A Cat Called Sherlock

Books from my childhood

Ottoline at the British Museum

Books from my childhood

Kitten's eyes have started to open their eyes! First noticed on the tortoiseshell this morning when I went to do their daily weighings. I thought something seemed different with the kittens, but it actually didn't occur to me what it was until over 7 hours later when I got home from town.... although I suspect her eyes have been open for longer but I just haven't cottoned on!

They are currently a week and a day old.

Open Your Eyes - John Legend

And,

"The purpose of our lives is to be happy."

Sherlock purred contentedly as the kittens moved ungainly within the protective sphere she'd created. The day before had been a hard one. Labour had started early that morning at nine, and the human female knew something was different when she hadn't rushed towards the door and the freedom beyond. Instead she had sat within the wicker basket the human had thoughtfully placed in preparation of the kittens.

By 10 o'clock the contractions were really starting to hurt. The human female and her friend hovered outside the basket, looking like lost kittens themselves... Sherlock felt a wave of maternal affection for them. Must have been the hormones. 

Delivery was slow. There was two hours between each kittens and by the end Sherlock was exhausted. Even the human female was weary from the  anxious wait for each kitten.

  This is Sherlock with the first of three kittens, born on the 3rd September 2013

"It is difficult to obtain the friendship of a cat. It is a philosophical animal... one that does not place its affections thoughtlessly."

"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."

Shadow surveyed her young human companion with a mixture of confusion and maternal instinct. For the last week the human had been away. It had happened suddenly and with little warning, although thinking about it the human had been complaining of stomach aches the day before she vanished. 

The stone lay innocuously on the linoleum floor. The human female with the camera thought nothing of the offending object, but Sherlock suspected otherwise. The stone was important. In what regard was yet to be discovered. Perhaps a small 'hunting' exercise was in order to fully assess the situation.

"What are you doing?" the human female questioned, cooing fondly as though to a small child. "Silly puss, it's just a little stone."

Sherlock stretched luxuriously on the handmade Tunisian carpet, paws hooked onto an elderly chair (the creaking host to a wayward leg who became frequently prone to eloping away from the main body). As she felt the warmth of the carpet through her fur, Sherlock contemplated the week's events.