Category Archives: Animals/Wildlife

Trailer Tales

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In preparation for our move to live in rural Mallorca, The Boss purchased a trailer to hitch up to our car. I wasn’t convinced that such a piece of equipment – known here as a remolque – would really be necessary in our new country life, but it’s proved to be very useful for all manner of things.

Having towed it down through France and Spain before we moved here (loaded with some items for our future new home), we had to set about legalising it for use on Mallorca’s roads. It proved to be a task fraught with complications. Long story short, the process took longer than it did to transfer our car registration from British to Spanish – involving phone calls to the trailer manufacturers in the Netherlands, visits to various ITV (Inspección Técnica de Vehículos) centres, and much rending of garments and gnashing of teeth.

Hitch ‘er Up

But it’s all been worth it. We soon discovered that having logs delivered for our woodburning stove was an expensive exercise, and meant that we had no choice in the wood that we received. Having the trailer has enabled The Boss to go and buy our wood from a farmer who sells it from his land, and he can hand-pick decent logs that will fit inside our stove.  We’ve also used it to take sizeable unwanted items to the local Parc Verde (recycling and household refuse centre).

We recently went to buy a large quantity of small stones to put down on our drive, and were shocked to find that the cost of delivering them to our property was higher than the cost of the stones themselves. So The Boss duly hitched up the trailer and returned to the builders’ merchants to collect the stones himself.

A Trailer of Two (or More) Kitties

Shorty, Beamer and, almost hidden, Sweetie - enjoying the trailer life

Shorty, Beamer and, almost hidden, Sweetie – enjoying the trailer life

But we’re not the only ones who see the value in having this trailer. With its soft black cover in place, it has proved very popular as a lounging spot for some of our family of adopted cats. I guess that makes it worth every penny . . .

Jan Edwards Copyright 2013

Animal Hospital Again . . .

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Beamer, Bear, and Dusty dine at the finca.

Beamer, Bear, and Dusty dine at the finca

Our feral cat sterilization fund took a hit today, and here at our finca in Mallorca, we are back in animal hospital mode. After months of trying to arrange for Nibbles – one of our family of adopted feral cats – to be neutered, we finally succeeded. The patient – like his mother and siblings before him – is comfortable and enjoying a peaceful rare night indoors, recuperating in our annexe third bedroom.

All the stars were in alignment: we had no other commitments for the day, our veterinary practice was able to undertake the operation at short notice, and – most importantly – Nibbles deigned to arrive at a time that fitted within the practice surgery hours.

Littering the Finca

Our adopted feral cat family (did we adopt them, or did they adopt us?) began with a dainty little black kitten we named Jetta. Shortly after becoming a regular visit to our finca (twice a day for food), I noticed that she was putting on weight. It wasn’t long before we realised that, at only around seven months old, poor little Jetta was pregnant. In March 2011, she had a litter of four kittens; three – we named them Beamer, Dusty, and Bear – are still with us, and all are now much larger than their mum.

We decided that, once Jetta had recovered from her pregnancy and had reached a stage when she was no longer nursing the kittens, we would have her sterilized. But we couldn’t act fast enough: she quickly became pregnant again and at the end of July 2011, she produced another five kittens.

Just three of the second litter remain: Nibbles, Chico, and, the only female, Sweetie. She and Chico are twice-a-day visitors, but Nibbles is what our Mallorcan neighbours call a “va y viene” cat – he goes, and then he comes back again. Recently, he’s been showing signs of testosterone overload: getting antsy with his siblings, fighting, and mistaking poor little Shorty – the little ginger kitten that has ingratiated himself into this feline family – for a willing female. I think you get my drift  . . .

Snip, Snip

Someone once gave me an alarming statistic relating to the number of cats that an unneutered female can produce in her lifetime. I can’t remember the figure, but I do remember being horrified.

As much as I love cats, there are already too many ferals around – and their lives can be precarious in the countryside. They’re at risk from hunters, traffic, being poisoned,starvation (but not at our house) and being injured in encounters with other animals over territorial rights. So we took the decision to neuter those feral cats that drift into our lives. Today, it was Nibbles’s turn. Shorty will be relieved . . . until it’s his turn to go under the knife.

Jan Edwards Copyright 2013

Shorty Takes an Awayday

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In the early hours of Monday I was woken by the sound of fierce winds whipping around our finca; I could hear the metal chairs rocking on the slightly uneven tiled terrace outside. My first thoughts were for the eight outdoor cats that have adopted us, hoping that they were sheltering somewhere safe and unruffled by the howling winds. Last winter The Boss built them somewhere to shelter – grandly christened by us as The Apartments – but who knows what feral cats get up to during the night?

