Mouse Mortality; The Carnage Continues!

We have never had a mouse problem, or with rabbits, and snakes. We have, however, always had cats. For about the past month, they have knocked themselves out ridding our yard, not to mention the world, of mice. At least one a day, One Sunday we discovered four little bodies dotted around the yard, in the barn, by the front door, by the back door. They have always caught mice, but not like this. We think the mice must be on the move looking for food since the corn crop behind the house has been harvested and left them empty-handed. This little victim was left for me where I exercise in the barn.

 
I can’t help but be curious about which cat, or cats, have been so successful with their hunting skills.  We know it wasn’t Poopie Cat, who spends her days and nights lounging about in the house.


It might be Perla, but she seems perfectly content to hold down her position as queen of my side of the barn and surrounding area.I think her attitude toward hunting is been there, done that, and may not get that excited about playing jungle cat anymore.
 

Sophie has been known to leave trophies at the front door, but I’m not sure bagging the kill interests her that much any more, either.

Minnie is a probable candidate. She’s younger, inquisitive; big and strong. I suspect she has brought in a fair number of those carcasses.
 

But the real money is on Peaches. She trots out the door like a warrior on a mission and covers a lot of ground. She is the smallest of the cats and has been declawed, but something tells me she’s responsible for many of the little decapitated bodies littering the yard. And don’t hammer me for the declawing. She was determined to scratch on the furniture and refused to go outside; in desperation I finally gave in and had the surgery done, then she decided she wanted to go out. But she seems to do just fine without them.

And they all look pretty harmless, don’t they? Well, they are, unless it’s time to hunt. I understand that some people think cats shouldn’t be fed  so they will be hungry and will hunt for something to eat. Don’t believe it. These cats are fed well, and it hasn’t stopped them from doing what cats do. ‘Course, they really aren’t hunting; I think they may just enjoy the game.

Whatever. The body count may slow down, but for now, one or all the cats keep the undesirables away and keep us entertained.

Not a bad deal, I must say.

Kitty the Lap Cat

Kitty came to us by way of Bill's mother, Eloise, who, for a time, lived at the Harmon Elliott Senior Citizens Complex here in Muleshoe. This scrawny, dirty little cat showed up at her apartment, just matted hair and bones, very hungry and very scared. Eloise managed to catch her, named her Kitty Cat, and proceeded to spend a small fortune trying to find a cat food she would eat. I mean, this cat makes 9-Lives' Morris look like a glutton. We always shook our heads and rolled our eyes at the line of saucers Eloise had lined up with dried out canned cat food on them. Now we understand: Miss Finicky was turning up her nose at all that Eloise put out for her to eat. Now we go through the same routine, and with equally frustrating results. She will finally give in and eat something,  but she weighs all of four pounds, no matter how much she finally does eat when we find something she actually likes-and will beg and meow for. The thing is, she will eat a flavor once or twice, then decide she is tired of it and want something else. She eats dry food when no one is looking.

Kitty came to live with us when Eloise had to move to the nursing home. She hid in our closet for three weeks before she felt safe enough to venture out when we were around. I have read theories that suggest a cat's personality is revealed by its body type and shape. According the this theory, Kitty is a round cat, or a circle, because she has a round body (even if she isn't fat-the fluffy hair, you know), round flat face, and rounded ears. Circles are emotionally sensitive, affectionate, not comfortable around strangers, dislike chaos, and would just as soon plant themselves in a lap as anything else; be a throw pillow with legs, is the way the theory puts it.  And guess what? The descrption fits her perfectly.

When Kitty is not parked in front of her food saucer turning up her nose at our latest offering, she is following me around waiting for me to sit down so she can jump in my lap, just like the theories suggest. Early in the mornings she hops up on the bed, makes her way to my chest and proceeds to make bread on my neck. Since she had been declawed when she appeared, her kneading my neck feels kind of nice, like a mini-massage. She has a soft, almost inaudible purr when she is content, and always keeps the area warm wherever she decides to settle down.

I don't know why an expensive pedigreed cat like Kitty would have become a stray, and despite her penchant for refusing food, I will have to say it has been a pleasant experience having her around. Those big blue eyes speak volumes, going from righteous indignation to eagerness for attention and everything in between. And in between lap sessions, even without her claws she has also caught a few mice who manage to make their way into the house in the wintertime looking for warmth. Yes, we have mice occasionally; our house is built in the middle of a pasture, for heaven's sake. It happens.

