Catkin Willow's Catalog

Meet Our Feline Family & The Stars Of Robert's Book "Catness"

All our cats are special to us, and during the past 30 years, we have had many. They all have their own story to tell, and are courageous troopers considering the life they had before they joined us. Some had a decent life, but unfortunately, most were sick and mistreated... It gives us great pleasure to know that we could help to shelter them from harm, and give them love in return for their companionship and wisdom.

Stars From "Catness" (In approximate order of appearance)

Murphy
 Homer
 Winston
 Rudy
The cat who started everything. I purchased her from a pet shop on a whim after being seriously injured in a car accident after a wild spree in Ottawa. I checked myself out of hospital over all my doctors' objections, and there she was, in a pet store window, this tiny, perfect creature. I didn't know it then, but Murphy would start events that were about to change my life.
As a kitten living in a nearby Laundromat,he had formed the dangerous habit of crossing a very busy city street to see what was on the other side. When he found that nothing much was on the other side, he would amuse himself by dodging speeding cars and trucks on his way back. Kathy, observing all this, picked him up and brought him home. There, over time, he showed me what it is to be a cat and what I could learn from that.
Winston was a survivor from life on the streets. When I first met him during a visit to the local Humane Society, the sign on his cage said he had been rescued after living for at least two years in an abandoned grocery store. We became friends on the spot, this huge battered male who had endured so much. As soon as he arrived home with me, he made it clear to all the other cats just who would be the Alpha Cat.
We found Rudy while taking a leisurely stroll through a walking path which was bordered on one side by a six lane highway, and the other by a railway. No houses were anywhere nearby, so it was a mystery how she came to be there. Did she fall or jump from a passing car on the superhighway, then find her way into the woods surrounding the path where she found us? We'll never know, but she was friendly, so she had known humans.

Theo
 Maxwell
 Idgy
 Hannibal
(Thelonius Monk), Theo might have received a message on the cat hotline, or simply by chance found the Cat Garden, where he could always drink from the pond, winter or summer, and kibble was available to cats, raccoons or even the passing skunk. Like many of our cats, we never knew anything of his past life, except that he'd been lost and now had found a home. While many cats are shy at first and spend days or even months before mingling with other cats, Theo was an immediate friend to all.
Max (Maxwell's Silver Hammer), came to us, as so many seemed to do, by mysterious means. He simply appeared at our door... well at our pond. A muskrat also found our pond and rested up for a few days in our bog garden before it moved on. We don't know if Max had been following the muskrat from a distant marshy area, but both arrived at the same time. The Muskrat moved on after a few days swimming in the pond and sleeping in the bog garden, but Maxwell stayed on. The Beatles' song Maxwell's Silver Hammer was popular that summer, so the name caught our fancy.
Idgy was a choice between her and a sports jacket. We had gone to the shopping mall expressly to buy a sports jacket. But as we passed a pet shop, there in the window was this tiny Siamese kitten. I looked at Kathy, Kathy looked at me, and we both knew what was going to happen. No sports jacket. We brought her home the first of several Siamese who would enrich our lives as the years past, and we began to realize that without planning it, we were now running a cat shelter.
Hannibal appeared at a time when we were accepting strays from TCR, which we still  do occasionally. He made himself at home from the very beginning, and was a very friendly cat, liking all the other cats. But the person he loved beyond all others, was our long-time friend and neighbour, Sam Morrow. If he heard Sam's car come up the driveway, he'd drop whatever he was doing to greet Sam. If Sam came out of his house to sit on the deck, Hannibal would join him. Hannibal could never get enough of Sam and Sam was delighted with Hannibal. So were we.

Bête Noire
This is the cat who kept coming back. When I first saw him, he was in an upstairs bedroom, surrounded by a silent and slightly threatening circle of cats. He had to have found his way into the house by either of two ways. One was via a simple "cat ladder" made from a long 2x4 with cross pieces nailed on. This was a no frills almost vertical climb which most of the cats learned to use if they wanted to enter through an upstairs window. The other choice was a cat door on the bottom floor. Since the jet black intruder had a vet tag on a collar, I picked him up, carried him downstairs, and put him out the front door. In the seconds it took me to walk to the back door, he was coming in through the downstairs cat door. I then called the vet, got the address of his owners and left a phone message for them. They never responded. The vet told me his name was Bomber and he had a long history of leaving home.

