I bought a Drinkwell a couple of years ago because Otto would jump on the
tub after I took a shower and lap up the water dripping out of the faucet.
Then he would lick the tiles.  He stopped doing that after I got the
fountain.  He & TIger both took to it right away.  Tiger doesn't care about
running water and pretty much drinks from the bowl.  Last year I wanted to
take the Drinkwell to work for the cats there (the idiots who work on the
weekend never filled up the water bowls) and I got a Fresh Flow (?) for
home.  Otto started drinking from it by dipping his paws in the water, and
licking the water from his paw.  He did this when I had regular bowls out,
before the Drinkwell.  I just recently got another Drinkwell from home and
the water stays perfectly clean, because Otto no longer sticks his paw in
it.  He really likes the running stream and the Fresh Flow doesn't have it.

I really recommend the Drinkwell fountain for cats that like faucets.

Liz

I agree. In fact, not just "some." I think pretty much all animals,
including humans, like running water. What sounds more attractive to
you? A briskly running mountain stream or a stagnant lake? The answer
is clear from an evolutionary standpoint. Running water like the
mountain stream is so well aerated that harmful bugs cannot survive in
it. Thus, we all instinctively go for the mountain stream over lake
water. And a bowl of water is lots more like a lake than a dripping
faucet. Come to think of it, I don't blame the little guy for
preferring the faucet. I just wish he'd turn it off afterwards. :)

I think I'm going to give that a try.

--
Bogus e-mail address, but I read this newsgroup regularly, so reply here.

Maybe I should get those.  One of our males, - Squall, I believe - will
drink out of a running kitchen faucet.

Don't worry.

The cat door goes to the garage and there is a second cat door from
the garage to the outside. The one to the outside is blocked, as I
don't let him go out unsupervised yet. He has been out three times so
far, for less than half an hour each. And each one ended when he
discovered another cat in a neighbor's yard or heard a strange sound
-- whereupon Mr. Fraidy Cat ran quickly back to the garage, through
the cat door and into the warm, comfy house. Courage doesn't seem to
be his strong suit. :)

Furthermore, the only dogs in the area are not much bigger than he is,
or on a leash or behind a fence. Practically everyone here has cats
instead of dogs. There are no traffic lights or walk/wait signs for
many blocks in any direction, as my house is in the middle of a very
quiet residential area. There aren't even any stop or yield signs at
the intersections.

I didn't let him out yesterday at all because I had a crew pouring a
new cement driveway. You know what would have happened if he had
gotten into that operation! So tonight I heard the cat flap as he went
out to the garage. Since the garage door was closed that was as far as
he could go. Ten minutes later he came back into the house, shook all
over, and ran over to cuddle by the fire. He's a long-hair cat, but
evidently even the garage was too cold to suit him. I have the feeling
that, even when I eventually let him come and go at will, he will
probably spend most of his time indoors, at least in the winter.

So I wouldn't worry about him. He's pretty safe, even when he goes
outside. He's also microchipped, and has the yellow microchip tag plus
the county license on his collar. In fact, people's kids are in more
danger walking to school than he is.

--
Bogus e-mail address, but I read this newsgroup regularly, so reply here.

One of my kitty guys has asked for the motion sensor faucet being advertised
on the TV.  It turns itself off, maybe this would help.

I did not actually "take" Old George to a vet. There is a vet only
about six-seven blocks from my house. There has been a group of vets
there for decades, but about three or four years ago they bought some
land a couple kilometers north of me and built themselves a fancy new
facility. Their old building remained vacant for some time, but about
six months ago a new vet suddenly appeared there. She is operating
alone and I have a feeling is still establishing her practice. She
either bought the building or is leasing it from the previous vets.

So, considering the difficulty of picking up Old George and
everything, and how close her office was, I stopped by and asked if
she made house calls. She agreed, and stopped by after closing the
next day. This meant we were unable to do any fancy tests, but she did
listen to his heart and gave him a pretty thorough going over. Her
conclusion was that he would be unlikely to make it through the
winter, given his age and condition. We chatted for nearly a half hour
about him, things I could do, and in general, what would be best for
him. I was pretty impressed with her -- a really caring person, plus
she seemed to know her stuff.

