Toys

Sherpa once found a broad elastic band. Picking it up with her teeth she anchored the other end with her paw and pulled. When the band had stretched a little she let it go, before picking it up again and repeating the experiment. This she did several times, stretching the elastic a bit more each time. When the band finally broke she ate it.

When Banjo and Sherpa played with the toys I gave them, individual differences emerged. Banjo favoured a toy I made by attaching feathers found in the garden to lengths of chocolate box ribbon. It was rendered especially stimulating by the soundtrack I provided, a rapid ‘chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck,’ as I whipped it along the floor and through the air.

Like Banjo, around human bedtime, Sherpa experienced a surge of energy and expressed a desire to play. She too enjoyed the feathered ribbons, but preferred the dainty silver balls, made from the foil in which chocolate wafer biscuits are wrapped, for the ball games we devised.

As soon as Banjo succeeded in sinking his claws into a ribbon, he held on as tenaciously as a dog would, and the game ended. Once I found him, like a large, charcoal coloured, furry hen, incubating a silver ball. Sherpa knows, consciously or unconsciously, that it is sometimes necessary to let go to allow participation in something more advanced. Wise little animal!

Play

Banjo and Sherpa are litter mates, brother and sister. Watching them as kittens at play, I could recognise many of the games we played as children; tig, wrestling, climbing, jumping, sliding, hide-and -seek. They challenged themselves to walk along narrow ledges at a height, and once we saw them bounding through long grass like a pair of springbok. They were much more adept at tree climbing than we were, and occasionally would stage dazzling displays of aerobatics for our benefit, basking in the applause they received.

Along with displays of skill we witnessed displays of emotion. Sherpa, more agile and more daring, had an air of superiority which infuriated Banjo and led him to thwart her in any way he could, and her to conceal her talents in his presence. We think such behaviour is unique to human schools and, when discovered, deserves to be reported.

More than once I heard an expert declare that only humans indulged in play as adults. This is not true. Although not as frisky as the young, adult dogs and cats still enjoy play.

Stretching himself

It is hard to ignore Banjo when he is agitated. One evening about a week ago it was obvious he was. Our seven-year-old neutered tom cat uses very clear sign language to signal his wants, and what was then on his mind was not food, urination, defecation, or defence of territory. He was at the side of the sofa looking upwards. Then he was standing on his hind legs, had anchored his claws in the upholstery of the armrest, and, with a cry, was struggling to pull his body upwards. At first it looked as if he might not succeed, but he persevered and reached the comfort of the sofa by climbing over the armrest.

He has no difficulty getting up or down from the sofa or a bed by the conventional route. Banjo was challenging himself as he had challenged himself a short time before to get down from the sofa via the armrest. Our cat was the victim of a car accident which almost cost him his life. His left hind leg contains a metal plate and an X-ray of his right hind leg showed a dislocated joint. For some time after the accident his gate resembled that of a lizard, but he relearned how to stand upright and gradually to explore more of his territory.

The motivation to do all this came from Banjo, and I have developed respect for the wisdom and courage with which he carries out this stretching of himself. He is pleased when we notice and praise his achievements.

Since we started to share our home with two cats, we have had to abandon many of the assumptions our culture holds about this animal species. I hope to write more about Banjo and Sherpa in the days to come.

Flatworm Mystery Solved (perhaps)

After an absence of up to four months, flatworms, betrayed by their glistening mucus, appeared in dribs and drabs in early November. Over a week I collected seven New Zealand flatworms (Arthurdendyus triangulatus). The plastic basins resting on mossy tarmac under which these sought refuge also yielded one Australian flatworm, (Australoplana sanguinea), which resembled the New Zealand flatworms but was the colour of apricots.

To the best of my knowledge, this is the first Australian flatworm I have seen. On the Habitas Alien Invasive Species website it is stated that these animals are normally dispersed through the horticultural trade. Around the time I noticed both species of flatworm, winter-flowering plants were appearing in a local supermarket and I bought (in dribs and drabs) eight very pretty potted cyclamens. These had been obtained in the fruit and vegetable market in Belfast and originated in Northern Ireland, I was told.