Hi Everyone,
The thing about animals? They are both predictable and unpredictable? I am not sure. Into my Swiss-watch of a home came Bertie and Enzo. The cat and dog show. How? I have almost no idea. It all happened so fast!
So let’s begin at the beginning. I had to have my long-lived Presto, a Bengal cat, put down. Yes, it was a tough decision. I am not big on euthanasia, animal or not, whether couched as painless and humane or not. Even as I watched the Quality of Life chart meticulously, giving Presto every tick of a chance, time was running out. So after 16 years, and a final, long drive to Medivet, Presto went to Cat Heaven (later returned, cremated, his ashes scattered in the garden he guarded so assiduously).
While I didn’t kick up my heels straightaway or do the cha-cha-chá around the kitchen, I was relieved that after many years’ worth of pets, my zookeeping days were finally over. Then out of nowhere – was it even 24 hours? – I was sent a video of a lemon and white Sprocker. What’s a Sprocker? Adored by the country set, a Sprocker is a cross between an English Spaniel and a Cocker Spaniel. Homeless, or at least needing to be rehomed after an illness that prevented the new owners from carrying on, this seven-week-old handsome devil needed a hearth.
Yes! Of course he could come to my house. Why not?
And in less than another 24 hours, Bertie the Sprocker was installed, crate, chewed-up something or other, water bowl, treats and all. How hard could it be? I had once had an English Springer Spaniel, loved the merry Cocker from afar, so it felt like no problem…
Until I saw a rat in the garden. (Up from the Oxford Canal? Under the new deck? Who knew.) Was a Sprocker up for that? That’s the thing that I’d forgotten about my Bengal. Presto was a real contributor. Whether living in homes that went all the way back practically to the Domesday Book (completed in 1086) or not, Presto was the best mouser this side of Cat Heaven. If there is anything that I cannot abide it is a rat (or any rodent, call it a field mouse, whatever). The film Ratatouille did not move the needle one bit for me. Indeed, it drove home the fact that rats had families, large ones, dating back centuries, even in the sewers of Paris. So in the famous words of Maria the Porter at 72 Cadogan Square, London: “The only way to get rid of a rat is a cat.”
Enter Lorenzo, “Enzo”, the four-month-old Bengal kitten. I wouldn’t trust any other breed to “mow” the garden. I have seen two Bengals from the opposites sides of a property within seconds soundlessly meet to bring down a simply fluttering summertime moth. Yes, Bengals are the breed, prohibited from entering many countries due to their recent wild ancestry. Apparently they can decimate a bird population, but I think that is if they are bred from an ‘early generation’, but needless to say, they are welcome to strike fear into the very heart of any rat population in or around my garden, or the neighbours’, or beyond.
So I am back to zookeeping (pest control). Upon close observation I can clearly see that Bertie and Enzo are more than up to the job. Not a rat in sight. However, I am now on the lookout for a zookeeper, I mean housekeeper, who loves dogs and cats, training and all of that.
Happy June!
Love,