A few hours later, the wind had eased off and the sun was shining – the start of a week of very good weather for Mallorca in January. Yesterday, the mercury even nudged the 20 degrees Celsius mark. Today, it’s the start of February, which can be the chilliest month here. The first day of the month was pleasantly warm and sunny, but the forecast is for “plunging temperatures” over the next few days.

I digress. I was relieved on Monday morning to see most of the cats waiting outside the front door, as usual, for their breakfast.  Jetta, the mother of six of the others, was nowhere to be seen – which isn’t unusual for her. Neither was Shorty, the ginger kitten who came into our lives in August when he took a couple of bites out of The Boss’s finger. This feisty little feline has become a much-loved young cat, game for a cuddle if there’s one going – and always hungry. Since he decided this was to be his home – and the rest of the cats were to be his surrogate family – he’s never missed a meal and calls the loudest of all of the cats for his bowl of food. But on Monday morning, there was no sign of him. The Boss discreetly looked in the lane that passes our finca – two kittens have previously fallen prey to passing traffic – but reported no sighting.

Going, going, soon be gone.

Going, going, soon be gone

It was only when I saw the old ruin at the end of the field that my heart sank. Having lost the roof a few weeks ago (http://livinginruralmallorca.com/2013/01/12/things-that-go-bump-in-the-night/), the old casita was now minus most of its back wall and part of the side wall – presumably blown down in the early morning winds. My fear was that Shorty might have taken shelter in the old building and been trapped by falling rubble. The property is now too dangerous to consider going inside, but we stood outside and called Shorty’s name to reassure ourselves that he wasn’t still in there alive but trapped.

Monday was a worrying day and I found it hard to concentrate on writing an article with a looming deadline. I went outside frequently, hoping to see that little bundle of ginger naughtiness waiting for something to eat, but no. He didn’t appear for dinner either. I went to bed feeling sad, and a little annoyed with myself for becoming so attached – yet again – to another feral cat.

On Tuesday morning, all was right again with my world. First thing, Shorty was at the front door, miaowing louder than ever for his breakfast. I’d love to know where he was all day Monday . . .

Jan Edwards Copyright 2013

Bless ’em All

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"So, what do you think of it so far, Rover?

“So, what do you think of it so far, Rover?

We’ve just come to the end of one of the most important weeks in the calendar of Manacor, our nearest town, in the east of Mallorca. Sant Antoni is the town’s patron saint, so it’s not surprising that the locals take the celebrations around this date rather seriously. Locally, it’s known as the Gran Semana – the big week.

Shops, businesses, and schools were closed on both Wednesday and Thursday, although supermarkets opened just for the morning on Wednesday, and our bank closed early every day of this past week. Almost everyone seemed to have bought themselves a sweatshirt or fleece emblazoned with this year’s Sant Antoni fiestas emblem and, costing around 16 euros a garment, they seemed a reasonably priced way to enter into the spirit of the event and keep warm.

Party On

And keeping warm has been necessary. The weather’s turned chilly and damp on Mallorca but, as we’ve seen on many occasions, the Mallorcans are rarely deterred by unpleasant weather conditions when there’s a party beckoning. We, however, wimped out and watched most of the celebrations on the local TV channel IB3, sitting in front of the log burner.

I was sorry to miss this year’s slow-moving parade of animals and imaginatively decorated floats around Manacor’s streets, on Thursday morning. On the morning of the saint’s day, animals of every sort – farm and domestic – are taken to be blessed by the local priest.

Attending previous animal blessings, I’ve considered taking Minstral, our Birman cat, but I suspect he’d be thoroughly miffed to have been removed from his favourite chair to mingle with animals the like of which he’s never seen. And, of course, we couldn’t take Minstral and leave behind the other eight cats that now call our finca home. I wonder if the local priest does house calls for animal blessings . . .

Jan Edwards Copyright2013 

Each to His Own . . .

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This will do nicely

Although Mallorca has recently been enjoying some mild autumn weather – complete with glorious blue skies and warm sunshine – the rest of this week is expected to be wet and, at times, very cold. I even heard the ‘minus’ word mentioned in connection with temperatures on IB3 TV’s weather forecast – and am hoping that because it’s broadcast in mallorquin, I might have misunderstood what the forecaster was saying!

Winter on the Way

Like seasoned country folk, we prepared ourselves for winter a while ago. We have been to our local woodyard to stock up with logs for the woodburner, had diesel delivered for the generator and, of course, now have roof insulation – which should make this winter a lot less difficult than in previous years.

Our outdoor cat family is also preparing for the worst, by seeking out – and claiming as their own – the cosy little nooks that will give them shelter from inclement weather. Last winter The Boss created a set of ‘apartments’ for the feline family, from some redundant old pine cabinets. With the addition of a few old cushions, these little shelters should keep the cats cosy again this winter.

