I really liked the name Polka that you suggested but she didnt respond so I have been trying polly. She has responded to Puss cat and Come on puss for so many weeks that I suppose its taking a while for her and me to get used to some thing else. She responds to "come on then" in the sort of high pitchesd singing voice that I used to use to call the horses along with a pat on my leg. Actually the hens respond to this too which makes feeding time a bit tricky. What a good job that OH is trained to the comand of "your tea's ready or it would be chaos!
She is a really great little cat. She is an effective hunter and regularly brings me a mouse to show me how she caught it. Though my lack of interest in having a go with it myself usually makes here tire of this idea and she eats the poor creature.
She likes to come in the house and sits quietly watching me potter about and chat to her. She dosent jump up on things and was very good after her op when she had to spend a night inside. She used her litter tray and went to sleep in a bed that I had made for her from a cardboard box as if she had always done so. She is great with the chickens and likes to come on adventures with me across our fields.
Her baby is responding to "Hello Baby" and "Tiny kitten" which is an avancement as he used to only respond to me if I mewed at him. I havent managed to think of a name that sounds similar yet.
Although I havent had Polka \ Polly for very long I think she is great. I can see how you must miss your cat Jasper very much. We make a much stronger connection with some animals than others and for those who have never known that special bond it can be hard to understand the feeling of loss .I hope that you can find that relationship again when you feel ready. Life certainly is easier without them but emptier too.
Thomas Hardy sums it up so much better than me.
Thomas Hardy – Last words to a dumb friend
Pet was never mourned as you,
Purrer of the spotless hue,
Plumy tail, and wistful gaze
While you humoured our queer ways,
Or outshrilled your morning call
Up the stairs and through the hall--
Foot suspended in its fall--
While, expectant, you would stand
Arched, to meet the stroking hand;
Till your way you chose to wend
Yonder, to your tragic end.
Never another pet for me!
Let your place all vacant be;
Better blankness day by day
Than companion torn away.
Better bid his memory fade,
Better blot each mark he made,
Selfishly escape distress
By contrived forgetfulness,
Than preserve his prints to make
Every morn and eve an ache.
From the chair whereon he sat
Sweep his fur, nor wince thereat;
Rake his little pathways out
Mid the bushes roundabout;
Smooth away his talons' mark
From the claw-worn pine-tree bark,
Where he climbed as dusk embrowned,
Waiting us who loitered round.
Strange it is this speechless thing,
Subject to our mastering,
Subject for his life and food
To our gift, and time, and mood;
Timid pensioner of us Powers,
His existence ruled by ours,
Should - by crossing at a breath
Into safe and shielded death,
By the merely taking hence
Of his insignificance--
Loom as largened to the sense,
Shape as part, above man's will,
Of the Imperturbable.
As a prisoner, flight debarred,
Exercising in a yard,
Still retain I, troubled, shaken,
Mean estate, by him forsaken;
And this home, which scarcely took
Impress from his little look,
By his faring to the Dim
Grows all eloquent of him.
Housemate, I can think you still
Bounding to the window-sill,
Over which I vaguely see
Your small mound beneath the tree,
Showing in the autumn shade
That you moulder where you played.
Buffy
