Gerry Wolstenholme's Blog - Posts Tagged "cats"
Larwood
My daughter who loves her cats rescued two of Siamese extraction some 12 months ago. She named them Little Nell, after Dickens' character, and Larwood, after Harold of that ilk, one of her favourite cricketers.
As I live 250 miles away from Deborah I did not get down to see Little Nell but did meet Larwood over Christmas when I stayed for a week and more. Deborah had already warmed me that he was very cautious of newcomers, a trait apparently common to Siamese. This wasn't too bad while Little Nell was alive (see next paragraph) as she was friendly and would check out all visitors before letting Larwood know that they were okay. But with no Little Nell there, Larwood was ultra cautious.
In addition he could not reconcile with people wearing a hat, even Andy, Deborah's husband, was looked at with suspicion when he wore a hat in cold weather. We thought no more of this and when i arrived I was wearing a hat, which I kept on during most of my visit. Larwood was watchful and early on he sat right in front of me staring for quite some time. As I was sat with Deborah I suggested to her that as she has similar features to myself (to her chagrin I should add!) that Larwood was assessing how alike the two of us looked. We thought no more about it but Larwood would keep a respectable distance away from me except one night when he slept on one of the cushions close to where I was asleep.
By this time Larwood had aplaymate because Deborah quickly realised that Siamese youngsters in particularly enjoy romping about and Little Nell was none too keen so Deborah acquired another rescue cat, which she named Stanley. Larwood was made up and the two boys would romp around the orchard play fighting, catching mice, climbing trees and generally having a good time.
Sadly Little Nell was run over and killed a few months ago and then only last Friday, Larwood, not yet two years old, was found with a wounded leg, which it transpired had come from being hit by a car. I should add that Deborah lives in a small village out in the country but the road that passes her house is a dangerous one but as her cats have plenty of ground to wander round, there should be no need to go to the road. But Deborah tells me that Siamese are adventurous and want to explore.
Anyway the vet decided that Larwood might have to lose a leg but he would put a titanium plate in it first to see if that did the trick. The operation was scheduled for the following Monday 13 March. Larwood had pain-killing medication to keep him pain free for the weekend and Deborah stayed downstairs with him each night.
Off to the vets he went on Monday morning, the love of his parents going with him. What transpired is a tragedy indeed. The operation was a success and hopes were high but not too long afterwards Larwood stopped breathing and sadly died; a blood clot was the cause.
I was out on a talk on Monday afternoon and when I returned home I noticed I had a message from Deborah and I switched iton to hear her crying her eyes out and telling me that Larwood had died. I was absolutely devasted both for Larwood and for Deborah who does adore her cats, she has two others, Margery (after Allingham) and Stanley (after Matthews) - both of those personalities her heroes ... as was Harold Larwood, thus 'Lar's' name.
There was nothing that could be done however and Andy picked Larwood's body up from the verts on his way home. He is now buried in their orchard alongside his mother with suitable items in his coffin with him.
I must confess that the death affected me badly, too, even though Larwood was cool with me while I was there. This did not worry me for I admired his stand-offishness as he surveyed me and, as I have said, Deborah warned me of his temperament now that Little Nell was not around.
I found it difficult to sleep that night so, as is often my wont when not sleeping, I decided I would write Larwood a poem ... and here it is:
Larwood: In Memoriam
When next I call, I’m so upset you will not be there,
If only to show you that I do have some hair!
You were such a handsome boy
And brought your family a great deal of joy.
Sadly you lost your natural Mum
And understandably you were glum.
You needed a friend as a chum
And along came Stan to share the fun.
As brothers you played and played
And there was many a night-time raid!
Toys were all okay
But you preferred to play
With a box and a feather,
If not those, whatever!
Named after Larwood, one of your Mum’s cricketing heroes
Certainly helped to keep you on your toes;
That bowler’s pace was legendary in those ‘Bodyline’ Ashes
And you certainly lived up to his speed in your barnyard clashes!
He was also not averse to making a run
And you, too, picked up the pace while you had such fun.
In the family you will never be forgotten –
But not showing you my hair does make me feel rotten!
