Raining cats (and dogs)

Good grief, what's this? It's wet and falling out of the sky - haven't seen this before. Oh, yep, wait a minute, it's rain. I remember now. This last week has seen us experience our first rainfall in Alberta since we landed 7 months ago and with it, winter's final demise. Spring has indeed sprung and in the course of only a few days, the entire landscape has changed. No more the muddy brown fields and verges, the bare trees and the naked earth. Grass has changed to a vibrant green, the trees are in full bloom as are the plants and shrubs and the local wildlife is in full voice. It really is a remarkable transformation. Last weekend was spent in shorts and shirtsleeves, pottering around and reclining on the deck in temperatures of 28 degrees celcius. Yes, that's +28 to you. Who said Canada was cold all the time? Not me.

With this warm weather came a problem we knew we would have to face soon. OK, it is not as serious as dealing with earthquake, hurricane or the local Jehovah's witness, but a problem nevertheless. For those regular readers of this blog, you'll know that Max and Merlin, our resident moggies have been confined to quarters since our arrival in Canada. To be honest, they haven't really cared about venturing outside to date. After all, a nice cosy armchair or two feet of snow and freezing temperatures? Hmm, tough one. Now spring is here, however, it is a different ball of wax. The last couple of weeks has seen Merlin peering mournfully out of the window and both cats sitting hopefully by the deck door. So we must face up to the fact that soon we will have to bite the bullet and let them out. So what? I hear you ask. Well, considering that last time we moved house in the UK, Merlin disappeared for 3 days and found his way back to our previous residence and that Max has a tendency to get lost in our bedroom closet - we were a little concerned. We would hope that several thousand miles and a large body of water would deter either of them from trying to get back to the UK but the strangeness of their environment may well just confuse them completely. Facing the prospect of trying to explain their disappearance to your two distraught children does not fill you with unbridled joy. So we compromised. We bought leads, collars and a metal stake for the garden. We put the collars on the cats, attached the leads, tied the other end to the stake and let them roam in a space in the garden. Our theory was that they would get used to the garden and orientate themselves without the danger of them legging it. After tying themselves in knots with the leads, throttling themselves with the collars and driving themselves insane trying to get the collars off, we decided that that was a really bad idea.

Now cats in Canada have a different place in society than they do in the UK. Back there, you can't go outside without tripping over the local cat population and virtually all cats enjoy the outdoors. Here, it is the opposite. In the time we have been here I haven't seen one cat outside, plenty of dogs going walkies but no cats. After initially thinking that the coyotes were to blame or that any cat venturing outside was by now as stiff as a garden ornament, I learnt that the vast majority of cats are housebound all year round. Canadians prefer dogs it's true, but the many cat owners simply don't let them out - ever. Now our two have been lifelong outdoor types, so we had to let them out eventually. We will have to keep them in during winter of course, but now, they are free to roam, pee on the neighbours dog, scratch trees and torment the bird population. So far, they have embraced the outdoors eagerly and show no signs of getting lost. Even Max has managed to negotiate the garden without too much trouble, but then walking from the living room to his food bowl is a major expedition for him. Now, I must cut the grass before it gets too long and they lose themselves in it.

Whistler (part 2)

Charlotte's enthusiasm held for the entire holiday, which was a bit of a bonus as we did think that she would run out of steam in the later days. In fact, she was quite disappointed when she was informed that she had to stay home whilst the rest of us went snowmobiling. Maybe next time. Her skiing improved exponentially and was no doubt due to the encouragement she received from everyone and the most excellent ski instructor. Some photos of Charlotte in full ski monster mode are shown below;



For the rest of us, the skiing was, how shall we say, less structured. Some days we skied well, others we skied as if our legs had been inserted into sandbags. But all in all it was great fun. The week was broken up by our participation in two other activities; tubing and snowmobiling.

Now tubing, despite sounding like some dodgy method for ingesting narcotics, is a lot of fun. It is particularly so for all forty and fifty somethings who still have that teenage streak for mindless fun. It takes place at a special 'tube park' consisting of a series of parallel bobsleigh-like tracks, without the hair-raising corners. One receives a large inflatable rubber ring, one sits in it at the top of the slope and one hurls oneself down said track at speeds roughly equating to Mach 1. You then drag the tube back up the hill, partly aided by a moving carpet and you do it all again. It was particular fun when you linked the tubes together so that myself, wife and eldest child could hurtle down the track with added momentum. Eleanor, being too young, was kindly looked after by Anne and Shep, who found a small tube with which to drag her around in. Needless to say, she enjoyed every minute - as did we all.

Our other, more manly activity was the snowmobiling, which we took part in at night. The kids remained in the house with Shep whilst the rest of us donned cool looking bike suits, boots and helmets before mounting our motorised steeds, two to a bike. Claire did opt to have a go at driving, but her enthusiasm for this faded as we sped along the tree lined route and evaporated altogether when I nearly turned the thing over trying to cross a bridge. Take a faster run up next time - that's the answer.

Queasy riders - The St. Albert Chapter hits town

The ride was terrific, better for the driver I think, although the thumb operated throttle did cause a bit of a problem when I lost my feeling in said digit. Claire's attempts to talk to me were often foiled by the shape of the helmets as it resulted in us headbutting each other when I turned my head to catch what she was saying. To her credit, she managed to refrain from too much criticism of my driving, then again, it could be that I just didn't hear her.....The views were spectacular over Whistler village too.

All too soon, the holiday was over and we had to say our tearful goodbyes to our friends before packing everything up into the car and heading back across the Rockies. It will be some time I feel, before we see them again, but our memories of our brief time together and the holiday itself will keep us going for some time. Now, where are we going to go this summer?