Sage advice from people who know. This is a good time to introduce our cats, two of which inhabit the garden, and two of which haunt our front door. I'll start with the one that tempts us to ignore the warning in this brief poem: Marcello. Once a good cat, probably, he has become mos
tly bad. Definitely the Captain Ahab of the feline world. While I guess we don't know what is going on in his head, we can imagine by how he rubs against you so sweetly then, without provocation, bites you on the elbow, wrist, ankle, shoe, or whatever is closest. He has good days, where he does no wrong, and bad days, when the mere act of walking past elicits a claw in your leg or, if you were wise, your cat-proof pants. Worst of all, in my opinion, he has that deplorable trait of attacking you when you walk away and running when you turn to face him. That always creeps me out in a pet. To sum him up, he's the kind of animal you really want to take to an animal communicator to figure out. We are probably going to send him off to the shelter soon, or find someone who doesn't care about how weird their cat is. Ellen had the good point that, if a dog went off regularly and bit visitors, the sheriff would take it away. Next up we have Ricky, aka "Ricky-ticky-tum-tum" and "Rickle-Pickle-Pie." As you can see 
from the picture he is adorable. His most notable characteristic is that he drools slightly when you pet him. Not normal for a cat, but acceptable, considering he catches rodents nearly on demand. Three days in a row I was working in the grain loft all afternoon and he would leave, only to come back ten minutes later with a large, mostly dead vole in his mouth. He would then crunch it up beside me and leave the liver and some other less-identifiable part for me to approve of. Now that is definitely acceptable behavior. It is especially nice that, between he and Marcello (who does catch rodents, too), the grains in full view of any grain-eating animal are kept completely safe.
The only downside to the cats in real terms (since the terrorizing of visitors can sometimes be helpful) is that we occasionally find the head of an acorn woodpecker or a pile of feathers. We bird lovers disapprove severely. We once watched, in disbelief, as Marcello stalked and caught a California Towhee scratching nearby. Cats are fast, even crazy ones. We subsequently chased him all over the garden till he let it go, unharmed, to fly away.
Now for our front-door cats. Vanilla is older, so she goes first. Vanilla initially belonged to Ellen's daughter, and is still supported by her in Vanilla's old age of 19 (or so). T
his is no small contribution, since Vanilla now scorns hard, dry, tasteless food for that most deliciously palatable of treats, wet canned cat food. We learned from a friend in the Bay Area, who used to work as a meat inspector, what exactly goes into canned cat food. We're not telling Vanilla, though, because then she would demand grade A something. Vanilla, being long-haired, demands some effort for grooming. I am told she used to keep up her hair-care very well, but she isn't so diligent anymore. So Margo and I got a little pink brush to help her out. She hates it, but looks better as a result. Among Vanilla's other oddities is a spot on her head that has never had fur, as I am to believe, though I have never heard why. On a long-haired cat this is a little disturbing. I brought it up to my visiting Aunt who remarked, dismissively, "It's a cat. Leave all the bones in one room and it'll heal." Vanilla is the exception (in the case of this spot of mange, anyway). I'm pretty sure it's karmic. She used to be a hell-raiser, apparently, having once caught a squirrel, killed it, and left its head on the pillow of her young owner. Wow! This is the kind of thing she was capable of back in her time, and this is why Ellen maintains that Vanilla deserves whatever she wants. (This is also why Vanilla does not gain access to our house).
Finally we have Smootches. For the first few months we were here she was known as "Mark's Cat" and
assumed to be male. Mark is our neighbor. Poor Smootches first met me when someone had left the door to the attic, which is externally accessed, open, and she went in to live. I crawled back among the rafters and insulation to get her, but she was pretty much feral. We were both traumatized. I left the door open and eventually she decided she didn't want to live there, but still hung around the house and garden. Ellen had fed her at the same place Vanilla ate, because she was there anyway, begging for food. At some point Ellen brought it up with Mark, who said "That's not my cat." That is when we started trying to make friends, and, between Margo and myself we have made great progress. We started feeding both Vanilla and Smootches at our door, eventually coaxed Smootches close enough to touch, then pet, then hold. Our long term plan was to take her into the shelter (because we're leaving in the winter and NOT taking a cat with us), but she was way too shy to come inside, and still very jittery. So we decided to introduce her into the house for short periods of time, but only when Vanilla wasn't around, since we had made it clear to her that we didn't want her inside. (Vanilla can be very demanding). But there is something endearing about timidity, so Smootches is welcome whenever. And she has occasionally caught voles, which makes any cat good.
