Updated: Jan 16
It’s taken me a while to get to this entry. I was so gutted about what had happened that I simply couldn’t face writing this entry all over again. The thing is, once I’m on a roll, things flow. If that is interrupted it kills that flow. The worse of it is when the words are lost. I know this story by heart. I’ve told it many times, but every time I tell it, the order of words are different. The whole feel of the story is wholly dependent on the flow of that moment. Lose the moment, lose the story. Which is why the story always differs in its telling. The facts of the story never change of course.
So, to continue....
It was now the end of the festival season. There were however, a few parties about. One was the Masked Ball. A party that has something of a reputation inasmuch as it is renown for being very messy. This particular one was a disaster area.
Before the party had started, the heavens opened up. It was torrential. The whole site quickly turned into a quagmire. Even after the party was well and truly in full swing, there were apparently queues of traffic going back miles towards Helston, the nearest town from the party site on the Lizard Peninsular. One of the main acts, Leftfield, was over an hour late for his set. There were casualties everywhere. At one point, I caught site of a lad running full tilt towards his target; another lad minding his own business and deep in conversation. On reaching his target, the running lad twatted the unsuspecting lad across the back of the head with a beer bottle! I could not believe what I had just witnessed. Of course, a brawl then ensued. It was scattered before the security fought their way through the mud. I was also told that an ambulance took fours hours to get through the traffic!
I had parked close by a barn. Yinyin spent a lot of time in there. So much so, that when it came to leaving, she stayed. I always knew that there would likely be a time when Yinyin would leave. Even so, it was still hard. She had done all she could for those kittens. They were now old enough to fend for themselves. Sometime later, I heard that Yinyin was very happy living on that farm. I also heard that the farmer was also very happy with Yinyin living on his farm. I’m very happy that she is happy and contented, away from the dangers of Crasken Farm and can spend the rest of her life catching rodents and chilling. No more kittens to wear her out, either.
In the evening of the day the punters were leaving, Arian came in, clearly in some distress. She jumped up onto the right-hand bench seat with a cry. I immediately went over to her. I went to stroke her, but she cried out in pain. I quickly deduced that she had broken her leg. I don’t know how she done it. Perhaps she lost her footing in all that weather. Maybe a car had slid into her in the mud. I don’t know. Nor do I know how far she had to drag herself through all that mud. What I did know was that I had to get her to a vet, quick. There was no point leaving that night as no veterinary would be open. The next morning as soon as everybody was on board, except Yinyin, I rolled out and headed for the nearest vet. The nearest that I knew of is in Helston.
They were no help whatsoever. It was clear that they had no interest in the care of animals. Their only care was in making money by charging extortionate rates. No money, no care! I asked about PDSA. Yep, they covered that. However, only one animal per household (I didn’t dare mention that I am not a householder!) could receive PDSA funding. No problem, so far. It’s only Arian who needs help. But....., and here’s the ludicrousness, the lucky animal has to be registered for seven weeks before he/she is entitled to any care!!! Not only that, they have also got to be subjected to all sorts of prodding and poking, vaccinations, inoculations and who knows what other abuses as well as a computer chip! I pointed out the obvious fact that Arian had a broken leg now, not in seven weeks time! It wasn’t going to happen. I went everywhere looking for a vet who was caring enough to help. None would.
Poor Arian was in pain. I was bringing her food to where she lay and moving her every time we looked for a vet was delicate.
Then I was told of something called the Animal Hospital. It is just off the main road at a place called Treleigh. I headed straight for it. It was evening again, so I had to find somewhere to park. The hospital is on an old disused lane that comes to a dead end due to a newer road crossing it’s path. There was plenty of room for me.
The next morning, I was in the reception as soon as it was open and told them of Arian’s plight. They agreed to help and would keep the cost down to around £118. I reckoned that I could find that somewhere. Finally, at last, Arian was going to be helped. I left her there and settled in the cul-de-sac for the duration.
By the time Arian was ready to come home, I had raised the money needed to pay the bill.
When I went to collect her, I was shown into a treatment room, where Arian was then brought out. She was fine.
Then things turned sour.
Firstly, I was told that Arian was “infested with fleas”. “Not possible,” I said, “Unless she picked them up in here.” The nurse(?)/attendant tried to then pressure me into buying a load of their dodgy pharmaceutical poisons. I declined the offer and explained that she was already treated regularly with herbs. I received a dumbfounded look. I explained that Mother Nature already provided medicine freely.
I give the cats Wormwood or Cleavers for a few days leading up to the Full Moon and on the Full Moon, itself. During the Summer months, I also add Fleabane. Why? The clue is in the name of the herbs! (Two of them, anyway). Where I am now, Cleavers grow in profusion. The fresh herbs are best. Also, like everything on Earth, worms are more active at the height of the Full Moon, so success rate is much improved at that time.
While I am on the subject of health and food, this gives me the opportunity to tell you about their diet. Firstly, generally speaking, what they catch, they eat. Besides that, I give them mostly offal and poultry. I do not cook their food, which surprises some people, until I point out that, certainly in my world, cat’s can’t cook. I have yet to see any creature outside a human sit and cook their recently caught prey before tucking in! I don’t give them processed crap as it causes all sorts of deficiencies in later life. I won’t eat that sort of crap and I don’t expect the cats to, either. Arian however, does like her biscuits. I will only give her a small handful in the morning. Rowan doesn’t really care for them. At the time that I give them their medicine, they get tinned fish. They are easy to mash the herbs into. That is the only time that they eat fish. When they were kittens they used to love sprats. When they reached six months, they went off fish and now won’t touch fresh fish. Fortunately, they enjoy tinned fish for a few days. I don’t stick with the fish though, as they will stop eating it. They know what they need. Too much of one thing can be detrimental.
Anyway, I got the usual comments of “hogwash” and “not tested”, etc. In this case, as is often the case, the person I was dealing with hadn’t even heard of the herbs mentioned! As for testing; just because some pot-faced geek hasn’t dissected a plant in a laboratory, doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. It has been tested by hundreds of generations for millennia. It works. In the unlikely event they do catch an infestation of any number, out comes the ‘big gun’; Neem. They seriously don’t like it, but a drop of Neem oil on the back of the neck does the job in no time.
After battling my way through that ignorance, I went to pay, only to be insulted again. I was presented with a bill for nearly £200. I told the receptionist that the quote was for £118 which I have. She explained that there was this addition and that had to be done, etc. I said that I didn’t care about all that. “It should have been factored in.” I paid them the money I had, made sure I had Arian with me and told the receptionist that there would be no more money. A deal is a deal. And besides, I don’t have anymore money. What I had was borrowed. We then went off for a rest from people.
The vet did a good job, though. Apparently, what he did was remove the broken bone, throw away the tiny ball of the bone that had come away, reshaped and smoothly rounded off the end of the broken bone, then replaced it so that it sat in the socket of the hip bone. Arian has a slight limp that doesn’t impede her. She can run just as quickly as any other cat and do all the normal cat activities. The fur that was shaved for the operation has never grown back to exactly match the rest of her coat. But none of that is noticeable, unless, like me, you live with her and have known her all her life.
The most interesting thing was the tiger stripes. Once the black fur had been shaved, her tiger stripes became prominent. They looked amazing. Deep black on light black. Sometimes, when the light falls on them at the right angle, the stripes can be made out. It was fascinating to see Arian’s stripes so clearly.