Cat Tales 18
I live on a ranch in southwest Colorado. Our place is not ideal for kitties, so it ’s best if a person does not get attached, that person being me. My husband likes to have cats for the practical reason of keeping down the mice population. I do, too, but my daughter and I would get so attached to the cute little fur balls. We were devastated time and again as, one by one, our little kitties disappeared. One of our cow dogs would kill them if she could catch them.
We lived close to the dirt road, and they would get run ove r. Coyotes freque nte d our property, and I could only guess that is what happened to others. Finally, we had a cat named Pretty who had longevity. We didn’ t get too attached to her because she was an outdoor cat and so very cautious. She was a great mouser and good company during gardening season. However, we had to make a move to another home close by. I wasn’t sure if she would come with us or stay in her familiar shed.
After we move d, it was obvious our mouser was content where she was in her old home. I decided I would get a couple of kitties to be mousers at our new place. I didn’t want to get attached, so they had to be outdoor kitties. I wasn’t going to pet them very much, because I wanted the m to be a little shy of people. They would stay in the woodshed. And when they disappeared, I wouldn’t be de vastated, because I would not be attached. I brought the cute little fur balls home. I wanted fe males. My second cousin said, “Yep, this one is a girl and this one is a girl.” When it was time to get them spayed, the vet said one had to be neutere d.
The female was short-haired and black with a couple of small white spots. The male tabby was long-haired with brown and gray stripes. After a few days with my new kitties and my preve ntion plan in place, all was well. I barely knew the kitties were the re. They hid from me whe n I fed them, and they we re very worried about our new cow dog, Boots. (Our kitty murdere r was no longer with us.) However, there was one factor I did not consider in my plan. She was about three feet tall and twenty-five pounds, with blond hair and green eyes: my granddaughte r Sky.
She found out that Gra ndma had kitties. Sky is the true “kitten whisperer.” It took he r one day to have those kitties coaxed out of the woodshed, purring, and sharing her sandwich. She packed those kitties everywhe re and hugged and loved them. She brought them to the porch, and Grandpa joined in. They played with the kitties together almost every day.
I would go out to feed the kitties; of course, they we re on the porch. I took the m to the woodshed and fed the m the re, because if they were on the porch, I would get attached. They purred and rubbed around my legs. I pet them only a little bit, beca use they liked it. I picked the m up and talked to the m, but not too much. I was worried about Boots. He always acted funny around the kitties. He would stare at them and move eve r so slowly close to the m. The kitties got to where the y half ignored it. I would scold the dog to quit staring at the kitties and go lie down. One day the kitties were playing in the bushes and Boots gently reached through the bushes and pulled them out. My husband said, “Come look at this!” That cow dog didn’t want the m going behi nd thi ngs, and he tried to herd the m here and the re. It finally got to where the kitties slept with him in the doghouse. Well, my kitties weren’ t half wild. They didn’t stay in the woodshed, even though I still fed the m there. The y were so spoiled, I didn’t even know if they woul d be good mousers. And the y were n’t afraid of our cow dog. Maybe they thought they we re dogs.
They ate with the dog. They followe d my husband everywhe re right along with the dog. But one thing I knew. I was not attached. I came home from work later than usual one night.
The kitties weren’t on the porch like they normally were. I thought they must be doing kitty things about this time and went in to bed. The next morning I got up later than my husband, who was already out doing chores. I stepped out to the porc h, but there we re no kitties.
Maybe the y were with him. My husband finally came in, and I asked him about the kitties.
He hadn’t seen them since yesterday afternoon whe n they’ d walked with hi m and the dog to the pond. “To the pond!” I yelled. They had never gone that far before. I imme diately changed my clothes and headed for the pond. I called, “Here kitty, kitty,”
over and over again. How could my husband be so careless? There were eagles, coyotes, and othe r dogs out in the field. I called and called while at the pond. I looked in all directions. I knew the y were lost, if not already dead. I felt so terrible. Those were my kitties. I hauled them into the ve t to be fixed. I fed them. I protecte d the m from dogs. I saved them whe n the grandkids got too rough. I . . . I . . . I was attached! I loved those little kitties, and now the y were gone. I was devastated. I was so angry at myself because I’d gotten attached. “It’s just not worth it, because kitties don’t live long on a ranch with our circumstances,” I said aloud.
I slowly moped my way back to the house. I was going to give my husband what-f or when I saw him. I checked the ditch on my way back, just in case, no kitties. I entered the yard heavy- hearte d, not knowing what might have happened to the m. As I rounded the corner of the house, aching and on the verge of tears, I glanced at movement toward the doghouse. I hadn’t thought to look in the doghouse. Out came Stripe, the tabby kitty, and Sally Anna, the black kitty. I stoppe d in my tracks and just stared for a few seconds. Then this tremendous relief and overwhel ming joy came over me. They were he re and okay! I picked the m up and loved the m. They, too, we re overj oyed by the attention, and wonde ring why the sudde n flood of aff ection from some one who was not attached.
Well, we still have those kitties, now cats. They are excellent mousers. Sally Anna also keeps the bunny population down. I forgave my husband, and, yes, I am very attached to Stripe and Sally Anna. They are a part of our family.