Cats
Don Coldsmith
Monday, February 19, 2007
CATS ARE PECULIAR creatures. You can always tell a cat, but you can’t tell them much. They are far more likely to teach whatever humans with whom they have contact. They are subtle about it and usually the human doesn’t realize that he or she is the trainee. I even read a sci-fi story once which suggested that cats are from outer space. They are in the process of taking over our planet, even without the nine lives legend. But, back to earth — .
I admit, I didn’t like cats. As a kid, a Methodist preacher’s kid at that, we moved every few years and pets weren’t practical. My mother had grown up as a farm girl and did not tolerate any domestic animals in the house. Barn cats on an uncle’s farm, okay. But not in the house. No dogs, either. Probably that also simplified our next move to another town with different situations and different local ordinances.
I was deeply interested in the outdoors, in camping, hiking, bird watching and all the marvels of nature. It was apparent, and still is, that one of the major problems for wildlife is that of “feral” cats and dogs. This may be defined as the offspring of kittens and puppies which have been “dumped” by thoughtless town folk who didn’t realize the extent of damage to native species, or maybe just don’t care. There’s a lot of that.
In a rural setting it’s necessary to have “barn cats” if there are any animals such as horses, cattle or sheep. There will be rodents around the barn, looking for spilled grain or just grain in sacks or bins. So, we NEED a few barn cats, even though I didn’t really like them.
Then sometimes, I’m exposed as an old softie. All of our girls had grown up and left the nest a few years ago when I heard strange noises coming from my pickup truck. It sounded pretty urgent and was coming from under the tool box behind the cab. It proved to be a tiny kitten, eyes barely open, screaming for mama and/or something to eat. Investigation never completely solved the mystery, but apparently one of the barn cats had chosen the pickup for an obstetrical ward and had given birth there. We never discovered what happened to mama cat or to the rest of the litter, but this was a survivor.
What to do? I didn’t have the heart to murder the helpless little critter, I tried to find mama or any other mama who might take it in. (Mama cats are known to have taken in orphan squirrels, rabbits and other creatures. But, I couldn’t find a mama cat when I needed it).
The kitten HAD to eat to survive. I tried a little warm milk with an eyedropper with great success. Another thought — we had a granddaughter who had been wanting a pet kitten. Her family had big in-the-house dogs, though. Could she leave the kitten with us, to enjoy when she came to visit? Well, Grandpa was a soft touch.
She named the kitten “Boomer.” It is now past 10 years of age, still the only privileged feline on the farm. We think that Boomer doesn’t realize that she’s a cat. Still not a house cat, but greatly pampered. Maybe she thinks I’M her mama.
All of this came to mind recently while we were spending an evening with friends. They had a whopping-big yellow cat, very friendly and well-behaved. We would expect that from these folks and began to swap cat stories. The best, however was his —
Quite a few years ago, they had a big house cat which we’ll call “Tom.” The husband was doing some yard work when a sudden shower blew in unexpectedly. Caught in the rain, he tried to pick up the cat as he went inside. Tom dodged away and retreated into the bushes, pursued by the husband. Apparently this hide-and-seek continued, rain and all, for several minutes before he managed to grab the cat and toss it in through the front door, as he retreated through the garage to shed wet clothes.
A very bewildered wife met him and he explained that he’d had a lot of trouble catching Tom.
“But Tom has been in the house all day,” she told him.
Ever notice that any big wet yellow tom-cat looks pretty much like any other one?
I didn’t even have the heart to ask how badly that visiting wet cat tore up his hands on the way into the house, or the house where he landed.
See you down the road.
Author and columnist Don Coldsmith lives in Emporia.