As a child I had a sensitive nature (probably still do), which caused issues with the other kids at school. As a result, I took comfort from my friendships with animals. I didn’t grow up with cats. I spent a lot of time with a fox terrier-cross called “Blossom” who lived next door in Haig Street Maroubra, and was attached to two special budgies while I was growing up. (My parents never let our family have a cat or a dog). Later I worked in a horse riding school, and got to own my own horse. So it wasn’t a surprise to my family that I became a vet.
But on reflection it was probably a really dumb thing for me to do, as I cope badly with grief and I grieve for many of my patients. It makes for a troubled life, especially if you concentrate on treating difficult cases, as there is always a deal of sorrow mixed up with the joy. However, I can’t adequately describe the satisfaction I feel when I get one right for the animal. It’s what keeps me going as a vet; seeing the relief and happiness on the family’s faces as their pet recovers.
The vet course at Sydney Uni in the 1970s didn’t teach me much as I wanted to know about cats, but it did teach me the value of knowledge and fundamental principles for understanding and fighting diseases. I didn’t really get to know much about cats until Karen, the vet nurse at Woden Animal Hospital, got me to take on a black and white ex-Tom cat called “Kiwi” in 1983 – he got his name because that year the NZ horse “Kiwi” won the Melbourne cup, which was the day he was surrendered to the practice. Kiwi taught me a lot about cats – that they make friendship on their own terms, and how they like sharing time and space with us humans. Looking back, it was a funny learning about the feline-human bond in my 20s, but then again my personal view is that kids should grow up with dogs, and graduate to cats when they have developed more refined tastes!
I only had about seven years with Kiwi – he developed malignant lymphoma in 1990. After I put him to sleep, I was beside myself. I foolishly didn’t wait sufficient time to grieve, and I tried out a couple of cats, but none filled the void. One, “Ginge,” ended up with my mum, and another, “Lucky,” – well, we became mates, but that took years. Around that time I was studying a type of muscular dystrophy in Devon Rex cats, a breed I hadn’t had much to do with, and took on a ginger boy called “Baron” (as in the Red Baron), who was bred by a gentle breeder, John Sternbeck. Baron missed out on finding a home as a young kitten, and I got him when he was about 5 months old. Baron and I hit it off – and finally I had another cat that touched my soul. I kept Lucky, and over the years I learnt how special he was too, but that took much longer – he was a very special cat with a very gentle nature. When I had Kiwi – he was an only-cat, and being an ex-Tom cat, he was a brawler. When I ended up with the two cats (Baron and Lucky) – I had the joy of seeing their relationship evolve and mature. Initially they were rivals, but they were mates too. Baron was a cheeky little fellow (quite typical for the breed), feisty, independent and strong-willed. Lucky was a gentler and more even-tempered silver tabby, but they became friends, and developed a special bond over the years. When they were both about 10, I got a very cute CPS kitten called “Miss Binks” – a very naughty torty. Very affectionate (in your face affectionate), but very cheeky. This experiment in succession planning didn’t work out quite the way I had hoped – because Binky really hit it off with Lucky, who looked after her like a father or older brother (sorry to be so anthropomorphic, but cats do that to me). Needless to say, Baron was pissed off, big time! Indeed, it took over two-years for him to come to accept her, but he never completely accepted her.
Lucky lived till he was about 18. I never knew exactly how old he was, as he was an ex-blood donor cat form the Veterinary Teaching Hospital. Baron lived till he was 19. Two score years are a big part of your life. Although it was really tough to lose them, I took comfort from knowing they lived a long, full and contented life. They went everywhere with me: to my farm, skiing (well, not quite – but they were smuggled into an apartment at Jindabyne for a few weeks every year), and at my brother’s “shack” at Pearl Beach (it’s actually bigger than my house). It was certainly smart thinking to have Miss Binks – as I had formed a special bond with her by the time it was time to say good bye to Lucky, and then Baron. I am sure that made their passing easier for me.
The latest acquisition is a cute black and white moggie called Obi (I have a Star Wars Jedi thing going – Obi is short for Obi-1-Kenobi, while Miss Binks is named in honour of Jar Jar!!; I guess that makes me Yoda). He is pretty special too, but just as Miss Binks use to piss off Baron when she was young, now its Obi’s turn to upset Binky’s Jedi karma. I am sure they will settle down soon – a warm heater seems to cause a frenzy of mutual grooming, but I wish Obi would learn not to hijack her in the corridor.
One thing I have learnt over the years is that every cat is different. When you lose one you really feel you want those qualities in the next cat, but it’s actually far better to get a different make, colour and model. That way it’s easier to preserve the special memories about the ones that you have lost. I am also absolutely certain that we don’t need pedigree cats, even though I loved my Devon to bits. Pedigree cats are a mechanism people think they can use to predict the personality and behaviour of their pet. To a degree, this is so. But there is a huge price – as well as fixing the shape, colour and personality traits of the breed, you invariably fix deleterious genes that contribute to disease. So even though I love all cats, I am completely in favour of breaking down breed boundaries, and embracing genetic diversity. Another thing I’ve learned from owning cats is that cats do best if fed natural food (raw meat on the bone) as a substantial component of their ration, and that a diet solely consisting of dry cat food, although convenient, is no way to feed a creature that evolved as an obligate carnivore.
When you see lions and tigers in an open plains zoo (sorry – I have never made it to Africa), it doesn’t take long to realise that we love cats because they have not been completely domesticated (don’t you adore that streak of independence they possess), and that even though they share our house, bed and lives, there is still a “big cat” not that far under the skin of every domestic short hair.
Four of the 5 cats: Lucky Duck (top left), Obi-1-Kenobi (bottom left), Miss Binks (the action shot)
and Mr Baron (right, top and bottom)