activities, she is somewhat outside of their inner circle. The littermates lie close together almost always, their body language similar, while Sheegrati will take the opposite side of the road, or a different level. 

Sheegrati - the gentle, good girl

 

 

Winter mornings are made of these: Mowgli (top) and Kim (bottom) on the terrace.

Mowgli and Kim bask in the sun

Last fortnight, Sheegrati stunned us all by suddenly producing a litter of ten puppies. Most of us hadn’t even realised she was pregnant. The puppies have not yet been introduced to the public, but Ramulu, who has been keeping a close eye, reports that the siblings have been assiduous in protecting mother and pups from outside dogs. 

Sheegrati with her puppies. She's carved out a nice little hole for herself and the litter.

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The dogs had made matters a bit difficult for our colony cats, who were not to be seen as frequently as before. I rued this – I liked the cats around, lying on the walls, spooking the babblers and of course, keeping the rodent population under check.

But without meaning to, I did something that altered the status quo. We have a nice lemon tree to one side of the house – and it is a wonderful variety that yields large green lemons. The lemonade takes on an interesting pink hue and is fragrant and refreshing. Alas, the tree suffers from too much shade from a couple of mango trees (bullies!). For a couple of seasons, I noticed flowers that would not convert into fruit, falling off at the slightest breeze. I learnt that the plant probably needed some nutrition, and since then, the spare milk, cream and curd goes there to increase bio activity.

It was borne on me too late that a stray cat was taking these compliments personally. I caught her lapping the cream and she sat on the wall outside the kitchen window one afternoon, making eye contact and telling me volubly that she was hungry. 

 

My friend, the Brown Cat

 

The following week, something curious happened. I stepped out of the back door and found a dead rodent on the stoop. I was shaken, till I realised that the stray had left me a gift. And it happened again a week later – the gory offering unmistakably splayed out. I was grossed out, amused and flattered.

Jill Lange’s haiku captures the mood.

basking
in our trust...
feral cat and I

Home Patch - 1

I had a tree cut down today.

Years in the making, an hour to take down. It was saddening but it had to be done. It was stealing sunlight, apart from being a highly aggressive being, sold into self propagation. It had previously strangled a pomegranate tree out of existence. While I was remorseful, at least I did not hesitate in ordering its removal. 

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The Tickell's Blue Flycatcher came by this morning and investigated the bird bath. It was almost dry. I had been remiss about adding water and it went away disappointed. 

In recent weeks, I have fallen out of the habit of doing this myself. My maid Lakshmamma sweeps out the yard every day. She is an erratic personality, this one. She has trouble understanding or sticking to the simplest protocols (such as putting away the detergent dabba after use) but will voluntarily take on a few things just for the love of it. She is something of an animal lover - one of the manifestations of this love being letting in the dogs on the street. She loves them, they adore her and wait for her in the mornings with eager faces and wagging tails. Yes, very sweet, but I do object to her opening the gates wide for them and saying 'da!' and watching indulgently as they race to the terrace for a morning siesta. In any case they jump over the wall, poop here and there, bring in salvaged food packets and make a horrid mess - I can turn a blind eye to what I cannot help but I draw the line at encouragement, see?

But tempting though the prospect is, this must not turn into a diatribe about Lakshmamma. The bird bath, yes! She had first assumed the shallow pot of water was for her beloved mongrels, but I told her it was in fact meant as an invitation to our local birds. Since she apparently finds room in her heart for other wildlife as well, she was very approving of this arrangement. So she has been assiduous in refilling the shallow earthen pot every day. But I discovered that the bath was not as popular as it should be, because Lakshmamma not only fills it to the brim (which the smaller birds find a bit scary) but also cleans it out of all leafy and wormy debris (which my visitors love). So I told the lady I'd fill the bath myself, hoping to lure the wintering warblers to this spot.

I added half a mug after the Tickell's had zoomed off this morning. Happily, he came back soon after, and cautiously waded in for a rapturous bath.

 

 

This is a picture from another time.

Cat At Large

Pirate

Just to say hello

Guess who's visiting today, looking remarkably grown up and dignified.

More Kitten

Guess who has turned up after many days of disappearance?

She has reappeared in the company of an adult cat and another young fellow. The 'mother' (if she is indeed hers) appears tolerant and the other fatter kitten is very happy to play but our kitten behaves in a slightly aloof way as if unsure of how far she may go in associating with this family, and indeed if she is welcome to be as familiar as the other one. And strangely, she has fallen very silent...

But it is just a matter of breaking the ice, I'm sure. Because they are hanging out like siblings... my orphan has found a family after all.

Karthika Pournami

For the header, I take down Sandra Simpson's comment on scope:

trying to make
myself understood —
the sun in a spoon

In its place, I give in to vanity and put up one of my own. I haven't written too many haiku in my life – but this one, with all its imperfections, came fully formed yesterday, kigo and all.

As I lay out lamps for the full moon of Karthika
the kitten
astonished

It ties up some of my current preoccupations, the chief of which is this orphaned kitten. It was abandoned in our garden a few days ago, crying piteously under a jasmine bush. I waited for the mother but it became clear that she wasn't coming back.

My mother was severely ailurophobic and we've been very strict all our lives about never encouraging cats to hang about. She learnt to tolerate them at a distance and since our grills were designed specifically to keep out even the smallest of them, she was able to keep her composure even with felines wandering about in the garden. But giving them milk, engaging with them... absolute no-nos.

