Menagerie madness

And the graffiti-artist electrician

There have been times since embarking on this slightly crazy off-grid existence when I’ve had the overwhelming feeling that things have been spiralling out of control.

Batteries have failed, machines have broken and the delicate balancing act of converting sunshine into heat and power has occasionally tipped us into darkness.

I’ve chased my tail, frantically doggy-paddled to keep my head above water and then finally felt I was getting ahead of the pack.

Bruce Batcat in training for saving the world

Things have become significantly easier with experience (and a massive new solar power station), but this week marked the return of that old feeling of control slipping steadily away.

While a graffiti artist electrician exposed our lack of preparation, it was the shifting of household dynamics which was mostly to blame: the animals appear to be taking over.

The harmonious balance of Simon & Garfunkel has been hijacked by a highly hormonal cat and some kittens in a basket.

Simon’s always been in charge, but Val Kilmer has been launching herself at him – claws out –  when he dares to even look at her the wrong way, and Garfie is just disturbed by everything.

He fears change, and a bundle of squealing furry wrigglers along with the boss being battered by the new arrival classifies as great change.

There are many mouths to feed, each one considers itself the priority and all of them have started making more noise to assert themselves.

Pastéis de Belém: some mouths were fed with these puppies, but not kittens

Whether it’s incessant scream-mewling, passive-aggressive food demands disguised as giant dog yawns or aggressive-aggressive assertions belted out as full-on barking, the decibel level is definitely increasing every day.

Mid-meow, Val prostrates herself at my feet every time I enter the indoor/outdoor room – or hurling herself at our bedroom window demanding...something...food, love, entertainment?

“Just tell me what you want!” I shout at her...but so far she’s been unable to explain precisely what it is, or why she’s constantly trying to sneak kittens into the house when we’re not looking and stashing them behind the washing machine.

She’s been tossing the smallest one around like a rag doll...I’m not entirely sure whether she’s ruthlessly trying to weed it out of the nest, or if it’s a cry for help.

But in the pursuit of answers I inspected its crustily unopened eyes to discover a nasty infection which two of the others also picked up.

But it was one of the other kittens which sadly didn’t make it.

Ana is friends with global Sprosses on Facebook. This is the first time we met Silvia Spross from LA, as she visited us with her husband Robert Miano. Fans of Donnie Brasco will recognise Sonny Red. So nice to meet you, thanks for stopping by guys!

We were meeting our new bank manager in Lisbon and were in full flow enthusing about our building/tourism/wine project when our phones began buzzing in our pockets.

It was Debi – our vegan, German, new-mum neighbour who was keeping an eye on Val and the progeny while we were away, and who was in floods of tears over the death of Moses when we finally got through to her after the meeting.

(If you have no idea what I’m talking about, and why Moses, please see last week’s post below).

Batcat, Elvis and the Voice of God

Ana’s honest response that cats have lots of kittens to prepare for such an eventuality was met with upset that only intensified when Ana suggested how best to dispose of the body.

“Just throw it into the woods and the pigs will eat it,” led to a surge in sobbing as Ana tried to mitigate this extremely practical but seemingly callous suggestion with a word on the cycle of life and nutrition.

The ill-fated kitten had seemingly been born with an internal issue, and on our return all efforts were directed towards keeping the small one alive.

Bruce Wayne Batcat is definitely the strongest and Iceman/Icewoman (still TBC) weighed in at 285g – a little more than Jim Morrison but double the size of the yet to be named small but adventurous one (perhaps “Mark Twain” might suit?).

Bottling it: “I prefer milk because I am a Prohibitionist, but I do not go to it for inspiration.” (Mark Twain)

A reassuring trip to the vet later, and both bottle feeding and eyedrop application were added to the daily chores of litter-tray cleaning and advanced animal expectation management.

Thankfully we’ve been sharing the load with Ana’s brother Erik who is visiting from Sweden and has been taking his kitten responsibilities as seriously as his hole digging and tree planting.

Erik under pressure: the dogs identify a new begging target and swiftly move in

Erik’s been experimenting with digital nomad-ness and extremely remote working, and so far it’s gone pretty well.

He’s a mathematical genius and software engineer who I’ve been trying to get to write in two sentences exactly what he does – beyond “computer stuff for Intel.”

It’s a massive over-simplification to say he creates software models that mimic new hardware before it’s built to test how it will perform once released, but it’s something like that.

Erik doing “computer stuff for Intel”

The return of our neighbour Daniel to the valley – albeit briefly and with a clutch of guests – has kept Simon from under our feet as he’s been casually and shamelessly dropping over for begging expeditions.

And although Garfie is still struggling with a torn knee ligament – the treatment of which may require another trip to the bank manager to arrange a suitable overdraft – he’s been insisting on night duties to justify his existence...even though it’s bad for him.

He’s just happy not to be in scary Lisbon anymore...and to have some time to himself to take his frustrations out by barking at the wild boars and the neighbourhood dogerati while the kittens and their needle-paws mum are sleeping.

The Basílica da Estrela near our place in Lisbon is not Garfie’s favourite place

Despite some welcome rain which helped encourage the newly planted trees to grow, the builders have been laying bricks like men possessed and the villa is really taking shape.

The walls are mostly up now and so we’re wandering around visualising what might go where and whether we should paint, plaster and paint, or otherwise decorate the concrete ceilings which picked up a fun wood-look from the form-wood boards. What do you think?

We paid another visit to the stonemason’s yard to choose something appropriate in marble for the window and door sills (pinkish-green), and were on hand for the graffiti electrician who appeared on site with a spray-can of paint.

The marble we’ve chosen for sills - and maybe for kitchen and/or bathroom counter tops - is different from the usual style, and like Garfie, builders here fear change

Our off-grid status means we apparently don’t legally need a formal electrical plan or project, but we’re leaning towards getting one anyway as it’s all quite complicated this electricity stuff...and the consequences of getting it wrong are not insignificant.

Electrocuted guests can’t leave bad reviews, but their relatives can.

The spray paint was to mark where on the walls of the main building the sockets and lights should go...and even though we’d done some planning we still don’t quite know how the restaurant kitchen will be organised.

Socket to ‘em: what could possibly go wrong?

As a result, we may have over-lamped and gone socket-crazy, but better that than reaching to plug in a corner lamp when everything’s finished, only to find there’s nowhere nearby and to leave it languishing in unpowered darkness.

“By the time you’ve finished building you’ll know how you should have done it,” our engineer José helpfully explained.

I’m suddenly feeling anxious...the kittens...the eye drops...feeding time at the zoo...and we haven’t even ordered the chickens, the sheep, or Vasco (the llama) yet.

Mais animais!

At least I can control these: the grape vines were pruned in good time (and not too aggressively) this year