Pedro's Working Vacation

Pedro recently took his turn in the south room, having earned a bit of respite from kittenish antics.  It proved to be a working vacation, but I would like to stress that this was entirely Pedro's own idea; no one pushed him to work while he was off.

This was Pedro's first tour of south room duty, which meant that it was his first encounter with Sleepyhead.  All of Pedro's medical instincts went into red alert when he realised just how much sleeping Sleepyhead does on a typical day.  'No healthy panda ought to sleep this much,' he informed me, and immediately set about trying to get to the bottom of this.

Sleepyhead, however, is not a particularly cooperative patient.  He'd apparently decided that he wanted to sleep on the floor between my mattress and the nearest bookcase, and he had himself wedged in there pretty good, with the result that there was no room for Pedro to really get in there with him.  Pedro's principal technique in diagnosis involves judicious sniffing; he requires close proximity to his patients.  Naturally there was no chance that Sleepyhead would come out on his own, either, and Pedro is too small to move him around if he's not helping.  Magick was on south room duty too, but he refused to get involved, although he watched the proceedings with something suspiciously akin to amusement.

So, after grilling Seal for about twenty minutes for a full description of Sleepyhead's habits (which Seal tolerated very good-naturedly), Pedro sort of hung himself upside down over the edge of the mattress and went to work.  This must be a terribly awkward position in which to conduct medical examinations, so he deserves commendation for his devotion to his medical calling.

This is an unusually good picture of Magick.  Usually attempts to photograph him just result in a sort of Shapeless Black Void, because his fur is so very black, but this picture does a pretty good job of showing his silhouette.  A Black Void in Silhouette is much more demonstrative than a Shapeless Black Void, don't you think?

Anyway, I'm sorry to report that Pedro's efforts were largely for nothing, as he was unable to find any signs that Sleepyhead's persistent somnolence is the result of a medical condition; in fact, Pedro pronounced himself completely baffled.  His recommendation is that Sleepyhead consult a psychiatrist.  Sleepyhead, who seems perfectly satisfied with his life, is rather unlikely to do so of his own accord; but Alfredo has been lobbying for an on-site mental health professional, so if his campaign is successful, Pedro might get his way.

An Epidemic of Falling Ungulates

For some reason there's been a recent trend of ungulates falling down the stairs.

It started when AJD and I watched Dirty Dancing with Parsley.  Parsley was really taken by the scene where Baby and Johnny are practising dancing on a log, and he wanted to try it too.  Having four legs made this a tricky proposition, so he settled for hanging out on the upstairs railing on his stomach, with his feet on either side, and wiggling around.  He seemed pretty happy there like that, so we let him stay there for a few days.  But Parsley's foray into dancing was cut short when he fell off the railing and tumbled all the way down the stairs.

I have fallen down these stairs myself, twice in fact, and I can attest that it is not a particularly pleasant experience.  Parsley insists that he's fine, and he did return to his usual self quite quickly, despite being banged up.  Pedro agreed that he is essentially fine, but ordered him to rest for a while just in case.  Gilly stayed with him.  His tail is a great boon to an invalid.

Then this morning Nicodemus, who had fainted on the bar (as displayed in my previous post), also took a tumble.  Nicky was luckier, in that he only fell to the ground on the second floor; he didn't really fall down the stairs.  He was very stoic about the whole thing.  Pedro says that Nicodemus is also fine, but he prescribed the same treatment (complete with Gilly and his marvelous tail) just in case.

Parsley has been energetically advocating falling completely down the stairs ever since.  He claims that the inexperience is just not complete if you don't tumble down the stairs and that it's great fun and worth trying.  AJD and I think Pedro should re-evaluate Parsley for a possible head injury.

How Pedro Got Leaf Coneybear's Autograph

One of the theatre groups at Penn put on The Twenty-fifth Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee this weekend, so AJD and I went to see it.  He had actually seen it once before, when it was on (or possibly off) Broadway; I hadn't.  So of course we had to take Pedro.*

Fact: if you go for a walk with a capybara buttoned inside your coat, people will give you very strange looks. I had to put him in my coat, though.  He's Amazonian, so he really suffers in cold weather like this.

Pedro's experience at the theatre was quite a success.  He enjoyed the play tremendously - it was, in fact, one of the better shows I've seen at Penn, and extremely well-cast - from beginning to end, although naturally his favourite part was the reference to capybaras.  And he was something of a hit himself.  AJD knows a few of the people in the show, thanks to his history with Penn theatre, so after the show we went and talked to them a bit, and they all appreciated Pedro's presence.  A lot of them were quite impressed to find that plush capybaras actually exist.  (I will own that Pedro is one of the jewels in my collection.)

The biggest success of the evening, of course, was getting the autograph of the actor playing Leaf Coneybear (for those who haven't seen the show, he's the character who gets "capybara").  See it up there?  It's really too bad we didn't bring a camera and get a picture of Pedro with Leaf Coneybear, but unfortunately this did not occur to us until it was too late.