Bubby
(Bobby), was one of only three cats we ever purchased. Nearly always called Bubby, he was a glorious little Abbysinian male with a ruddy coat and piercing copper eyes, but missing about half of his tail. The breeder told us the mother cat had chewed it off soon after birth when the tail got mixed up with the placenta. Bubby was the sort of cat who is interested in everything. Every slight noise, every movement gets his full attention. He is very intelligent, and I got the idea from a book on training cats that I could teach him some tricks. So, clicker and treats in hand, we started lesson one: How to wave goodbye when I said "Goodbye Bubby". Seemed simple enough. Click with clicker, say goodbye, show treat, Bubby puts out paw, waving it for the treat, give treat. The idea was that I would gradually stop giving the treats, and he'd still wave his paw when I said, "Goodbye Bubby", and click the clicker. Bubby caught

Muffet
Muffet joined us at a picnic we were having during an outing to the country on the Welland Canal, about 100km from The Cat Garden in Toronto. She appeared out of the bushes, eager to share scraps of food. It was as though she adopted us, and perhaps she did for when we got in the car to leave, she got in too. Thus she joined the family, and not long after that, I discovered she had a singular talent: She loved the Blue Danube Waltz, loved it when I would sing it for her and she would join in:

"The Danube so blue",
"meow meow, meow meow",
"Is waiting for you",
"meow meow, meow meow" etc.

Me doing the lyrics, Muffet doing the orchestral bits. And that's how a chance pickup during a picnic in the country introduced us to the miracle Cat Who Sang The Blue Danube Waltz.

Misty
Misty was discovered by son Peter on his way to school. He came running back home to tell his mother, she returned with him and there, under a bush, was a poor bedraggled lIttle Russian Blue. She was in terrible condition, so ill and malnourished, she could barely stand. Her fur was patchy and broken, she was covered in fleas, she was obviously near death. Still, despite all this, she was friendly, she had known humans at some point and had somehow become lost. Kathy bundled her in a towel and immediately took her to the vet where she was deflea'd, dewormed and washed. Gradually we nursed her back to health. Still it took several years before her hair grew back properly, and she regained the full beauty of her Catness.
"I've repeatedly tried to get them to neuter Bomber," the vet said, "but they won't do it." So after putting Bomber out many times, and having him return many times, he became Bête Noire, got neutered and never strayed again. Final footnote: A month later the vet called. "Have you by any chance seen Boomer?" she said. Bomber, now Bête Noire, was sitting beside me as I stroked him. "No, I said, "but wherever he is, I'm sure he's quite happy."
"I know what you mean," said the vet, and laughing, hung up the phone.
on, and could do the trick quite well. Trouble was, his short attention span. I would say "Good Bye Bubby", and he would wave, except he quickly got bored and would break off at every chance noise or movement. To tell the truth, I got bored too. But he did teach me something: "Don't try to teach a smart cat new tricks."

Buford
Buford, a very huge Dutch Hare, was the star of the classroom where our boys attended school. The classroom always had a terrarium, and inside it from year to year, would be a succession of small animals. Sometimes a gerbil, often cute little lab rats, baby rabbits, or mice. Then when school ended for each term, various parents would volunteer to give the animals a temporary home. That's how we got Buford, who lived with us for more than two years until he died of old age. He was very friendly to humans, despised the cats and would charge them, making his buzzing sound, whenever they got too close. The cats ignored him.
Salt
Salt, a beautiful white albino rat, was one of several animals we took on from the classroom terrarium at various times; It may seem strange to refer to a rat as beautiful, and we didn't think so at first, but they and the cats taught us we were wrong. All the rats: Salt, Pepper and Sugar acted as if they didn't know they were rats. Salt was a special friend of son Peter, waiting patiently on the stairs at bedtime, and sleeping with him on the pillow over his head. And because the rats didn't act like rats, the cats didn't regard them as prey. So instead of eating them, the cats became their friends.
Pepper
Pepper, when not pressed into service in a starring role as Chris's hat, became son Mathew's sidekick in a little Vaudeville turn. Matt, whose ambition was to be an actor, (which he later did become), would make up songs, and as he sang, Pepper would amuse (or horrify) whatever audience Matt could muster. By scuttling up Matt's arm, across his shoulders, down his other arm, into his pocket where he would then reappear, beady eyes aglitter, and head poking out of the pocket. They never tired of the routine, Matt and the Educated Rat, and actually it was rather funny. Why didn't the act make it to Broadway? Beats me!
Sugar
Sugar was another smaller white albino rat who doubled as a hat whenever son Chris was in a mischievous mood, which was often. Chris would put sugar on his head or sometimes his shoulder. There she would stay, this rat hat, as Chris strolled nonchalantly about, greeting passersby and neighbours. He got various reaction, from shock (which he enjoyed the most) to interest, to amusement. Finally, people got so used to seeing this weird kid with a rat on his head that he got no reaction at all. At that point, Chris lost interest, and Sugar went back to being a simple rat, who thought he was a cat.
But his attitude to us was different. He loved to be tickled, and would buzz with pleasure as we held him. He also like to play Attack the Broom. I would show him the broom, moving it towards him as if attacking him. Buford, in full buzz, would actually jump on the broom, wrestling it into submission. Buford eventually came to terms with the cats. I think they came to think of him as one of them, a very strange sort of cat who hopped and made strange buzzing sounds.