from the picture he is adorable. His most notable characteristic is that he drools slightly when you pet him. Not normal for a cat, but acceptable, considering he catches rodents nearly on demand. Three days in a row I was working in the grain loft all afternoon and he would leave, only to come back ten minutes later with a large, mostly dead vole in his mouth. He would then crunch it up beside me and leave the liver and some other less-identifiable part for me to approve of. Now that is definitely acceptable behavior. It is especially nice that, between he and Marcello (who does catch rodents, too), the grains in full view of any grain-eating animal are kept completely safe.The only downside to the cats in real terms (since the terrorizing of visitors can sometimes be helpful) is that we occasionally find the head of an acorn woodpecker or a pile of feathers. We bird lovers disapprove severely. We once watched, in disbelief, as Marcello stalked and caught a California Towhee scratching nearby. Cats are fast, even crazy ones. We subsequently chased him all over the garden till he let it go, unharmed, to fly away.
Now for our front-door cats. Vanilla is older, so she goes first. Vanilla initially belonged to Ellen's daughter, and is still supported by her in Vanilla's old age of 19 (or so). T
his is no small contribution, since Vanilla now scorns hard, dry, tasteless food for that most deliciously palatable of treats, wet canned cat food. We learned from a friend in the Bay Area, who used to work as a meat inspector, what exactly goes into canned cat food. We're not telling Vanilla, though, because then she would demand grade A something. Vanilla, being long-haired, demands some effort for grooming. I am told she used to keep up her hair-care very well, but she isn't so diligent anymore. So Margo and I got a little pink brush to help her out. She hates it, but looks better as a result. Among Vanilla's other oddities is a spot on her head that has never had fur, as I am to believe, though I have never heard why. On a long-haired cat this is a little disturbing. I brought it up to my visiting Aunt who remarked, dismissively, "It's a cat. Leave all the bones in one room and it'll heal." Vanilla is the exception (in the case of this spot of mange, anyway). I'm pretty sure it's karmic. She used to be a hell-raiser, apparently, having once caught a squirrel, killed it, and left its head on the pillow of her young owner. Wow! This is the kind of thing she was capable of back in her time, and this is why Ellen maintains that Vanilla deserves whatever she wants. (This is also why Vanilla does not gain access to our house).Finally we have Smootches. For the first few months we were here she was known as "Mark's Cat" and
assumed to be male. Mark is our neighbor. Poor Smootches first met me when someone had left the door to the attic, which is externally accessed, open, and she went in to live. I crawled back among the rafters and insulation to get her, but she was pretty much feral. We were both traumatized. I left the door open and eventually she decided she didn't want to live there, but still hung around the house and garden. Ellen had fed her at the same place Vanilla ate, because she was there anyway, begging for food. At some point Ellen brought it up with Mark, who said "That's not my cat." That is when we started trying to make friends, and, between Margo and myself we have made great progress. We started feeding both Vanilla and Smootches at our door, eventually coaxed Smootches close enough to touch, then pet, then hold. Our long term plan was to take her into the shelter (because we're leaving in the winter and NOT taking a cat with us), but she was way too shy to come inside, and still very jittery. So we decided to introduce her into the house for short periods of time, but only when Vanilla wasn't around, since we had made it clear to her that we didn't want her inside. (Vanilla can be very demanding). But there is something endearing about timidity, so Smootches is welcome whenever. And she has occasionally caught voles, which makes any cat good.
aww, Smootches!
ReplyDelete