Bonding had begun, but quarantine was over, and it was time for my bedroom doors — and the rest of the house — to open to two unusual new kittens.
I’d seen more than my fair share of kittens since coming to live in North Cyprus, but never like these two. In a strange way, I was sad that quarantine was ending. I’d grown used to calling ahead as I walked into my bedroom, and to finding Harry and William either fast asleep or playing on my bed.
It was also nice to be able to sleep in my own bed again.
During the winter months, the log burner would still be going in the lounge when I went to bed. As the heat died down and the temperature dropped, it became a nightly race — which cat would get to my bed first and claim the best spot.
On cold nights, I’d have the aircon running, and with a heavy, warm throw on top of the duvet, my bed became prime real estate. Too popular, in fact.
There were nights I woke up with freezing legs and feet because the cats — and I had some big cats, bigger than Fergus — would arrive during the night, shift position, stretch, and slowly edge me out. By morning, my sleeping position had migrated from straight to something closer to a five-o’clock angle, with legs hanging off the bed.
The two blind kittens and the seeing cats already knew of each other. They hadn’t met, but ears and noses had been working overtime.
This was going to be another learning curve, because the advice was clear: don’t let blind cats mix with seeing cats. I was nervous, so I came up with a plan — one that, like the silly voice, I still use to this day.
I ended their quarantine at breakfast time.
The rest of the family were busy in the kitchen, so while they were eating, I opened the bedroom door and let Harry and William find their way out. They didn’t hesitate. Straight across the lounge — the sofas were pushed close to the log burner, leaving clear floor space — and into the kitchen, as fast as their little legs could carry them.
I put down two bowls. They dived straight in.
There were looks from some of the cats, but nothing more.
As breakfast finished, curiosity took over. Sniffing from all sides. The odd hiss — from both camps — but little else.
Introductions had been made, and for the most part, all was well.
I didn’t want to push things. I was still unsure, so after breakfast Harry and Wills went back into my bedroom. Little and often felt safest.
But now the catches were off the doors, curiosity did the rest.
The bigger cats began venturing into my bedroom, especially Bonesy.
Bonesy was a gentle tabby who needed watching. He wasn’t dangerous — he had a neurological condition, and too much excitement or stress could trigger a seizure. He became instantly attached to the kittens, and particularly fond of their beds and blankets — which the kittens never used.
The beds were too big for the kittens.
Bonesy was just right for the bed.
William, Harry & new friend Bonesy
Then the kittens decided they liked their beds — but couldn’t get into them because of Bones. So they climbed over him instead.
(You’ll remember what I said about getting down to their level, sniffing me, climbing over me as a game. It works with animals too.)
Jasper was here as well — another super-friendly cat.
Nelson was a very large one-eyed cat who never really got on with my cats. Some friends were moving back to the UK and couldn’t take him, so I did. He never settled, and eventually moved to live with a neighbour.
There were two cats I had to be careful with. I nicknamed them the Krays. They weren’t siblings, but if it suited them, they could be evil.
Other than that, all was well.
The kittens became regulars at mealtimes and were soon accepted. All that worry about blind cats not mixing with seeing cats came to nothing — just like so much of the online advice.
Meal times were social (William center, Harry on right)
As both the kittens and I grew in confidence — again, time spent — they began exploring more and more.
And that was when I really started to question what I’d been reading.