Olive Oyl
Olive Oyl was an early gift from a pet shop owner, who had her displayed in his shop window. She was tiny when I brought her home, and although she grew, she was always small -- exquisite really. I sometimes called her TPC for Tiny Perfect Cat. Kathy noted with accuracy the she was my first experiment in letting everything come from the cat. She was treated like a Royal Princess, but the Royal Princess had her critics. Hannibal mainly. Hannibal, no doubt resentful at such a Tiny Perfect Cat, would chase her when he saw her in the garden. The result was that for an entire summer, she moved to various neighbour's gardens, and
Gustav Mahler II
We realized our reputation was growing when we found a box on our doorstep one day. Inside was a young kitten, with a note. "Please take care of this kitten", it said. "I can't. His name is Gus." He was such a dignified cat even as a kitten, that we soon decided he should be Gustav Mahler II, known to his friends as Gus. Later he demonstrated that like all cats, he had a firm idea of what he would and would not do. That happened when I decided to teach him to walk on a leash. I got a little harness, buckled it carefully on him, attached the leash, then very gently tugging, began pulling him up the garden path. He immediately lay
Gridley
Gridley was one of a group of eight cats we were called on to rescue when the owner passed away. What we found when we arrived with our cages was a bunch of starving cats in a house where each room had been left uncleaned for years. The recreation room had cat excrement four inches deep. We found a mummified cat in the basement... We managed to get all of the cats into our cages, but Gridley hid. I was forced to thrust my arm in assorted holes; in the floor, in the walls, never knowing what might bite me. Finally I heard a noise coming from the fireplace. There was Gridley, crouched in a hole in the bricks. I pulled him out by

Hansel
Hansel arrived out of nowhere, simply moving in where the food was. I hate to say this because although he could be quite charming, he was a bit of a bully too. His favourite game was to lay hidden along a given pathway, wait until an unsuspecting cat came by, then spring out and challenge them as if about to attack. It was all a game to Hansel, he never actually attacked, but it scared his target silly. His favorite target was Misty because she was easy to scare. I tried to, well, modify his behaviour by yelling at him, chasing him, making threats we both knew were empty, but nothing changed him. I'll say in

stopped coming home. Which meant that Kathy and I spent a lot of time trying to keep track of where she was. We haunted the strange gardens, surreptitiously because we didn't want the neighbours to know we were trespassing. Sometimes we would sneak out at the dead of night, stumbling our way through people's gardens, looking for Olive Oyl. We always found her sooner or later, and we always brought her home. Eventually Hannibal got over his jealousy, and Olive stopped wandering and returned to being our Tiny Perfect Cat.
down on his side. I thought, well if I just go ahead and act as if I haven't noticed, he'll get tired of being pulled along like a sled, get up on his feet and walk on the leash. So I started again, me walking ahead, Gus bumping along behind. After about 20 feet of this I looked around and Gus's look of accusation said it all. I unbuckled the harness, took off the leash, and we agreed, Gus and I, never to mention the matter again.
his front leg and although he resisted, miraculously, he didn't bite. We immediately took all eight to our vet, who closed the clinic to all but us because of the overpowering stink of the eight cats. A few days later they came home, medicated, shampooed, deflea'd and groomed. The bill came to $1,800, but the cats were safe. Gridley and seven of his friends were home.
my defense that these actions of mine came before the cats had taught me to mind mind my own business and they would take care of cat business. What eventually happened is that he tried to ambush Winston, the Alpha cat. Winston stopped, glared at Hansel, said "Eh eh eh" in his very most serious way. From then on, Hansel seemed to lose his interest in the ambush game.

