Oct

11

What Happened?

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It seems like just yesterday we brought home three butterball-fat little kittens.


Bartleby has always been my favorite. Look at what a tiny little guy he was!
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He just weighed in at 8lbs when I took him to the vet last week to get a checkup before his upcoming operation (please don’t tell him what this operation is for… I’ve convinced him it’s to get rid of his unsightly crow’s feet and when he wakes up from the anesthesia he will wonder just what the hell kind of language barrier we are working with because something will be missing AND IT WILL NOT BE HIS CROW’S FEET, if you catch my drift).


Felix used to be even tinier than Bartleby and look how innocent!


And now she has her first job! She’s entered the working world as The Stereotypical Halloween cat. Hey, don’t judge, in this economy, with no college degree or opposable thumbs, job offers are not exactly falling into her lap.

Aug

7

Awkward Adolescents

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Let me present to you: The Barn Cats.


From top to bottom: Felix, Bartleby, Pussywillow
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This is like some weird, abstract art. I call it “Felix, Pussywillow and Bartleby On a Tree.” A creative title for a creative piece!


Bartleby is my favorite, and I’ll never apologize for that (unless it is to the other two kittens, which I do in fact do often).


They’re such copycats. Get it? Hahahaha hooooo hehe.

Lil and I were driving along innocently one day when we saw a sign for free kittens. We turned around and went up to the house, where they presented us with deliciously round and furry little chunks of adorableness. We nestled them against our faces and popped them into our mouths like little snacks because they were just that cute.

They’re not quite so small and cute now, but hey, it happens to the best of us.

Mar

16

Dungeon Master

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This is our crazy little barn cat, Ina. She started life as a feral cat but was caught and rehomed with my sister’s family. She was a little, uhh, intense for that life. Ina likes to tackle things and torture things and that didn’t mix so well with a toddler (who’s spent the majority of her life terrified of animals), so Ina got moved to our barn.

We were in desperate need of a barn cat and had more mice than I could shake a stick at. And believe me, I am practically a professional stick-shaker.

Ina took care of the mice in a short time. Or maybe they just moved out after they heard about the beast that tortured their kind of 20 minutes before finally eating them.

Somehow, though, I think that Ina ate her fair share of them.


No, this is not an Orca. It’s Ina!

Ina doesn’t stop at torturing mice, though. She chases and swats Olio any time he sets foot in the barn. She sits in Santana’s grain bucket when he’s trying to eat and swats at him (he also bites at and slobbers on her, so he’s not exactly innocent).

She’s taken to riding the horses around at night, sitting where their blankets bunch up by their withers. I’ve asked her to actually do some training work while she’s up there, but so far no such luck.

Aug

11

My Merry Band of Mercenaries

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We’ve got a mouse problem in our barn. A big mouse problem. Yes, the problem is big. So are the mice.

This is because of:
1) my semi-anorexic horse, who leaves grain in his stall
2) the murderous hounds, who have done away with our barn cats.

It got to the point where’d I easily see three or four mice sauntering around each time I went into the barn. So I took matters into my own hands and imported some barn cats from work.

There’s Gertrude, who prefers to be backlit.


This is Gregor.


Last, but most certainly not least, is Dapper Dan.

Dapper Dan should actually be Dapper Danielle, I guess. I was originally going to name her Li’l Scrappy because, well, she’s little and scrappy. But I felt bad about that, so I opted for Dapper Dan instead.

They were mostly feral kittens, so I really had my work cut out for me. I knew that I needed a cat that could be picked up and set down wherever mice were, so I went about taming them. I used my super-secret training tool, which is soon to be patented and sold for outrageous prices, only through infomercials:

Ok, so it’s just a clumpy piece of grass. Don’t tell the patent office, ok?

Anyway, I played chase with them until they got close to me, and then I’d give them a real quick pet. And then I’d stop, but the next time I’d pet them a little more. And the next time I’d give them a little kitty butt scratch and before long I had Gregor and Dapper Dan running to meet me in the barn. Gertrude is still a work in process.

I honed their skills through intense grass chasing, but I knew we had to take the next step soon. So I gathered some garbage cans, some paper towel tubes, some little chunks of donut and made this mouse trap.

It worked! I caught three mice in two traps the first time. Excitedly, I carefully lowered Dapper Dan down into the trash can. Dapper Dan chilled in one corner, the mice chilled in an opposite corner. That wasn’t quite what I was expecting from my star quarter back, so I pulled her out of the game.

I transfered the mice to a feed bin halfway filled with oats. Well, I tried to transfer the mice. Mouse #1 went in, while mouse #2 jumped to freedom. Oops. Now the mouse was in a container out of which it couldn’t jump, but not so deep that the cats would freeze up, or so I hoped. I put Gregor in and watched him swat the mouse around for a while. I was really feeling kind of bad for the little mouse, as I’d hoped its death would be at least somewhat quick.

I pulled Gregor out and pondered what to do for a moment. As a last ditch effort, I put Dapper Dan back in and poked the mouse with a piece of hay to get it moving. That seemed to get Dapper Dan’s attention, and she sniffed at the mouse a little. And then she bit it. The mouse did not really appreciate this and bit her back before diving around in a circle. Dapper Dan was having none of it and went after the mouse, biting it and getting bitten.

“Yes! Get angry, Dapper Dan! Get angry!” I shouted while taking a generous step backwards in case the mouse came shooting out of the bin and towards my jugular. Dapper Dan and the mouse went around and around, Dapper Dan growling and the mouse squeaking. Oats were flying out of the bin. I was hanging around several feat away in order to avoid any adrenaline surge-powered rodents seeking revenge. And then…silence. I peered into the bin to see Dapper Dan eating the mouse’s head.

Wishing I hadn’t seen that, but glad that at least one of my little gladiators was pulling their weight, I went out to get the third mouse, which was in a 10 gallon bucket. When I returned, I set the bucket down and looked in to see Dapper Dan sharing her mouse with Gertrude. It warmed my heart, except for those gross little bone crunching noises they were making.

That’s when I heard more squeaking, and turned to find Bradley sticking his head into the bucket. He emerged, holding a mouse by the tail between his teeth, and walked out of the barn.
There went mouse #3.

I’ve caught three more mice and delivered them to the Battle Dome, as I like to call it. Dapper Dan has killed all of them, but the other two have partaken in the eating portion. All in all, I call it a success. Not only have I taught the kittens to kill things, but also how to share the joy of doing so with their loved ones. Aww.