Larwood rest in peace and be assured you will be sadly missed
By all who were lucky enough to come into contact with you ... and count me on the list.
As I live 250 miles away from Deborah I did not get down to see Little Nell but did meet Larwood over Christmas when I stayed for a week and more. Deborah had already warmed me that he was very cautious of newcomers, a trait apparently common to Siamese. This wasn't too bad while Little Nell was alive (see next paragraph) as she was friendly and would check out all visitors before letting Larwood know that they were okay. But with no Little Nell there, Larwood was ultra cautious.
In addition he could not reconcile with people wearing a hat, even Andy, Deborah's husband, was looked at with suspicion when he wore a hat in cold weather. We thought no more of this and when i arrived I was wearing a hat, which I kept on during most of my visit. Larwood was watchful and early on he sat right in front of me staring for quite some time. As I was sat with Deborah I suggested to her that as she has similar features to myself (to her chagrin I should add!) that Larwood was assessing how alike the two of us looked. We thought no more about it but Larwood would keep a respectable distance away from me except one night when he slept on one of the cushions close to where I was asleep.
By this time Larwood had aplaymate because Deborah quickly realised that Siamese youngsters in particularly enjoy romping about and Little Nell was none too keen so Deborah acquired another rescue cat, which she named Stanley. Larwood was made up and the two boys would romp around the orchard play fighting, catching mice, climbing trees and generally having a good time.
Sadly Little Nell was run over and killed a few months ago and then only last Friday, Larwood, not yet two years old, was found with a wounded leg, which it transpired had come from being hit by a car. I should add that Deborah lives in a small village out in the country but the road that passes her house is a dangerous one but as her cats have plenty of ground to wander round, there should be no need to go to the road. But Deborah tells me that Siamese are adventurous and want to explore.
Anyway the vet decided that Larwood might have to lose a leg but he would put a titanium plate in it first to see if that did the trick. The operation was scheduled for the following Monday 13 March. Larwood had pain-killing medication to keep him pain free for the weekend and Deborah stayed downstairs with him each night.
Off to the vets he went on Monday morning, the love of his parents going with him. What transpired is a tragedy indeed. The operation was a success and hopes were high but not too long afterwards Larwood stopped breathing and sadly died; a blood clot was the cause.
I was out on a talk on Monday afternoon and when I returned home I noticed I had a message from Deborah and I switched iton to hear her crying her eyes out and telling me that Larwood had died. I was absolutely devasted both for Larwood and for Deborah who does adore her cats, she has two others, Margery (after Allingham) and Stanley (after Matthews) - both of those personalities her heroes ... as was Harold Larwood, thus 'Lar's' name.
There was nothing that could be done however and Andy picked Larwood's body up from the verts on his way home. He is now buried in their orchard alongside his mother with suitable items in his coffin with him.
I must confess that the death affected me badly, too, even though Larwood was cool with me while I was there. This did not worry me for I admired his stand-offishness as he surveyed me and, as I have said, Deborah warned me of his temperament now that Little Nell was not around.
I found it difficult to sleep that night so, as is often my wont when not sleeping, I decided I would write Larwood a poem ... and here it is:
Larwood: In Memoriam
When next I call, I’m so upset you will not be there,
If only to show you that I do have some hair!
You were such a handsome boy
And brought your family a great deal of joy.
Sadly you lost your natural Mum
And understandably you were glum.
You needed a friend as a chum
And along came Stan to share the fun.
As brothers you played and played
And there was many a night-time raid!
Toys were all okay
But you preferred to play
With a box and a feather,
If not those, whatever!
Named after Larwood, one of your Mum’s cricketing heroes
Certainly helped to keep you on your toes;
That bowler’s pace was legendary in those ‘Bodyline’ Ashes
And you certainly lived up to his speed in your barnyard clashes!
He was also not averse to making a run
And you, too, picked up the pace while you had such fun.
In the family you will never be forgotten –
But not showing you my hair does make me feel rotten!
Larwood rest in peace and be assured you will be sadly missed
By all who were lucky enough to come into contact with you ... and count me on the list.