Room for a Little One?

This year, there’s an extra cat to accommodate: Shorty, the cute ginger kitten that came into our lives in August, and memorably bit (twice) The Boss’s finger, has made himself completely at home here. He’s still not too sure about the cat apartments, but has claimed the outside recessed area of our small dining room window, between the shutter and the rejas (the traditional iron bars used for security in Spanish windows). An old cork bathmat, cut to shape by The Boss, means he won’t feel the chill of the concrete beneath him.

Once the really cold weather comes though, Shorty won’t be able to resist his favourite place: cosying up to the large black and white male cat Beamer – the mellow-natured alpha male of our outdoor feline family. That’s when yours truly isn’t giving him a cuddle.

Jan Edwards Copyright2012 

All Done . . . Bar the Cleaning

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Shorty enjoys some post-project peace

Tranquillity has returned to our valley in rural Mallorca: three weeks and four days after work began on repairs and improvements to our roof, the job has been finished, and The Boss and I have begun the big clean-up operation (both in and outdoors).

So far, the insulation seems to be doing a good job, as we’ve barely seen any change in the temperature indoors – even after last weekend’s two unusually chilly nights for this time of year, when the temperature outside fell to 5 Celsius. Thankfully the cold snap has passed for now; February – which can be bitterly cold here – will be the true test of our investment.

That Zinc-ing Feeling

The rear of our house is also sporting smart new zinc guttering, to replace the old grey plastic stuff that was there before. This hadn’t been part of the original plan, but when Juan, the construction company’s second-in-command, suggested that zinc would look more traditional than the plastic, we thought of the old English proverb: Don’t spoil the ship for a ha’p’orth of tar. Well, it’s cost us a lot of ha’p’orths of zinc, but it looks a lot better than the plastic did.

Purrfect Peace

We’re not the only ones happy to see the project finished: our outdoor cats didn’t appreciate the noisy presence of the builders and would disappear for the day after their breakfast – returning only after the men had left promptly at 5pm. The status quo has now been restored and everywhere you look – under a lavender bush, in the window recesses of the cottage, on the terrace walls, and even in flowerpots – there are cats. And they include Shorty, the ginger kitten that bit The Boss back in August; he’s become a spunky little addition to our feline family.

Jan Edwards Copyright 2012 

Winging It

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A view to fly for

It seems an age since light has flooded into our little house in rural Mallorca. Only the front door is open while we have the builders working on the roof; all the other external shutters are firmly closed to protect the windows and other glazed doors from debris – and the occasional dropped tile – falling from above (usually followed by loud shouting in Arabic). Having been going on for just over two weeks, our mole-like existence is set to continue for a few more days yet . . .

From Flying Tiles . . .

I’m not complaining, because the workers seem to be doing a brilliant job, working like the artisans that they clearly are, but I miss being able to see the country views through the windows. Although the weather has been lovely, we feel pretty much confined indoors because the area around the house has become a rather hazardous zone; we have a pretty impressive hat collection, but they’re mostly of the straw variety and unlikely to deflect the pain from a flying terracotta tile.

. . . to Flying Predators

So, to remind myself of what I’m missing, I’ve found a photo (taken with a zoom lens) I took from the sitting room one day, of a kestrel checking out the Mediterranean cypress tree just outside the house. Given the current level of noise around here, I doubt there are any kestrels to be seen at the moment . . . but they’ll be back. Impressive, eh?

Jan Edwards Copyright 2012

Pussycat Palio

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Filed under Animals/Wildlife, Building works, Maintenance

After a weekend without builders, the men are back at our finca in Mallorca. And they’ve increased in number. The foreman told us this morning that rain is forecast for later this week and they’re keen to ensure that we have at least the new lining on the whole roof, so that we don’t have any serious leaks indoors. So an extra pair of hands has been drafted in to speed up the process. And the decibel level of the conversation level has ratcheted up too. They’re speaking Arabic, so I’ve no idea what they’re talking about, but it sounds jolly lively.

A Pillow of Stones

As I write, the men have just finished their lunchtime siesta; after they’ve eaten their packed lunches, they stretch out on the ground and have a snooze. It really can’t be comfortable, with so many stones in our field, but they return to the job – and their ongoing conversation – with renewed vigour.

During their break, while things are quiet again, we catch up on any phone calls and snatch a bite of lunch outside, on the one part of the terraces that hasn’t been taken over by stacks of roof tiles. For a change, we’re eating alone: our family of outdoor cats heads for the hills as soon as the builders arrive. None of them is keen on strangers. We’ll not see them now until this evening, when all is quiet again.