But if you decide on a round cat, it will have long hair, and if it has long hair, be prepared to clean up hairballs. It is the nature of the beast. But it is worth it.

Perla

Meet Perla, the only cat of our current six who technically is not a stray. But she does have ties to vagabond cats, as her parents arrived on the scene as strays traveling together, brother and sister, we suspect. She was actually born on the premises in the old metal tank that Bill turned into an above-ground incinerator.

We kept seeing these two gray and black striped cats making visits to the outdoor catfood bowl. One, the male, was bigger than the other one, but they were absolutely mirror images of each other, which is why we suspect they were brother and sister from the same litter. Turns out the female was pregnant; she might not have been incestuous with her brother, but when two of the soon to be discovered four kittens looked just like them, well, we suspect that was the case. The cats weren't too worried about it; nature sometimes works that way.

But I digress. The two of them were becoming less afraid of us, which is how we could tell the girl kitty was putting on weight; we could get closer to them. Time passed; the incinerator was full; time to burn the contents. It made sense to me that Momma Kitty, as she came to be called, might have seen that incinerator as the perfect overlooked quiet place to deliver her babies, so I crawled to the back of the old tank before we set fire to the contents. Sure enough, there she was with four little kittens. She scrambled out when she saw me but watched from a distance as one by one I handed the kittens to Bill and we moved them to a safer place.

Momma Kitty found them, moved them to a spot of her own chosing, and life went on for the little family. Well, life went on for two of the kittens, the two that looked just like mom and dad. The other two, I am sad to say, didn't make it. Over time I persevered and finally caught the kittens and Momma Kitty and had them tamed down. My stray rule is that if you come to eat my food, you have to let me pet you. So they finally gave in. Daddy Cat, however, never let me catch him.

So we named the kittens Nomar and Perla and enjoyed watching them grow up. That first year of their life, 2003, we lost Momma Kitty to a coyote and Daddy Cat to a car hit and run accident.  Dear Nomar met with an untimely accident before he was a year old. He was quite the social animal and we missed him terribly. Perla had always been a nice cat, but a bit timid around Nomar. Now in his absence Perla seemed to come out of her shell and became quite personable herself. She has the softest, silkiest hair of all the cats. I guess she is just a cat, but based on pictures and what I read, I think she might be a Maine Coon cat.

In fact, Perla has sort of become the head of the pecking order, taking Gracie Lou's place when we lost her last year. Perla is always there to greet me on our walking path as I make the laps, and when she decides she wants some attention, she won't take no for an answer, putting herself between me and whatever I am  trying to do, or when I am working in the garden, will hop up on my back and settle down, content that she is included in what is going on.

Perla loves close quarters; empty boxes, clay pots, the chimenea. She is also possessive about the barn, which she now has to share with Little Cat, but they have it worked out. So I just make sure, especially in this  past severe winter, that she is in the barn and tucked away for the night.

And that's where she is now, up on the loft in her box, tucked in and resting up for another busy day tomorrow.

We Buried Pedro Jesus Today

Jesus came to live with us after his family made an abrupt move and did not come back for him. His family happened to be of Mexican descent, so we named him Pedro Jesus and affectionately knew him as our bilingual cat. I had him neutered, brought his shots up to date, and he was very content with his new home and his six stepsisters, the six female cats who also found our house as strays and came to claim us as  family. He was a young cat, about a year and a half old, a big, strong, handsome cat. By his actions it became obvious to me that he came to our house as much for the companionship as the free food. He was very friendly and enjoyed being with us outside. He would come greet me every day as I walked on the walk path behind the house.

We found him this morning in front of the barn door, the barn being a place of safety and comfort to him. His only injuries were on his head and mouth, but they were severe. I suppose he was hit by a car somehow, but if so, it was a strange sort of hit. He let us put him in a box and cover him with a towel and let me rub and reassure him as we rushed to the vet's office. Dr. Garten anesthetized him so he wouldn't hurt during the x-ray, which confirmed our worst fears: his jaw was broken, he had skull fractures, which surely meant brain damage,  and most of his teeth were gone. We had no choice. He had made his way back to us for help and putting him to sleep was the only real way to help him.

He is resting comfortably now under the cherry trees. I wrote a good bye letter, sealed it in a plastic bag, and put it with him. He was only with us a few months, but I miss him already.

Godspeed, Jesus.