Bertrand Russell
Bert was a bit like the Cheshire Cat. he kept appearing, then disappearing. He would come, stay a while, then disappear. His disappearances never lasted more than a couple of days, so we didn't worry... this was just Bert's way. One day, after he'd been with us for nearly three years, he disappeared again. Two days passed, no Bert. A week passed, no Bert. We had by this time looked in every garage and outbuilding in the neighbourhood, put up flyers, looked everywhere we could think. By the end of three weeks we had given up hope. We were sure he had met with a fatal mishap, and we mourned him.
Gwendolyn
Gwendolyn was one of those cats whose owner or the owner's husband or wife, mysteriously develops allergies to a cat they have had for years. If that sounds a bit skeptical, well it is because it is often just an excuse. Fortunately for Gwendolyn, she was brought to us by a teacher colleague of Kathy's. The teacher's husband was allergic, and they were leaving for a holiday in Portugal. So Gwendolyn arrived in a small box, a small, frightened but beautiful little black cat. She craved attention, and loved to be petted, but it took her a long time to feel safe among the other cats. In fact, Gwendolyn
Maggie
Maggie was first spotted during one of our evening walks in Oriole Park, not far from The Cat Garden. She always seemed to be there, by herself, rather thin, approaching strollers, trying to get their attention. Over time, we began asking people if they knew anything about the cat. "Oh, yes, she's always here," said one. "I don't think she has a home," said another. These responses became a refrain after a while: Everyone thought she was lost, but nobody acted. So... well guess what? We took her home, named her after Kathy's dearest friend. and Maggie was no longer lost.
Cassandra
Cassandra was the stray from hell. She was very beautiful tortoise shell smoke with a temper as savage as she was beautiful. She appeared at first to hate all other cats, but because we had so many cats by this time, her ill feelings got spread so thin that most of her savage anger at the world slowly evaporated. She was always grumpy, it was her nature after all, but over time it was mainly for show. She grumpily allowed herself to be petted and purred with grumpy pleasure. She even got so she would approach another cat and instead of hissing or lashing out with her claws, would give the other cat
He had given us such pleasure by being with us, and now he was gone. Then one afternoon, as I sat on the balustrade of the front porch, I saw this small skeleton of a cat labouring up the stairs to jump up beside me and collapse. It was our Bert. Immaciated, barely able to stand, but Bert was back. I could hardly believe my eyes. Kathy cried with joy and I wasn't far from it. Bert regained his full health in record time, but we never found out what had happened. Our Cheshire Cat was back and that's what mattered most.
made her bed on top of the refrigerator for a year before she graduated herself to the house at large and then, one fine day, she took the ultimate step and learned to use the cat door, Gwendolyn had found herself again.
a little bunt with her head, then give a grumpy little meow as she walked away.

Pokey Bear
One of our near neighbours appeared at our door one day in her usual state of hurry with urgent business waiting and not enough hours in the day to do it. She was that kind of person. Under one arm was a smallish Highland Terrier, and under the other arm was a rather worried looking marmalade cat. "This cat has been hanging around for weeks, and I think her owner moved and left her behind," she said. "She needs somebody to look after her, so here she is!" with that, she plunked her on the floor, and bustled off, little dog still under her arm. Pokey Bear lived happily ever after.


Cats We've Fostered From Toronto Cat Rescue Service

Gordon Spike Mahitabel
 Jefferson
Gray striped tabby, left eye enlarged and scaring evident, currently being medicated to see if that improves his condition. Could be caused by old injury or glaucoma. He is due for another check-up in another week or so to see if the medication is helping. Very deliberate and self contained older gent of indeterminate age.
DSH black and white male, he is still feral although he has lived with us about five years. He was captured by Cindy, one of TCR's founders, from a building about to be demolished. One eye was so seriously infected that it had to be removed. He is totally integrated into our community, shows affection to we humans, but will not let us touch him or approach closer than about a foot away. I'd guess he's about 6.
(TCR Karen), White tabby with grey markings, about 10. Wild when we got her about eight years ago. Over that time she has gradually become attached to me and now sleeps on my pillow each night. She has a recurring left eye infection which we treat to keep it under control.
(TCR Grizzly), black short hair, rescued by me at TCR request from hostile owner. He was a kitten and feral at the time. He was dubbed grizzly by the vet because he was turning brown due to anaemia caused by serious ear mite and lice infection. He is now about 10. Veru handsome and Friendly. Jealous of other cats if he sees them with me.

Stevie
 Chirp
 Baxter
 Zeke
Grey striped tabby, very well natured, also feral when we got him. I say feral because I think he'd had some contact with people. He has always had a chronic eye infection which we try to medicate with uneven success because he goes nuts if you try to put ointment in his eyes. We take him to the vet if it appears to be getting worse but mostly it remains stable so we tend to leave it alone. 10-12 years.
Black shorthair, likes me a little, but no one else. Very edgy, but slowly getting so she does her best to tolerate other cats. She has been in quarantine for possible distemper, but has moved to the main house where she has a room to herself but is free to mix as she wishes. She prefers her own company. Agreeable nature, but mistreatment or neglect has probably permanently affected her. About 1.
Grey and white tabby, he was captured in a cat community in Mississauga, minus his right back leg. It was so badly mangled that it had to be amputated at the shoulder. He was captured along with a sibling (Beasley, now deceased.) I was able to tame Beasley, but Baxter remains feral. Had to have his tail amputated, but in good health, very strong and handsome, unapproachable, comes and goes as he pleases. He's ~10 or 11.
Apple Head Siamese, rescued around the same time as Tiki and from the same colony. He was brought to us and he also is missing most of his right hind leg. He was quite fiercely wild when he came to us, but eventually he accepted us and has integrated into our colony. He is I think about the same age as Tiki and has, from the moment she arrived, been immediately bonded with her. Age about 8.