The other animals are varying combinations of impressed and jealous of Pedro's evening on the town, though most concede that a hard-working physician such as himself is probably due a reward.  Barry is particularly jealous.

I leave you with another picture of Pedro; in this one his species is more obvious.

* Pedro is in fact entitled to be called both Sir and Dr, and consequently prefers not to be called by either.

Wild Parliamentary Onomastics

It took some doing, but we finally figured out the names of all seven members of the new Wild Parliamentary Monarchy delegation.  I am particularly proud of us given that three of said members are felines and two of them also have titles.  

Some of these names are old news, of course, i.e.,

• The capybara is named Pedro, which is a reference to The Twenty-fifth Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee.
• The lynx is named Sir Theophilus Pearl, Bart., commonly called Sir Theo; the surname is a reference to the almost pearlescent quality of his fur.
• The ermine is, yes, named Angel Joe.  It came to me in a dream.  I don't know why.

 Others of them are not old news.

• The goat is named Nicodemus, probably because his nouveau riche parents were trying too hard.  My cousins had a black cat named Nicodemus, so it seemed like a good name for a white goat.  [This is not a complete reconstruction of my thought process, but it's kind of very close.]
• The owl is named Hrothgar Q. Hornbeam, Viscount Twilby.  Since he's a viscount, he'll typically be called Twilby, although Sir Theo addresses him as Hrothgar because they're old friends.  He has graciously given his permission to me to address him thus myself, which makes me very happy because I am uncommonly fond of the name Hrothgar, but I'll probably end up using both names.
• The serval is named Lady Faraday Pebble-Stone; the "lady" is due to her status as an earl's daughter.  Her surname is a reference to the markings on her coat, which look rather a lot like pebbles; we agreed that plain Pebble felt a bit too Flintstonian, and surely one of these guys would have a double-barrelled name.
• The panther is named Ruthven Jet Shadewater, Earl of Ebonwood, although his intimates (including Sir Tristan and Lady Faraday) call him Magick.  Coming up with a surname for him that was a) a reference to nature and b) a reference to black things and c) not a totally obvious reference to black things and d) vaguely plausible as English pseudo-aristocratic was remarkably hard.  I'm rather proud of both his title (by which most of the Wild Republic will be required to address him) and his nickname, which is a very indirect reference to blackness.

Everyone has a name now, which is a relief.  Tomorrow we're going to introduce the new delegation to the Wild Republic, who so far have met only Sir Theo, who has been in AJD's room to confer with Alfredo.  This promises to be memorable and we fully intend there to be photographic evidence.

Also at some point I really ought to tell everyone the story behind the Sir Tristan-Lady Faraday-Magick relationship, now that I've learned it.

Monarchic Miscellany

Pedro's form of diagnosis is to smell you.  He sort of scurries around you - very like a guinea pig - sniffing maniacally. It's not really a particularly inspiring mode of practice, but apparently it works.

AJD says that the panther has clearly survived a number of duels and has probably been in the army and is probably here now as Sir Theo's bodyguard.  It's a slightly unconventional career path, given that he's the heir apparent to a marquessate, but we figure he was probably packed into the army to keep him from getting into more duels.  Clearly he has a fractious relationship with his father and has been rebelling from the cradle.  He and Sir Tristan really are a curious pair of best friends.

The serval is a good example of the way women are treated in the Wild Parliamentary Monarchy: she hasn't had any trouble on her chosen career path because of her gender.  She's here now because she chose a mission that would put her nearer Sir Tristan; she's not here exclusively because of him, and she has enough clout that the choice was hers to make.

With the exception of the egalitarian role of women, the Wild Parlimentary Monarchy comports itself much less like the modern British monarchy of today and more like Britain of, say, two hundred years ago.  I don't think this is because I read too many historical romance novels.

Getting to Know the New Ambassadors

Some of the members of the new delegation are more secretive than others, but here's what I've managed to learn about them so far.

Pedro, the capybara, is in fact Sir Pedro.  He was knighted for his merits as a doctor.  At first glance, he seems an unlikely candidate for such distinctions: he looks like a very large guinea pig.  He's got this sort of steely-eyed glare, though, which indicates that he's a force to be reckoned with.  All of the others clearly respect him - including the panther - and he's the sort of person who doesn't say much, but always says something worth listening to when he decides to say something.  He also has a rather caustic sense of humour and remarkably cute little ears.  (I'm not going to let him see that last part.)

The only other member of the delegation I've successfully put a name to thus far is the lynx, who is, somewhat improbably, the largest cat I have.  (Go figure.)  His name is Sir Theophilus Pearl, Sir Theo to his friends; like Sir Tristan, he's a baronet.  "Pearl" is an appropriate name for him because his fur has this sort of pearlescent quality. He's been in diplomacy since he was a young kitten, and is the official head of the delegation, with appropriate gravitas, although he's more genial and avuncular than Sir Tristan.  I'm quite fond of him, actually.  He seems to be both level-headed and compassionate, and I can already tell that he and Alfredo will get along swimmingly.

