My husband will tell you that he doesn't like cats; part of this is due to the sneezes and watery eyes that follow any interaction. Just as Murphy's Law would state, most of our cats migrate to him. Trapper was no different; a sleek, black furred character. He truly had 9 lives, returning to the homestead numerous times after long stints of walk-about.
We had a wood pile out in the back yard and when Mike would go out to fill the woodbox Trapper would be waiting on top of the pile, purring and prancing in circles. Leaning over to pick up a piece of wood, Mike's shoulder would become prime perching acreage. Up the cat would leap, making himself at home on broad shoulders. At first, Mike wasn't too sure about this arrangement. Trapper appeared to be part parrot. Perfectly at home high above the ground, pacing from right shoulder to left, drawing the entire length of his body against the back of Mike's head. Not being one to stand still for more than 5 seconds, Mike would get back to the task at hand. A large, gentle hand would lower the cat back to the ground. A load of wood to the box, back to the wood pile and the prancing cat repeated his act. Losing a little patience, Mike decided to let the pest figure out that perching during chores is not wise. Cat on shoulder, Mike leans down to finish loading wood into his arms. Hmmm, Trapper creatively keeps put. Now, curious how long this can last, Mike continues to pack wood into his arms, walk to the house and return to the woodpile, occasionally an eye slipping to the side to see where the cat stands. This becomes a ritual. Man and cat.
Trapper was also part Labrador Retriever. Many times, we would be hiking out on our property and we would see a sudden flash out of the corner of our eye. No fear, its only Trapper coming along, on his own terms mind you, but following along just like "Man's best friend".
Trapper disappeared one summer afternoon, never to return from that walk-about. Rumors of his continued existence surfaced late this last fall; a mirage of a black cat at the back of the barn.
We went a few months without a cat, hoping that Trapper would return. It became apparent that he wouldn't be back this time and that we should probably see if any friends had kittens that needed a home. It didn't take long for a litter to pop up and two kittens came home with us. Brother and sister were preciously cute. Brother was very outgoing and brave, sister was shy and cautious. Brother didn't last, disappearing one night within two weeks of arriving. This is always a sad fact of life, which can happen rather quickly on the farm. A few evenings later there was a late night, frantic knock on our door. "THERE'S SOMETHING OUTSIDE!! Pacing in front of the woodshed! The kitten's howling! Come quick!"
Caution is necessary in this situation. Who knows what might be out there. In our neck of the woods it could be anything from a coyote to a cougar or a bear. Mike grabbed the shotgun and went to the window to catch a glimpse of the intruder. A sleek body, fuzzy ears and a stubby tail pacing patiently yet eagerly, back and forth, eyes intent on the top row of stacked wood. No kitten visible. Two growling felines.
Mike was able to scare away the bobcat that night and the grateful kitten lived to see another day. A few months later our son brought home a younger sibling of our now fast growing cat. The two were not fast friends. We had to make some adjustments to help "Tiger" feel at home.
Mildred's big sister was very upset at us for bringing home this small, nuisance of a thing. She did get over it and become quite attached, almost like mother and daughter. Instinct I suppose. However, Big Sis disappeared like so many before her and Mildred has been very slow to recover. The biologist in me wonders if shes....how do I put this.....a little slow. She didn't seem to be growing much at all. Maybe she was the runt of her litter? Her shape is quite odd. Our son simply refers to her as "Football". She is small, quite pear shaped and most peculiarly, her tail is still kitten sized.
Poor Mildred was showing absolute no sign of natural "catness". (yes, that is a word) There is no crouching at small movements in the grass around her. No intent staring at small birds fluttering about. She sits at the door and waits for us. When we come home she is waiting in the carport and when we go into the house she darts to the back door and perches on the woodbox so that she can see into the kitchen and watch her people. If anyone of us steps outside she purrs, sings precious little meow songs and sits on our feet.
I feel ridiculous admitting my thoughts that someone obviously needs to teach her some cat skills so she can make something of herself. Someone needs to teach this girl how to stalk a grasshopper, how to spy a bird, to chase a mouse or chipmunk. Perhaps I am that someone.
OK, yes, our son went off to college, I worry, I miss him, but I am not projecting this on to the cat. PLEASE! Really, don't you think someone should work with Mildred?
She really doesn't know what to do. Here is a perfectly good mousey toy with a feather tail and all she can do is sit.
Huh! Wait, she's checking it out. She's reaching. A few simple demonstration rounds and she's curious. No, I did not take pictures of this part. Sorry, folks.
Go Girl! Get it! Pounce, pounce! Maybe there's hope for our dear Mildred.
Oh yea baby! She's got this!
My family can't decide if it is funnier watching Mildred dance or me laugh and take pictures.
Either way, life is good!
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