But my mum has been gone a few years now, and there this little fellow was. Distressed and hungry. So I overcame a lifetime of training and fed her. I have no intention of taking her in and have tried to stress upon her that she is a creature of the wild that must fend for itself – she must scavenge if she can't hunt. She has coped, I must say, quite admirably. She ventures afar, perhaps into dustbins of non-vegetarians and some days doesn't seem to need anything from me. I now pour out some milk only if she's very persistent.

But the other aspect is... well, her chattiness. This is a vocal, voluble cat that needs friendliness even more than food. She likes to be under the car, marks every entry and exit through the gates with prolonged conversation. When Bhoodevi washes the yard and puts 'muggu' every morning, she follows her movements avidly, talking all the time. Plus, she is bestowed with near-lethal levels of cuteness, which makes my 'do-not-befriend-cats' policy rather difficult to follow.

When I came out with lamps yesterday, she emerged to eye the proceedings with wide-eyed amazement. I bade her sit far and not venture near the flames; she had the sense to do that but she was excited with lamps on every step and along the wall.

Anyway, the season of short days is upon us, and even if oil lamps are today only symbolic, it feels nice to have them. I had never paid so much attention to seasons before, to the pull of the moon, the turns of the earth, the angles of the sun. So many things to be astonished about.

All about cats - 1

Cats, cats, cats in the garden. A few months ago, we had a fresh line of cats. The incumbent went missing and a new-looking series took charge. Those numbered three. All striped fellows, of which more anon.

Then, recently one of said striped fellows turned out to be a felli, er... female feline, of whom Shweta said, "Zaroor kahin muh kaala kar ke aayi hai!" It was to be expected from a young cat in vigorous health but the colour was spot on. We even know who the father is. "Not a good character," Shweta thinks, but sins of the father etc because we cannot bear to hold the father's character against the kittens. They are all black. One has a hint of white on the paws, therefore Socks. The other... well, is Doosra.

The mother is very good, as you will see by and by. Very poised for a first-timer. She is affectionate, not over protective and is a rather enthusiastic participant in all manner of rambunctious games.

When she goes off on her motherly and catly duties, she is firm that they toe the line. Her preferred hidey-hole is a small protected space we have where we house our water pump. Stay here, she tells them, and they do, come rain or shine. My dad goes spare worrying about them there, half lest they gnaw at the wires and half that they may be hurt; we now have to check everyday before we switch the motor on. And since we cannot make them leave - the Vyases have not progressed so far in cat love as to touch them - we wait till they go voluntarily.

Here are some pictures. 

Mother Cat

Safe House

Doosra

Sorry for the messed up chronology but I have videos coming up of the Striped Triplets and some of the Black Twins in play. But you're used to Star Wars and all, what's a little mixed up cat genealogy?

Through the grill

We've had a couple of bird baths in the garden this summer and happy to say they've been a huge success. It has been murderously hot and wildlife of all sorts seem to appreciate the troughs. Needless to say, we appreciate the view and the constant stream of Discovery Channel outside our windows.
At first the troughs were greeted with some suspicion. But they stayed there doing nothing more drastic than acquiring patinas of moss and being magically refilled. When they had blended into the surroundings, looking as scruffy as everything else, they began to be accepted.


The smallest birds are the most wary and make a huge production of descending bough after bough before they sip very quickly and dart away. This sunbird was actually quite zen in her non-fluttering and allowed me one neat frame.


This is our resident Robin, and quite the only one who actually dives in without any compuction at all. Once he got into the trough briefly and flew to sit on a branch shaking and drying himself. Then clearly thinking that there was no need to be done quite so soon, he breezed down and stepped in again for this rather frolicky bath.





The babblers, when they come, are enormous fun. They don't actually bathe but they like to dip their tails in, chatter incessantly and make a huge communal thing of it. But then everything is a huge communal thing with these fellows.


We have a new litter of cats. This is a new family that's moved in - mother and four kittens, all striped and pointy-eared. They like the bigger trough and very much disconcerted the birds when they first came. We were afraid the birds would reject that one because cats had been sipping from it but realised that they weren't about to be so brahmanical about it - everyone will drink from the same pond... just not at the same time. Anyway, here are two of the kittens enjoying a snooze.

This kitten gave me the most attitude-y looks if only, alas, I had been able to quickly focus on him. But these twigs got in the way and my camera insisted it knew better. However, it has prodded me to finally learn these manual controls, so next time hopefully we'll focus on the cat.

Holding out

The cats have laid siege to our house. She had been looking fat for a while but revealed to us her crop of three only a few weeks ago. At first they limited themselves to the shade of one tree, nibbling at each others tails and making heavy weather of climbing small branches, scampering at the least sound.

Now with a few more days of living, and a small gain in weight, they think no end of themselves. They have taken over all our particular nooks, mewl at us as we pass the window and camp at our doorstep. My mother, who is ailurophobic, is virtually under house arrest and needs someone at all times to open the door gingerly, shoo away all felines and stand guard while she finishes whatever small work she needs to execute outdoors.

Mother Cat is a good mother. Attentive and protective but also far too indulgent, for she knows full well her brats are not permitted inside but will she keep them in line? No! instead, they persist in pushing their luck, peeping around doors, waiting for a crack in the defence. Even my dad who is notorious for forgetting to shut doors is assiduous in making sure they are barred. Although I must say his 'shoos' are rather half-hearted and wouldn't flutter a gnat.

Here is one, liking the rise and fall of mother's breath as he snoozes on the wall: