The London Eye on the south bank of the River Thames stands at 443 feet (135m) with a diameter of 334 feet (120m) so it’s quite big. And if you’re 25cm tall like me, it looks even bigger. But that didn’t stop me from taking a leap of faith with John last weekend when we drove to the big smoke to take a ride on London’s observation wheel, the Millenium Falcon, oh I mean Millenium Wheel. Wouldn’t it be great if it was the Millenium Falcon with Han Solo and Chewbacca at the helm! Worrying I didn’t see anyone at the helm of the Millenium Wheel and I had read previously that there was an incident when they stopped the wheel for safety checks after a faulty part was discovered and people were suspended in one of the pods 450 feet above the ground for an hour. I suppose one incident with no injury in 16 years isn’t bad and apparently there are supplies of water, blankets and even commodes in each capsule to cater for basic needs. Although if John and I got stuck up there it would take more than a hot drink and a refund to soothe my nerves!
The actual experience was pleasant and the clear blue skies provided an unobstructed view. John pointed out lots of interesting landmarks to me including the Can of Ham and the Gherkin, the Salt Cellar, the Cheese-grater and the Walkie-Talkie. No this isn’t a list of the snacks John keeps in his rucksack! They are nicknames for a collection of unusually shaped structures that have been constructed in the city, namely St Marys Axe office buildings, a glass clad skyscraper of triangular design called the Shard, the Leadenhall Building (office, retail and dining space) and a handset shaped tower that contains office space and an indoor garden close to St Pauls Cathedral. The pillars and arches of Westminster Abbey are now surrounded by the slopes and curves of modern architecture that, in London anyway, often have peculiar shapes reminiscent of everyday objects. I would like to see a cat shaped shopping mall with a rescue centre attached!
My friend Tiffin is a charming 7 year old lady with smooth black fur and a few white flecks on her chest. She lives with her sister Muffin at the house with the cat pen in the garden, the one where the waifs and strays live until they find their forever homes. Tiffin is as scatty as they come, staring wide-eyed in the direction of any noise and running away from humans and animals she doesn’t know. But this kind hearted soul is a good buddy of mine and we often meet up to philosophise about the meaning of life and put the world to rights. I call it Tiffin time and it is usually accompanied by a few flakes of tuna which John always brings as a special treat for the cats in the foster pen.
As Tiffin and I sat on the low wall in the garden watching the rescue cats stretch out in the warmth of the evening sun, we washed our faces meticulously while the conversation moved on to a couple of kittens that had recently been brought into care called Smokey and Pickles. These two little bundles of fun were given up by their owner 24 hours after she bought them because they had diarrhoea and had managed to infest her home with fleas. The kittens had been bought from a woman selling them on the internet and like many kittens sold this way, they were sick with fleas and worms, malnourished and lacking in social skills. Many people selling cats in shops, newspapers and online call themselves breeders but actually they are simply allowing their cats to get pregnant over and over, neglecting the needs of the mother cat and selling the kittens in an unacceptable condition to unsuspecting members of the public for a profit.
Tiffin and I are both rescue cats but we were lucky enough to have a better start in life than Smokey and Pickles. It’s a shame the owner didn’t want to keep the kittens and take them to the vet for treatment but I guess some humans aren’t dedicated enough to support us cats through the good times and the bad. You’ll be pleased to hear that the kittens have received lots of tender loving care and are now happy and healthy and living in a loving home. Tiffin and I contemplated the fate of all the rescue cats sitting in foster homes and shelters right now across the UK waiting to find new homes and all health-checked, vaccinated, microchipped and neutered. There are cute ones, scruffy ones, cheeky ones and bold ones, shy ones like Tiffin and grumpy ones like me!
When John suggested a photography trip to Lee Valley White Water Centre in Hertfordshire to watch canoe racing I was a little unsure – cats, water, mmm! But never let it be said that Shad the Cat is anything other than bold and adventurous. Yes I know I’ve got my sensitive side, but this was a moment that called for the courage of my convictions, the vavavoom that lights my fire, the curiosity and tenacity of my ancestors the sabre toothed tiger. Being anywhere near the canoeists could result in the moistening of a paw or the dripping of an eyebrow but I was willing the take the risk. And anyway John would be there and he always looks after me.
The water park has a purpose-built slalom course that was constructed to host the canoe slalom events of the 2012 Summer Olympics and it cleverly creates rapids, eddies and drops through a system of pools and pumps. As we walked towards through the gates to the park, I heard the gushing of water and my whiskers tingled with the moisture in the air. The thought of the water overflowing sent shivers down my spine and as the fur on my back bristled, I look anxiously up at John who smiled serenely back at me. Providing the water was contained in one place and I was not in it, I’d be fine.
Soon my unease was replaced with excitement as I watched the canoeists hurtling through the cascades and chutes with nothing but a paddle and a dream. They seemed to be going so fast and appeared to be completely out of control, the water being far more powerful than any of them. But that didn’t stop the competitors in the Canoe Slalom British Championships that were being held there from continuing their daring water activities with gusto. Anyone being swept into that water would have a terrible job getting out so I kept a safe distance from the edge and managed to avoid getting splashed. I even evaded a giant splodge of water that hit the ground not 2 feet away from me thanks to my super swift reflexes and a warning from John to look out! To my delight, he took out a soft fluffy towel from his bag just in case my paws had got damp and I remembered why I find him such a wonderful human.
Planes, trains and automobiles are not the only things that roar as I discovered on a recent photography field trip to the Honourable Artillery Company stadium in London for the pre-season friendly between Saracens and London Scottish. As a thrifty feline adapted to conserving energy, I don’t normally approve of unnecessary physical exertion although I am accustomed to guttural grunting having lived with John for the last 6 years! There was quite a cacophony of snorts and bellows coming from the pitch during this physically demanding match but I can’t say I was surprised given the extraordinary stamina and strength these lads displayed.
As a cat I’m genetically programmed to nap for 18 hours a day and chase various objects to practice my hunting skills and maintain my muscle tone, as well as gawp at anything that moves and seek out nourishment in preparation for my next nap. Therefore I am naturally fascinated by the human condition of competition – the innate impulse in 99% of human beings to excel at a task and try to beat others at the performance of that task. These lads were a great example of a contest between rivals using strength, speed and strategy to move a ball around in an opponent’s territory. I understand the need to protect your territory and I guard mine furiously with daily patrols around the garden, a strict regime of scenting and guard duty at every window in the house. Any potential invaders, usually consisting of neighbours, dogs walking by and impudent pigeons that delight in cooing and flicking their tails at me just after dinner, are given my most fierce stare. A skill the rugby players have also mastered judging by the scary scowls and shoulder shoves they gave each other throughout the match. The strange thing was, as soon as the game was over, they all started cheering and the twisted expressions of pain changed quickly to happy smiles like jovial buffalo. In case you were wondering, Saracens proved their might with a 73 to 7 victory.
Planes, trains and automobiles. John is an enthusiast of all things fast and roaring. That must be why he loves me so much! Ok ok, I’m not that fast, but I do roar a lot when I’m trying to get my point across, as I explained to the handsome black labrodor on the platform at Bluebell Railway the other day. He said his name was Marmeduke but his friends call him Dukie (not Duckie apparently)! Dukie was there with his owner, a strong young man covered in axel grease we had seen earlier working on an some kind of engine as part of a vintage car rally just by Horsted Keynes station. I told Dukie how impressed I was with his patience and generally angelic behaviour, given that the last dog I met was a mad yappy thing that arrived at my house one day, got majorly on my nerves and never came back! Dukie on the other hand was composed, dignified and rather fetching for a canine. He chuckled and explained that he was as much of a train buff as his owner and could spend hours watching the trains come and go and enjoying the cultured atmosphere.
The attention to detail at the Bluebell Railway makes it easy to transport yourself through time to the 18th century when someone called Tobias Hornblower would have tipped a station employee to carry his leather studded trunk boxes on to the sleeper car while he escorted his lady friend Ellsepeth Humfray to the dining car for a meal of mutton with thyme, marrow-bone hash and oatmeal pudding (eeww)! The working model train in the station museum was so meticulously made that it had an operational junction box, sign-writing on the passenger carriages and freight wagons, and even different expressions on the train guards’ faces.
Dukie and I wandered around talking about the polished veneer carriages and the intricate engine parts that required many hours of human labour to be maintained. We admired the volunteers who gave up their time to preserve this unique bit of English heritage and agreed that the whistles, chuffs, puffs and sighs of the steam engines were delightful to hear. He showed me how he can sniff out a dining car at over 100 paces and I showed him the most effective strategy for acquiring a meaty snack from the kitchen assistants. Then I showed him the best spot for a nap inside the station master’s cabin and he shared his water bowl with me. We had a lovely time.
