CAN YOU HEAR ME, MOGGIE .. .. .?

Once again the season has turned, and so have the leaves. The swallows have gone, the temperature's dipped, the central heating has come on, and the cats have come in from wherever they sleep during the day, to sleep during the rest of the hours in warm comfort.

It also gives us a chance to give them the once, or twice, over - an extra good comb, a flea treatment, a trip to the vet for booster vaccinations, and sundry attempts to remove the seeds, burrs and snail trails that now show up on the fur. Also, even before we had the official confirmation from the vet that the old ginger boy is deaf as a post , we have been adapting to life with a Hearing Impaired Moggie.

While the old chap was being jabbed I asked the vet about his ears, and after checking him over he said that as he was over 13 years old, it was most likely true that his hearing was deteriorating. He then said - "Well, it happens to most of us..".

How true. My husband now watches TV and laughs at what he thinks they are saying. When I translate what really went on - he says that he prefers his version. My son refers to it as "Planet Dad".

The first thing we had noticed was that the cat was looking down all the time, and I thought he was having problems with his neck, but then I realised that he was watching our feet all the time as an indication as to which way we are headed. He now also makes his demands known more loudly, as I suppose he has to turn up the volume a bit in order to hear what he is saying himself. Or maybe he thinks that it's us that have the hearing problem - well, for some of us that could be half true…

We have learned to give a hand signal if we are going, for instance, towards the kitchen. Otherwise, it's a hair raising progress with the cat simultaneously watching our feet and trying to get ahead to be first at the trough. We've also learned to move if not fast, then nippy, when he makes one of his extra loud yells, to be let out of the front door, for example, lest we get a hearing impaired gnash round the ankle.

There is also the problem that in order for him to have any chance of hearing any endearments (everyone needs some of those) - they have to be projected at a high decibel level. In other words, shouted. And somehow, "Who's my Boo'fuls?" sort of doesn't sound quite so tender when it's bellowed. To say nothing of - "There's a clever boy!" (negotiating the cat flap, or managing to jump up onto his chair) resounding out into the neighbourhood . It could also give rise to the question that people nearby may wonder what is going on in our house (well- matured couple, children left home, shouted endearments, husband with slight hearing problem). Will they start to look at us oddly?

On the other hand - who cares? At our age, any sort of reputation could only be a bonus. I'm sure the cat would probably agree..

© Thelma Mitchell 2005