I haven't learned the owl's name yet, but I suspect it's even more eccentric than Sir Theo's.  What I have learned is that he's a scholar, in the grand old tradition of half-dotty abstracted gentlemen.   Sometimes the others refer to him affectionately as "the Professor", but in fact he's not officially affiliated with any university; he's a viscount. He's quite intelligent and (of course) very wise, but a bit absent-minded.  His academic tastes are quite eclectic: officially he's here because of his work on behavioural dynamics, but he spends at least as much time musing about philosophy and he also collects rocks.  Tibby is going to love him.

The goat is not a viscount; he doesn't have a title and is the son of self-made goats.  I feel a bit bad for him.  He was sent to all the best public schools, and his behaviour is generally impeccable, and he's done quite well for himself; but... he's a goat.  Goats aren't really known for their elegance, gentility, or decorum - quite the opposite.  Every now and then he starts randomly eating something, or his speech  sounds a little suspiciously Cockney, and then he gets all embarrassed.  He must be quite brilliant - the others clearly respect him and tactfully look the other way when he starts trying to eat the carpet - but he's a little insecure.

Then there's the panther, whom I find terribly intriguing.  Black felines in general, and black panthers specifically, really take my breath away, and this particular specimen is quite splendidly beautiful.  He's also  (as I said before) very clearly dangerous.  It amuses and astounds me that he and Sir Tristan are best friends from school, because they're so very different and Sir Tristan's impeccable decorum makes him seem much older.  I'm not entirely clear on exactly what his role here is: he seems a highly unlikely candidate for a diplomatic delegation, because he's definitely a loose cannon.  (Also probably a ladies' man, so it's a good thing that he and Sir Tristan are so close.)   Possibly it has something to do with his familial connections;  he holds the courtesy title of earl, as the eldest son of a marquess.  I've yet to learn his name or the specifics of his title, although apparently his friends often call him Magick.

I haven't had much of a chance to get to know the serval yet; she and Sir Tristan are still enjoying their reunion and I'm reluctant to interrupt that.  My impression of her is favourable, both in general and as an appropriate partner for Sir Tristan.  She's very much a lady (officially, even, as the daughter of an earl), and everything she does is eminently dignified.  But she's not here merely because of her association with Sir Tristan.  Apparently she's extraordinarily brilliant and knows absolutely everything one could possibly know about policy.

This leaves the ermine.  I'm still kind of baffled about the ermine; he's so damaged, and I'm not entirely sure of their intentions in sending him off on a mission like this.  Possibly it's a clever disguise, but it doesn't really feel like one.

The Delegation from the Wild Parliamentary Monarchy Has Arrived

The long-awaited delegation from the Wild Parliamentary Monarchy is finally here!

They're kind of large, so they required two boxes, and of course Murphy's Law mandated that we were at house parties, so I had to go down to the post office to get them.  I'm rather proud that I managed to walk back with them unassisted, and even stop at the store to get milk.  The boxes weren't heavy, but they were decidedly cumbersome.

Seven delegates arrived in all.  They've yet to explain their respective positions, or (of course) reveal their names, but that will come.  Here's the list:

• An ermine.  The ermine is slightly confusing because he's labelled as belonging to the Wild Republic.  I assume this means he's a dual citizen; presumably one of his parents was from the WR and the other from the WPM, where he was raised.
• A serval.  She, of course, is Sir Tristan's much-missed girlfriend, and she's faced with the rather daunting prospect of being the only female in a sea of males.
• A lynx.  He is kind of huge; I think he's the largest animal we have so far.
• A capybara.  He's the only one we know something about: he's a doctor (being from the Amazon), and his name is Pedro.
• A snow owl.  Also rather large, but not as big as the lynx.  The penguins will be thrilled, or something.
• A white goat.  I'm glad he's medium-sized, because he's going to be living with lots of carnivores.  He's just about the only herbivore who is neither naturally armed nor known for speed.
• A black panther.  Sir Tristan's best friend from school.  He looks rather dangerous, and will need to be watched.  Murchison will be delighted to have something obvious to do.

More details to follow.  (For one thing, some of them, like Sir Tristan, probably have a title of some kind, but they haven't yet revealed them to me.)  At the moment, they're kind of jet-lagged, and also a bit confused from languishing at the post office for a few days, so I'm not introducing them to the animals in the main room until tomorrow.  (Yes, this has everything to do with Plouie.  No one should have to deal with Plouie while jet-lagged.)  They can stay in my room, where it's quieter; I'll just move Sir Tristan in here so that he can finally be reunited with his beloved.