Cricket. John has explained it to me 7 times and I still don’t understand it. I simply accept that it is what it is – a bat and ball game between 2 teams which involves scoring runs, something about wickets and dismissing a batsman. While spectators cheer, clap and guffaw in all the right places as they follow play, I adopt a more holistic approach. As outdoor cricket matches tend to take place in lovely locations, it gives me a chance to ponder the natural world and exercise my imagination while the ball flies across the pitch and into the stumps. Some of my favourite outdoor deliberations include counting how many seconds a bird can soar along the air currents without flapping its wings, guessing the appearance of the odd-shaped clouds and following those helicopter shaped leaves as they fall from the sycamore trees.
This particular match was Surrey versus Warwickshire and I let John take all the photos while I concentrated on other pursuits such as working my magic on the lovely ladies and gents in the tea tent. I meowed and gazed lovingly at them with my pupils as dilated as possible which humans always find enchanting. They gave me a saucer of weak tea and a small piece of a chicken sandwich and I was so grateful that I hopped on the friendly lady’s lap and gave her a big wet kiss on her ear. She giggled and everybody said how cute I was. Isn’t that nice?! With a full belly and a smile on my face, I trotted happily out of the tea tent and found a shady spot close to John for my afternoon nap. How civilised!
When you go into the woods next time, walk deep into the thicket then stand perfectly still and you might hear the sound of a bird chirping its daily news to a friend in another tree or the snap of a twig trodden on by a deer as it munches through leaves and acorns. John and I have often wandered through the local woodlands which form part of the South Downs in Sussex and heard the birds sing and the rustle of the wind blowing through the trees. Standing in the woods many hundreds of years ago we would have heard the grunts and tail slaps of a family of beavers, the barking howls of a pack of wolves or the hissing and chattering of a Eurasian lynx cat. Sadly due to the intensification of agriculture and human hunting activities many the UK’s indigenous wild mammal populations such as wolves, brown bears, lynx and beavers are now extinct. This is why I get so excited about the wildlife that still exists in the woods today like the badgers, foxes, otters, rabbits, wood lice, harvest mice, wagtails, buzzards and tawny owls who rely on each other in complex ways and need our protection to survive.
In India the forest surrounding the Agra Bear Rescue Facility managed by Wildlife SOS is alive with squawks, tweets, clicks, growls, wails, screeches and squeaks from the enormous variety of animals that live there. Their bizarre noises reminded me of those made by tennis players during the Wimbledon finals! The sloth bears that live at the centre have all been rescued from a nomadic tribe called the Kalandar people who traditionally used them as ‘dancing bears’ for hundreds of years. This brutal practice involves poaching the cubs from the wild (usually killing the mother), piercing their soft sensitive muzzles with a hot poker and pushing a rope through it which is tugged in order to force them to jump up and down in pain for the entertainment of onlookers. Hard to believe isn’t it?!
Life at the end of a rope was all these bears knew and many can be seen rocking, pacing and swaying, demonstrating stress behaviours seen in large mammals that have been taken captive and held in poor conditions. The good news is that Wildlife SOS are doing an excellent job of providing veterinary care to heal their physical wounds and a stimulating natural environment to heal their emotional wounds, and they’ll never have to endure such cruelty again. To help the bears, Wildlife SOS keepers have installed pools in every enclosure for splashing and general merriment and frames and trees for climbing. There are also daily enrichment activities such as foraging for their favourite fruits in boxes or feeders and munching on a honey and ant bar. Nice!
There is plenty of love to go around at Wildlife SOS and all orphaned, abandoned or injured animals are welcomed with open arms, just like the hyena that wandered innocently into a village looking for food and was attacked by the ignorant villagers or the baby deer who lost her mum in a forest fire. The wild monkeys who live in the trees often steal leftover melons from the sloth bears that are too busy rolling around in the grass to notice, and a blind parakeet that obviously could not survive in the wild lives happily in the office and is taken outside daily for some fresh air. Wildlife SOS is a sanctuary for many beautiful lives that would otherwise have been lost and their dedication to the environment goes some way towards undoing the damage done by humans who exploit and persecute animals in the name of entertainment, religion or profit. You can help too by never paying to watch, ride or pet wild animals used in the tourist industry because if you saw the terrible events that occur behind the scenes you would be shocked to the core.
