Obit

We were totally crushed and crestfallen upon learning about the untimely death of the extraordinary poet and journalist Eli Mohar. In yesteryears we've been spending many a pleasant Friday afternoon munching sun flower seeds and reading avidely one or another of his most entertaining pieces in "Hair", that always made us chuckle. Whether he was musing about Hapoel Tel-Aviv og Man U, the BBC or Kol Israel,  Irish ale or Scottish whisky, his native streets of Tel-Aviv or his acquired streets of London, he always retained that highly articulated, inimitably pronounced and exquisitely funny T-A city slang, that we shall miss so dearly from now on. Tel-Aviv has lost it's main man, its bard and soul, the world at large also appears much reduced and diminished, with all due respects. He was always a good lough, was Eli Mohar, the highest compliment anyone could aspire for.           

Meet the boyz

As I intimated yesterday, Mary took upon herself to rescue a pair male kittens belonging to the same litter from being a burden to the cat woman in Frederikshavn. The decision was made on the spur of the moment, but still rationally based, since they were the most boisterous creatures on the grounds and apparently self sufficient. This is what you call first impressions.
We have since had a chance to make new observations...Let me introduce the boyz: Aerial is the bigger one, he's a slender and long limbed, yet very strong grey tabby. He can have bursts of hyperactivity interspersed will calmer spells. He eats like a gannet, that is, everything remotely edible.
Orlando, his bro, is of a different mould, smaller, slimer, more gentle and quiet. He has a lovely soft many colored fur and a touch of insecure sexual identity.
We hope to bring you some photos of those two real soon.

The cat woman from Frederikshavn

Some 14 days ago, we went to Frederikshavn to visit the local cat woman. The locals call her kattemor which means cat mother. This is certainly a very apt description. She's been working with cats for 22 odd years and it is starting to show...Her home was teeming with cats, the hallways, the rooms, the bathrooms, and in the garden there were many more. It was like visiting a cageless zoo. We saw all kinds of nice cats; big, small and in between. A number og norwegian forest cats in different colors, as well as more ordinarily looking ones. Some were lying down and some running and climbing. What a feline fiesta!
Mary wished to alleviate the cat woman of her heavy toll so she adopted a couple of kittens. They are the new boyz in the Hood. You may call them Aerial and Orlando and they may ignore you in return...

Identity deffusions

The day before yesterday, late in the afternoon, I was in my shorts, cycling at ease on my stationary bike while reading the Haaretz literary supplement, when all of a sudden I heard a loud knock on the front door. I thought who could that be at this godless hour, the police or the debt collector or PET (the Danish pet version of FBI). Upon opening the door I was greeted by the much more soothing site of two young lesbians who are cohabiting at close quarters with a black Labrador. One of them, (the one with the marine hair cut) was holding a cat. She asked me if it wasn't the one I was looking for. I knew of course, he couldn't possibly be him the same way Jule isn't Jim because this one was dark as the night in contradistinction to brownish Giacometti, but I gave him another glance, the last I ever gave him, as it turns out. No, this is not my cat I retorted but try the doctor's house behind.

Which reminds me of the time when Giacometti was still a kitten, another couple knocked at my door, this time a big mama of a Caucasian woman with a skinny sri lankan adoptee girl. The girl tried hard to convince me that Giacometti belonged to her, that he wasn't whom I'd all along thought he was but merely a doppelgânger or a  particularly good forgery. I had to stand my ground against these ludicrous allegations even though I felt sorry for the girl. She was obviously deluded by her traumatic loss. What is more, cats can sometimes resemble one another astoundingly, even without being related. That big mama is by the way identical with the doctor who now lives just behind me, and she's the proud owner of a black cat, which may or may not be the one found by the lesies. There is so much more to feline life than meets the eye, it seems.. Especially the neighbor's eyes.

The revenge of the mice

While dear Giacometti is away, far away, far too far away, and alas, probably definitively out of the way, some other creatures are having a ball. We are refering to the mice. Yesterday, I found a dead wee mouse under the sink in the kitchen, it seems like he died of overeating the contents of our bin, may he rest in peace. This morning I heard a strange noise coming again from under the sink, it must have been the spouse of the mouse, it's sibling or sprogs, or some other relative or friend. At any rate, Your're never alone in a house with a mouse, it sure is great to have some company...  

Giacometty empty

Giacometti perdu?

Today is Giacometti's birthday. He's supposed to be three years old today. We're celebrating this particular birthday with a heavy heart and deep concern. Wee man Giacometti has been absent for three weeks now. This length of time is no joking matter for any feline, let alone for feral Giacometti. We miss him terribly by now.

Our hopes are dwindling with each passing day without him. 

We've taken some measures to combat total despair, like announcing his absence on the net (on Det Danske Katteregister and Dyrenes Værn) and notifying all the neighbors and workers at the hospital. And we've done a lot of waiting too. And waiting. And waiting.

We still keep our door open at nights, in a kind of desperate hope, it's like a prayer to a god that stubbornly stays away when needed most. 

Whatever happens next, we intend to carry on with the Giacomettisfriends site, that's the least we can do under such dire circumstances. We hope other members will follow suit. Worst case scenario, we commemorate Giacometti till the end of time.

Giacometti disparu (updated version)

Giacometti was nowhere to be found upon my return from a wonderful vacation abroad, you could call that an anti-climax. Old Pernille, the next door neighbor, was supposed to take care of him and she hadn't seen him either all the while. No wonder I felt increasingly ill at ease, as the hours passed by and turned into full time day without any sign of life or death from dear, lovely and holy Giacometti.

The first clue as to his whereabouts came from our social worker, old Anne Grethe, she could report seeing a pretty cat around ward nr. 22. He'd been friendly and exceptionally good looking, she thought. I told her it must be him, and wadaya know guys, so it was. I found him in the area the following day, he blinkered myopically in my direction, as if in utter disbelief, then his tail went erect like a tall ship entering a harbour, running the last three four meters straight into my embrace. A highly charged moment, so it was!

The wee bugger had plenty turkey meat to eat last night.     

On the brink of extinction

We've just been notified by MSN that this site has been saved from extinction for the time being. We're extremely happy to get this new lease of life, even though we don't know yet what to do with it. To those of U who like a good read, we can recommend a book called Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman, by Nobel Prize laureate Richard P. Feynman. What a character! We're also eager to come home from work and ascertain everything is cool with Giacometti. We miss him like hell.

On the counch, in the armchair

These days people have been talking a lot about lying on the couch in relation to Freud's 150 years anniversary. Somebody clever even wrote a book with this double entendre title. However, we can't see the merits of lying on the couch compared to being candid in an armchair, like Giacometti is. He has absolutely no hidden agendas, no secrets nor lies. He's spending most days curled up in the armchair (his armchair?) emitting discrete purrs of deep satisfaction. If you happen to pass by at Hermesvej 21 you can see him in action, live.

The rest of us must content ourselves with corroborated reports. By the way,

we sorely need fresh contributions to this site, otherwise, we gang dry.