That was quite a while ago. I'd have to go get her receipt to remember
the exact date, but it's unimportant. A week or two after her visit
George did not come to my house for his supper, and when I got up in
the morning he was not here and his food had not been touched. In
spite of everything, the old guy still thought he lived at the house
down on the corner. He would go down there after I got up and give him
breakfast, spend the day sleeping on her porch (a sunny location), and
about 3 or 4 pm come back to my house for his dinner. Then he would
spend all evening and night at my place sleeping by the fireplace.
(The lady who lived in the house would not let him inside, and winter
was coming on.)

When I missed him that evening (Saturday) I walked down to her house
several times calling for him, but no reponse. He always came quickly,
as he knew my voice meant "food." When I got up Sunday morning and saw
that he had not been here I became more concerned. I spent the whole
day looking for him. At one point the lady came out and told me that
the last she had seen him was about 2 pm Saturday. He had left my
house that Saturday morning, that being the last time I saw him.

Over the following days I looked and looked for him, but to no avail.
The lady in the house called her neighbors (all of whom knew Old
George and had participated in feeding him over the years). No one had
seen him.

I must point out that Old George was an unneutered male. In all the
time I worked with him he never exhibited any interest in lady cats. I
assumed it was because he was so old that his apparatus was no longer
seriously functional. Still, there was the possibility that he had
gone out to do the tomcat thing. Also, the lady in the corner house
said that, while he had been hanging around her corner living on
handouts from her and the neighbors for years, at one time he did
disappear for over a year, and then suddenly reappeared.

After a couple of weeks we had to come to the conclusion that Old
George probably reached the end of his life. If so, I'm glad I was
able to give him some love and care for at least the last few months
of it, since he never had anyone in the rest of his life. Personally,
I'm pretty sure he went off somewhere and died.

In the process of trying to find him I went to the local Humane
Society to see if they had picked him up. (Unlikely, but it's not far
from my place.) A couple days later I went to the county animal
shelter to see if they had him. Both trips were fruitless, as I was
pretty sure they would be.

But when I was at the county animal shelter there was this orange
tabby who took one look at me and started meowing to be let out of his
cage. The only information about him was that he had been picked up as
a stray about a month earlier in a part of town that is heavy with
apartments. He was already neutered when they picked him up, and they
estimated his age at one to two years. The attendant let him out of
his cage and he immediately struggled free from her to get over to me,
and then snuggled into my arms. As far as he was concerned I was going
to be his new papa and that was it.

But I was torn. Old George hadn't been gone that long, and what if he
came back? And did I really want a cat again? (My sweet old boy who
had been born in my presence died in my arms 19 years and one month
later, leaving a bit of trauma -- and that was only a couple years
ago, after which I had decided to remain catless.) The attendant tried
a bit to do a sales job on me, but I resisted. I left the shelter and
walked out to my car in the parking lot, debating every inch of the
way. I paced back and forth in the parking lot for about five minutes.
Finally I decided I just needed to think it over. I got in and drove
home.

That was a Thursday. The county shelter is in a suburb outside the
city, a half hour drive from my house. I debated it all the way home.

The next morning a customer of mine (I have a home-based business)
called up and needed some product from me right away. And guess where
he's located? Yep, I'd have to drive right past the county shelter to
deliver it. I decided it was a sign. After completing the delivery I
stopped at the shelter. I walked into the cattery and up to his cage.
The minute he saw me he stood up, stretched, stuck his paw through the
bars of his cage and started meowing.

I had no choice but to take him home with me. As for Old George, well,
he's probably eating handouts and sleeping on a sunny porch in the sky
now. But if he comes back, well, I guess I'll have two cats.

So that's the sad story of Old George. Or maybe it's a happy story. He
opened up my heart for this new guy, and maybe that was his gift to me
for the care I gave him at the end. I'm not heartbroken over him
because I knew when I started that he didn't have long to live.

--
Bogus e-mail address, but I read this newsgroup regularly, so reply here.