John likes to challenge his photography skills by shooting sports and as he’s the one with the car, the wallet and the opposable thumbs, I tend to follow willingly. Don’t misunderstand me, I admire the commitment and stamina displayed by the athletes in competitions and I’m glad that they have a means of channelling life’s emotions and frustrations through the performance and community of their sport. For those of us who lack the motivation or talent for such strenuous activities, dealing with life’s idiosyncrasies is often a more sedate affair. There are many other options including reading, writing, puzzles, photography and singing. I frequently sing along with John in the car when he cranks up the Michael Bublé although lately he’s been going through a classic rock phase and I’ve enjoyed the discordant and often thunderous sounds of AC/DC, Van Halen and Metallica.
Despite my affinity for peaceful or solitary pursuits, there are many other cats who engage in sport to varying degrees. Tigers like to swim, bobcats like to climb and I’ve even seen videos of servals at the Big Cat Rescue Centre in Tampa, Florida unravelling toilet rolls like it was the most fun in the world. I know I’m stretching the definition of sport just a tad here but if there were organised competitive grooming events I’d be a real contender! When we domestic cats are kittens we form teams to practice our running and pouncing skills and as we get older, sporting activities generally revolve around stalking our housemates, jumping on anything that wiggles or catching small furry or feathered creatures. Don’t judge us, it’s in our genes and unlike humans we don’t have a highly developed prefrontal cortex that moderates our ethical and social behaviour.
But back to human sports and these hockey players not only have highly developed brains that help them make fast decisions on the pitch, they also have highly developed muscles that give them the strength to propel the hockey ball up to 75mph, that’s as fast as a cheetah. Each team is made up of 11 players and these particular teams were competing in the Hockey Champions Trophy 2016 at the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park. The teams use several substitutes throughout the game to keep everyone fresh and energetic and they often wear protective equipment such as gum shields as I imagine a knock from one of those big sticks would sting a bit! The ones I really admired were the brave goalkeepers who dealt with balls shooting at them, team members yelling at them and opposing players hurtling towards them with grimaces on their faces, hence the leg protectors, chest guard and helmet!
The Taj Mahal is one of the great wonders of the modern world and although I’m not normally given to romantic notions, the thought of visiting this beautiful marble structure brought out the philosopher in me. I was looking forward to contemplating the vaulted dome and drawing inspiration from the ornate spires that extended up from the walls but unfortunately as is often the case in life, things didn’t quite go as planned. I managed to survive the turbulent taxi ride through the narrow cobbled streets and despite the lack of pavements and alarming number of cows, dogs and people mingling with the traffic, we didn’t hit anything. My coping strategy was not particularly brave, I simply shut my eyes until the raucous honking of car horns was replaced by a rhythmic humming of a single car engine. When I opened my eyes I found we had reached a long empty highway and the taxi driver thought it was his turn to shut his eyes. I meowed like mad, nipping him on the ear periodically in order to ensure he stayed awake and by the time we reached our destination my nerves were run ragged.
With renewed enthusiasm, I hopped out of the taxi and made my way towards the huge ivory-white edifice looming before me but an orange man with a loud shirt kept smiling at me, throwing me compliments and trying to make conversation despite my obvious unwillingness to participate. This smooth operator was an unofficial tour guide trying to sell me his exclusive VIP services and apparently despite his mastery of English, he could not comprehend the word ‘no’. After scaring me into agreement with his tales of evil pickpockets and ferocious muggings, I let him escort me more as my personal bodyguard than anything else. Apparently the palace was commissioned in 1631 by Shah Jahan, the fifth Mughal emperor of India, after the death of his wife Mumtaz Mahal during the birth of their 14th child. It was built on the banks of the Yamuna River and took 22 years and 22,000 labourers to construct. When Shah Jahan died in 1666, his body was placed in a tomb next to that of his beloved Persian princess.
