Alchemy Sphynx Cats Australia

Friday 13th May (arrgh – better go gather my black cats for protection against the forces of superstition...)

So there she is holding my dear little boy. He looks so relaxed; so trusting.

“And what about when they go outside...”

I snatch him back.

It seems hard for many of us, who grew up putting the cat out at night, to adjust to the idea that the world is just not such a safe place any more – sadly, not for our children nor for our animals. I spent my childhood happily roaming the (then) wilds of Bayswater. I’d play in the bush with the neighbourhood kids. We’d play ‘run through the bull paddock’ and ‘race home in the dark before the bats get in your hair’. Those were the days. We had a tomcat called Butch. I don’t recall him inside much, but that’s not surprising given his entire state and his potential to spray. Butch lived mostly in the shed and caught rats. Out family, especially my father, was proud of Butch’s hunting prowess.

“Butch caught a rat!” “Butch caught another rat!” and on one occasion, “Butch caught a snake.”

Good old Butch. Yes, we all know about cats like him who live rough until they are twenty. But many were lost along the way, and besides, times have changed.

Without going into the reasons why you probably choose not to allow your young children to wander free-range all day, expecting them to return each evening of their own volition, I want to look at the abominable notion of free-range Sphynx cats.

“But it’s natural for cats...”

Just don’t give me that! Sphynx cats are not natural. We have bred them to be wholly dependent upon our care – like real babies. We want them BECAUSE they are like real babies in so many ways, so we can’t just shift back to the idea that they are “just cats” when it suits us to neglect them. They are not ‘just cats’.

Even if they were just cats, they must still be contained in a safe environment at all times. Why?

• Beautiful cats are regularly stolen. One might only hope that the new thieving owner might actually take better care of the animal than the original airhead.

• Dog attack is rife. As a dog lover I cringe at the fashion for tough, fight-type dogs. These poor beasts are bred (and sometimes taught) to kill. Cats are frequently killed by pet dogs – ask your vet.

• All cat breeders are sick of pathetic people who start the enquiry with, ”I’m so upset, my cat was run over...”

Cats let loose get run over.

• Sphynx cats also get pneumonia, sunburnt, scratched and mentally traumatised (because they are so intelligent)

So what can you do?

• Keep your Sphynx in the house, and give him access to a heated bed at all times. This may be his own box with heating, or your own bed.

• You might choose to build a cat run alongside your house, so that his litter box can be outside. The run will need some shelter against rain and strong sunlight. And he will need access to the warm house at all times!

• If this is all too much just for a cat – please have children instead. At least there are laws about looking after them.

I have been asked to take a photo of little Godiva for the Feline Control Council magazine. This is quite an honour, but it brings me to the problem of photographing the moving target. So much of animal photography is hit or miss. And then there is the perfect shot of kitty, with the litter tray or some such obstacle in the forground - better learn to use photoshop!

So I am going out now to tackle the challenge of taking a photo of Godiva that will do justice to her looks and personality. Here goes...

Congratulations! That's two years in a row! Well done to owner, Val Lucus.

Jacquie Mackay (ABC Capricornia Breakfast Radio host) came to meet the kittens. Here is a link to the audio:

http://blogs.abc.net.au/queensland/2009/12/jocenes-kittens-have-looks-only-a-mother-could-love.html

Little Alchemy Pandanus has won QFA Group 2 Kitten of the Year. Congratulations to her owner, Val Lucas:

http://www.qfeline.com/catofyear.php

I am loving this rare opportunity to be able to keep a whole litter of kittens. Usually, when I breed a litter of Siamese,  all except one or two will be sold. I know that from the start, so I don't name them. Kitten buyers kindly invite me to visit kittens after they have gone to their new homes, but I really prefer not to do this. I think it needs to be a clean break, bothe for the kitten and for me.

But since this is my first  litter of Sphynx, I am running on all five of them, naming them and sitting gloriously on the couch in front of the TV, covered in kittens and turning up the volume from time to time to compete with the purring. Bliss.

There are four girls and a boy. The boy, Butch, I am keeping for breeding too. He won't work until there are new generations of girls. For now he is just Mum's little kitten - so trusting and bold. I will appreciate that temperament when he grows into an old Tom cat. I think he will always be good to handle. Part of it is all this early handling, but these days I think genetics have more to do with behaviour than I would have once believed.

One of the girls, the scaredy one (in every litter there is a scardy one, who often becomes bold when the dominant kittens are homed and out of the way), has been making excellent progress, but last night she threw the biggest hissy fit I have ever seen. She upset the litter, that had just gone back into their enclosure, after an evening of scallywagging. Three kittens suddenly developed a wild amnesia, and flew about the cage in complete stupor. This was because I had brought their mother back into the house, after a couple of weeks absence. How quickly they forget. They must have thought her a strange preditor who had suddenly entered their little safehaven.

The timid one jumped first and then they all went crazy. They banged their little heads on the wire, stopped dead, flew about again and stopped again. The two girls fixed their eyes on one another, but who knows what monster they saw in those minutes to follow. They stood balanced high on tippy-toes, arched and motionless; They were growling and, to my astonishment, defecating! They had forgotten that they had been sharing a bed, and prior to that, a womb. They now saw each other for the first time.

They glowered at each other. The fear of the unknown - a strange cat in their environment  - had triggered some wild, instinctive fight or flight response.

Slowly, slowly I reached in t to rescue little Butch. He was less hysterical, but dared not to move anyway, lest he become the target. Once he is out on the pen the crazy spell is broken. Next I touch my little seal tortie girl -  the one who didn't start it. I assertain from her response that she is not going to bite me or run over my face using her claws like icepicks, and clutch her to me for confidence (hers or mine?) before setting her down safely. Then I talk to the nut case - the one who started it. I explain that she must be very frightened and that she is a "poor little girl" and such stuff, because this calms her. Then, when she appears to be hearing me, I lift her to my lap, firmly and gently., and maggage her ears. I find that kittens who are frightened respond well to gentle but definite movements. They like to be held securely, but not restrictedly.

The more I live with cats the more my intuitive skills become important to me. You just know when not to pick up a frazzled kitten, and then later, when it is safe to do so. IMay be it's the animal's  body language, or maybe the meeting of minds - yours and the cats, as you each read the thoughts of the other, and sense the unspoken moment of agreement.

People who know cats are intuitive. They have to be, or they would not be able to communicate with these animals. Cats communicate with thought and a variety of vowel sounds, and slowly they teach you the language, if you have the mind to listen. I read somewhere that cats never meow to each other. It is a sound they use only for humans, probably because we are too dumb to understand more subtle communication.

The kittens are all sleeping peacefully together in their bed now. They just had that little episode of wild disorientation, and later looked slightly sheepish about it. We all know what that's like, don't we? Better not to make any mention of it now, and just go on as if no kitten actually stood there and shat itself. It's just basic good manners really.

I am going to start showing again next year when I move back to Melbourne. I am not looking forward to getting up in the dark to drive to who-knows-where, but it starts to be fun when the cats are benched and you sit down to bacon and eggs with your friends. Here are some memories of show days:

The picture shows Butch, a twelve week old Sphynx kitten, as he is about to pounce on his sister. His litter run riot through the loungeroom every night. They shred the couch, dislodge the phone cords and have no respect for the ;delete' button on my computer keyboard. The worst thing they do is run up the legs of the mannequin, causing his elastic trousers to fall down about his ankles. Every time there's a knock at the door, I have to check the dummy to see that he has his pants on.