City Kitties in the Kountry

(Warning: mouse dies.)

Every now and then, an unfortunate field mouse notes that the mud room door of the farmhouse has the tiniest gap at the bottom. Just large enough for an itty-bitty field mouse, if it holds its breath, to wiggle through. And just inside that door is a bowl of cat food.

So Mr. Mousie awaits the cover of darkness, sucks it in, belly-crawls toward the Manna From Heaven, and startles Bes the Doublewide Kitty, mid Midnight Snack # 3. Bes' howl brings her five siblings running.

The Staff does not mean this unkindly, but these Kitties are...um...not good mousers. They spent their formative years in a cluster home in the city. A cluster home with the Gold Standard of Pest Control. The closest thing to a mouse in their lives pre-farm was a dying cockroach. (Although some of the older Kitties remember the day the wren flew into the house. They watched as The Staff used a broom to swat it out an upstairs window.) The very first Field Mouse Incident, in fact, took place while the Mother-in-Law and her little dog were visiting...guess who caught the rodent?

Since the Great Humiliation at the paws of the pesky pup, The Kitties have developed a strategy. The Staff has cursed loudly, and often, especially in the face of impending tornadoes, about "herding cats". While The Kitties found this vastly amusing (and, by the way, they think The Staff grossly overreacts to twisters) they also noted the opportunity in their numbers. They developed drills. Foster chases Veronika down the hall. Veronika chases Foster up the hall. Dewi chases Bes around the kitchen island. Bes.....gets a snack. Violet times their runs. Mona hides under the sofa. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Ad nauseam.

And, last night, finally, the payoff. Alas, Poor Mousie...herded to death. But The Staff is going to have to handle things around the farm for a while. The Kitties have some recovering to do.

A Day Without Kitties is Like a Day Without...Hairballs

Aah, here's a photo of Nancy and The Kitties in happier times, last weekend. You can't see me, but I'm just to the right of the picture. With my trusty torch, melting metals. You can't see Foster, the Kitty, either. He was messing with the torch, and trying to catch his fur on fire. But you CAN see Bes. After conducting her morning bird census, she decided on a well-deserved rest in the salad bowl; as she coached Foster on the finer points of bothering Mom from the sidelines.

But now, NancyLand is a very sad place, indeed. There are no Kitties. We have reached the point in the renovations that involves toxic fumes, open windows and workmen who have no idea how to close a door. Consequently, the Kitties are "summering at the farm." And I can't believe how much I miss them.

Just today I let the dogs out - they are with me because they are immune to toxic fumes and would never exit an open door because they might miss a meal and they can't stay alone at the farm because they eat furniture - and in walks, bold as you please, a giant palmetto bug. For those unfortunates without southern roots, that is a cockroach on steroids. About the size of a lobster, but a lot uglier.

And all I could think was, if The Kitties were here, and I showed them the palmetto bug, and I pretended that I wanted to play with it, and perhaps sprinkled it with a little catnip; well, they might just poke it out the door. Then again, there was that recent incident with the mouse at the farm...six cats in the house, and my mother-in-law's little dog. Guess who caught the mouse? The Kitties didn't even feign embarrassment. In fact, I think they TOLD the little dog to get it, because they didn't want to ruin their nails.

Then, there's RatRat; poor filthy, fuzzy RatRat, favorite fetch fetish for Foster the Feline, forlorn in the foyer. I threw the damn thing upstairs just to hear it "thunk." But "thunk" was not followed by the sound of Foster skidding across the hall to tackle it. Oh, my heavy heart. I drew the line at fetching RatRat myself, so he is languishing upstairs in hardwood floor refinishing dust.

I have typed this entire entry without "help". No one has walked on the keyboard, erasing the entire piece; or spilled my Diet Pepsi, causing me to grab a throw pillow to absorb the liquid before it reached the grooves on the underside of the laptop. I have not stopped writing once to respond to that "haronking" sound, harbinger of the hairball. And I didn't have to open a can of smelly, oily fish eyes at dinner.

Sometimes it sucks to be me.

You Think Herding Cats Is Hard? HA!

As an Expert Cat Herder, I am in possession of the coveted Six Claw Certification; meaning that I am often called upon to lecture (nationally) on topics such as "Herding Cats Into The Basement Because There is a Tornado" and "Herding Cats Into The Car Because There is a Little Fire in the Furnace and the Firemen Want the House Evacuated." Civic Groups, Garden Clubs and Children's Birthday Party Planners often incorporate my "Stuffing a Cat Into a Cat Carrier" lecture into their programs. (Children are especially impressed with the presentation if [my] blood is involved.) And I am frequently invited to Senior Citizens' Centers to perform my "Dressing a Cat in Cute Costumes, Using a Real, Live Cat" routine.

Which all of this is, to me. Routine.

Photographing horses, however, is...haha...a horse of a different color. Especially the horses who are camping out (Literally! They have a Horse Tent!) in the back yard, while their new barn is constructed.

I love my equine friends. They love horse treats and apples and carrots; proving that love is not necessarily a two-way street.

A friend, who has not met our house guests...er...yard guests, requested photos. So I trotted (yeah, lame but irresistible) down the steps to the yard, camera in hand. Treats not in hand. Horses hurried over. Oh, great! An action shot! But, it was too late. Got this:



Then this; as I was being worked over, pockets, armpits, hair, by Horse Two looking for peppermints:



And, FINALLY, Horse One (as you can see, begrudgingly) allowed for some semblance of a portrait:



Horse Two sulked. Clearly hurt feelings:



It worked. I set the camera aside and passed out goodies. Did they toss their manes, smiles on their horsey faces, so I could take pretty pictures after treats?

Nope. Some snorts, foot stomps; then horse butts as they ambled off.

I think I'll stick to Cat Herding.