As I wandered around the palace and its surrounding buildings, I admired the way the walls and ceilings were decorated with artistic calligraphy, elaborate geometric forms and detailed depictions of flowers and vines carved into the stone inlays. Bizarrely, there was a distinct lack of signposts or information boards throughout the complex which proved to be a potential problem when I realised that my tour guide had abandoned me. Thankfully my superb sense of smell enabled me to navigate my way through the crowds of tourists as I trotted towards the exit. I should add that despite my remaining on full alert for pickpockets, it appears the only crook on site was that dodgy tour guide. I waved goodbye to the police officers guarding the outskirts of the palace and spotted my crazy cab driver with a friendly smile on his face and a bowl of water in his hand. I gave him an appreciative purr and gulped the fresh water hoping it would give me courage for the wild ride back to my digs.
My feline friends were shocked when I told them that I wanted to visit Wildlife SOS because it’s in India, a long way from home and a surprising turn of events for a cat who enjoys his home comforts and prefers not to overexert himself unduly. But the allure of the rescued pachyderms was proving hard to resist and I was curious about their natures and the lives they now lead. John took the most convincing as he was obviously worried (although at the time I didn’t understand why) but he eventually agreed and was delighted that I was about to embark on my first big adventure. The preparations were a gargantuan task – insurance, visa, tickets, travel arrangements, safety issues, health implications, access to food and water, car drivers, vaccinations, communication with home, etc. But after months of planning, I set off with my backpack ready to experience everything that my quest had to offer.
Camera for this trip
I asked a few people to take some snaps of me on the way and you can see me snoozing with my blanket on the plane and chatting with the air stewardesses in these photographs. My driver met me at the airport and as I started the 4 hour ride to my first stop, I understood John’s concerns. The roads were chaotic with cars driving in every direction, missing each other by a whisker and honking their horns incessantly while cows and stray dogs wove their dangerous way through the traffic and motorbikes zoomed past carrying 3 or 4 people at a time with no helmets and babies in tow. Piles of rubble and litter lined the streets while swarms of people went about their daily business in the stifling heat.
My first night in India was spent at a hotel in Rajasthan so that I could visit Ranthambore National Park the next day, an area designated as a protected habitat for a range of the country’s indigenous wildlife from palm squirrels to porcupines, pythons to hyenas. The jeep arrived the next morning for the tour and I hopped on to the front seat as the rear row was occupied. To my horror the seat belt didn’t work and I was not prepared to risk life and limb so a gentleman in the back agreed to swap places with me. This turned out to be a wise move as the jeep drove like the clappers all the way to the entrance of the park. At this point the jeep slowed down just enough for me to take in the bleak terrain, an eerie mix of barren sandy earth speckled with bunches of dry yellow grass and dead-looking saplings. Here and there, a water hole was hidden in the desolate landscape and even a lake shimmered quietly surrounded by lush green trees which were lucky enough to find a means of quenching their thirst. Animals gathered at the ponds including spotted dear, blue bull antelope, peacocks, monitor lizards and a myriad of smaller birds like bright green parakeets, little black and white wagtails, crows, sparrows and finches.
The highlight of the tour was the fantastic sighting of a beautiful tigress wandering through the dry grasslands marking her territory by spraying on nearby vegetation. Unfortunately the sighting caused a frenzy of activity when the jeeps in the area all converged towards this amazing animal but thankfully she took it in her stride, looking over her shoulder from time to time without showing any signs of obvious stress. I gazed in awe at this magnificent member of my species and the jeeps followed her at a reasonable distance until she sauntered off into the forest. She was truly stunning, lean, untamed and radiant, and I wished there were more of them but sadly they are dramatically decreasing in numbers thanks largely to poaching to meet the demands of humans who believe in the medieval principles that form the basis of Chinese medicine. So there I was, lost in the wonder of the moment, contemplating the splendour and complexity of the world’s ecosystem, when the jeeps suddenly revved up their engines and began hurtling away at breakneck speed. Bumping and skidding across the rubble on the paths, my bottom left the seat on several occasions and I gripped on to the side bar as though my life depended on it. Dust flew up from the tyres and the jeeps one behind another like a giant snake tore towards the exit. Apparently they were in a hurry because they were late and had to be out of the park by 7pm so that the tigers could enjoy some peace and quiet, the drivers are heavily fined if they fail to leave on time. It was a fur-raising ride but we made it to the borders of the park with seconds to spare and I breathed a sigh of relief until I saw how much dirt was on my coat and realised I’d have to spend the next 2 hours licking it all off.
Unfortunately Video very jumpy difficult to it still in these jeeps
shadthecat 