Tiki Bear
 Dustin
 Maxine
 Boomer
Black smoke DSH female, rescued from a cat colony minus half of her left rear leg. She has been tamed but is bonded mainly with me. She likes some people and not others for reasons known only to her. I think she's about 7.
DSH White male that spent the early years of his life confined to a laundry room by a woman who begrudged having him in the house. But he got even by peeing on any piece of laundry left lying around. Unfortunately, he still sometimes pees on any rumpled cloth surfaces - so beds are kept very tidily made up and we make a point of always picking up our clothes. Aside from that small flaw, he is extremely nice and a bit of a wuss.
DLH, White. Rescued through TCR from a building about to be demolished. She has lived with us for about four years. She was wild when rescued and is still wild. However, she makes herself at home and is very friendly with the other cats. She never grooms herself and has a perennial eye discharge which doesn't seem serious and she needs a lion cut every year.
DLH black and white, brought to us after being captured as a kitten. He was very wild at first. And while he is very friendly with me he is not so friendly with anyone else although he will tolerate both other people and other cats.

Felix
Champagne striped DSH, I rescued him at the request of TCR, from another hostile owner who had, when earlier threats did not work, promised to throw him onto the street If we didn't get him within the hour. I drove to his apartment in Etobicoke. He said he was moving to Montreal. When I asked why Felix was limping he said he had fallen off the fifth-floor balcony while chasing a pigeon but he seemed to be okay.. It was obvious he was in great pain and had a calicy virus which caused him to start gagging when he felt stress. The vet found that the right hind leg had been broken in the fall in such a way that the ball was broken off and was still in the socket with the result that the sharp ends of bone were grinding on each other. The doctor removed the ball from the socket, somehow fashioned a joint out of muscle tissue. As a result, Felix has one back leg about an inch shorter than the other, but he walks comfortably with a bit of a limp... Once he calmed down,
Floppy
Grey tabby with white markings. Profoundly deaf, likely from birth. When we received him as a very young cat, (half grown) he was circling and given to gagging when he tried to eat. He was diagnosed as having a recurring throat infection (which name I forget) which can be controlled with prednisone given every other day in his food. He also receives an injection of anti inflammatory and antibiotics every two or three months, and together this more or less controls his throat condition which can get so painful he will not eat. Because he is deaf, I have not been able to tame him fully. He accepts that he lives with us but will not let us touch him. He has to be netted when he needs to see the vet. When we first got him he escaped from our isolation room and ended up in our basement. He was hidden in such a way that the only way to get him was to grab him by the scruff and plunk him in a cage. When I made my grab I was a bit off centre so he was able to turn his head and slice into two of my fingers.
Stanley
(TCR Simba) male gray tabby, neglected by previous owner, about 8 years. He was in such poor condition that when we got him he tried to jump onto a small end table but could not do it. He and his sibling spent their first year with us before they ventured out of one room in our house. Now they go everywhere but outside. Stan sometimes shows a desire to try outdoors, but always loses his nerve and chickens out. He is in excellent health and very sweet tempered but leery of other cats. Dumpling (TCR Audrey Hepburn), female white tabby, same owner as Stanley, friendly with us but, not with other cats or children. Age about 8 years.
Sophie
Grey and white DSH female, brought to us when her owner decided she could not afford to keep her. She is sweet-tempered, about 14.
his calicy/gag reflex went away, never to return. He is a grumbly sort of cat, quick to take offence, and quick to forgive. He's about 12 or so.
Luckily, he hung on until I shook him loose in the cage. I spent four days in Sunnybrook with an infection and a week at home carrying around a penicillin drip. Floppy is now one of our best respected cats. He will now let me touch him on the nose. If he becomes frightened, he loses his small motor coordination and goes back to flopping around. He would not be a good candidate for adoption.

Bok Choi
DSH, back female, standoffish around other cats and people. She loves Kathy and will take up with me if Kathy's not around. She bites sometimes, but usually not very hard. 9 years.