In fine race form and waiting for nightfall.

And They’re Off!

But we’re certainly hearing them. In the middle of the night. One or two of our outdoor cats have previously ventured up onto the roof, but now that the tiles are off and there’s a smooth flat surface up there, it’s become the venue for what sounds to us (beneath it) like the feline equivalent of the Palio di Siena horse race.

The cats are clearly having fun, even if I’m not really enjoying the disruption, dirt and the din. Still, I have tomorrow to look forward to: I’ll be out for a couple of hours, as I have a dental appointment. I never thought there’d come a day when I’d rather have a back tooth extracted than stay at home . . .

Jan Edwards Copyright 2012

Got Shorty

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Spot the kitten . . .

If you live in the Mallorcan countryside, you can probably expect to be ‘adopted’ by a feral cat or two. We’ve had up to nine outdoor cats living around our finca: a mother and her two lots of offspring. One of the second litter – now more than a year old – recently decided it was a bit crowded around here and left in search of his own piece of Mallorcan paradise. And then there were eight . . . but not for long.

The tiny ginger kitten we spotted under a shrub on our land was even smaller than Harry, the last ginger kitten that had briefly come into our lives. There was no sign of its mother or any siblings and it was clearly starving, as well as terrified. So we put out a dish of kitten food and did our best to make sure that the rest of the cat clan left it alone. After a few days, we noticed that Shorty – we weren’t going to name it, but had to call it something – was dragging a back leg. And despite appreciating the food, it didn’t want anything to do with us.

“We’ll have to get it to the vet somehow,” I said. We located and prepared the cat basket, and The Boss set about catching Shorty. After a few failed attempts – I tried not to laugh, honestly – he succeeded. But Shorty had other plans, biting The Boss’s finger – twice – and making an escape.

No trip to the vet’s that day for Shorty. Instead, I drove The Boss into town to have a tetanus shot.

Jan Edwards Copyright 2012

From Swine to Wine

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Filed under Animals/Wildlife, Countryside, Food and drink

Until we moved to Mallorca, I’d had few encounters with pigs (the four-legged variety, that is). Most memorable was when I was in a previous relationship: my then partner’s parents kept a sow.  When his father became ill, we visited frequently and, on one occasion, our visit coincided with the imminent birth of  piglets. We gamely agreed to sit in the pig shed with the enormous sow, to ensure that she didn’t squash any of her newborns (a not-very-motherly trait they apparently have). Watching those little piglets come into the world was a moving – and rather messy – experience. I certainly heard vegetarianism’s siren call that morning: I simply couldn’t face the enormous pile of bacon sandwiches that my partner’s mother served us when we returned to the house . . .

It’s a Swill Life . . . 

My next encounter was here in our tranquil valley in rural Mallorca. When we first moved here, a charming Mallorcan lady called Margarita ran a pig farm further down the lane. It wasn’t too far from our finca, but rarely did we suffer piggy aromas. Margarita’s husband had died from cancer but she continued to run the farm for quite some time, with the part-time help of a local man.

One of our regular walks is what we call ‘the triangle’, which takes about 25 minutes. Much of the walk is on tarmac but there’s also a rough old track that runs past the pig farm and this is probably the most interesting part. One day we were passing and Margarita called out from her doorstep and invited us for a tour of the farm.  We followed her into the huge barns behind the small house and were astonished to find that she had more than 200 pigs and piglets in her care. Now we understand why a lorry came twice a week to take pigs off to market; suckling pig – or lechona – is an extremely popular dish here in Mallorca.

When we left the farm (gulping in huge amounts of fresh air), I wondered how Margarita had managed to continue running the farm, with so little help. She couldn’t really even take a day off, let alone go and visit her sons (both of whom live abroad).

These Little Piggies Went to Market . . .

Pigs ‘n’ figs

Then one day, the pig lorry called for the last time. Margarita had had enough. Unable to sell the farm, she’d sold her stock and most of the pig-keeping paraphernalia, and went off to embrace the urban life.  A month or two later, we were at a wine-tasting fair in town and a well-dressed woman with immaculate hair – and beautifully manicured hands – came and greeted us warmly. It took us a few minutes to recognise this smiling, relaxed woman as Margarita, who was enjoying a night out with ‘the girls’.  We had another glass of wine to drink to her new pig-free life.Margarita managed to rent out her farm to a couple who have a home in town, but also enjoy part-time country living. They grow a lot of produce on the land and each winter they buy a couple of pigs, which seem to lead a contented – but fatally doomed – life in a field of fig trees, where they feast on fallen fruit in the summer. Until it’s time for the annual matanza . . .

Jan Edwards Copyright 2012