Cats

I am a dog person.  I like dogs, usually.  Our German Shepherd attacked me when I was five years old, nearly tearing my left ear off until I blocked his attacks with my forearm.  Still, I like dogs.  Over the years my dogs have chewed not only me but favorite pieces of clothing, toys and furniture and still I like them.  They have cost me thousands of dollars in vet fees and still I like them.  They have left gargantuan piles of poop in my walkways which I have stepped in numerous times, and still I like them.

I don't like cats.  I'd say that I hate cats, but that would get me into hot water with some of the cat lovers in my home.  I view cats as a necessary evil around the farm.  I tolerate them, but I don't like them.

I discovered the hard way what it is like to not have cats around the farm two years ago.  We have had cats here since shortly after moving in eight years ago.  They have all been barn cats.

We started with four.  That eventually grew to seventeen.  Then they began getting sick and we were down to three for about a year.  Eventually those three became ill and died.

That is when I learned the value of barn cats.  Our garage, which is detached from our house, has always been a nice home to mice and an occasional rat or two.  The barn cats kept the population down, but never fully eliminated the rodents.  Once the last of our mousers died off the garage experienced a tremendous population boom in the mouse community.  Rats began appearing as well.

They became so comfortable in their cat-free environment that they would scurry about the place even when I was in there with the radio on.  Nothing I left unprotected was sacred to them.  They chewed up notebooks, receipts, a favorite hat, insulation, a $250 bag of pasture seed, cardboard boxes, and anything made of plastic.

They also had free reign of the barn and milkhouse.  I would frequently have a big fat rat run off in front of me when I went into the barn to feed the goats and chickens.  I really dislike using poisons, so I tried traps.  Mouse traps and rat traps were everywhere.  I caught a total of 21 mice or baby rats in the garage alone, and still it didn't seem as if I was making a dent in the population.

So I reluctantly agreed to get some more cats.

We started with four again.  That was not a conscious decision but rather what was available at a neighboring farm.  One of them met its end in my truck's engine compartment.  Apparently it thought that hanging out by the truck fan was a good idea.  I was in a hurry to get Nathan to a 6:00 am football practice and forgot to honk the horn before I started the truck.  I felt a "thud" when I turned the engine over and instantly shut the truck off, knowing immediately what had happened.

I looked over at Nathan and asked, "Did you feel that?," hoping that I had imagined it but knowing that I hadn't.  "Yeah," he said, confirming my fears as I got out of the truck and looked underneath just in time to see Ditzy fall onto the ground.  I felt sick.

There is no way to easily communicate the death of a loved one to a seven-year-old kitty lover.  There were tears, even for me.  My tears weren't from a sense of loss but a sense of guilt, and for the pain my little girl was experiencing.  I also feared how she might view me from here on out, being the killer of one of her beloved.

Life has moved on from that day.  Grace has long since forgiven me.  The remaining three cats are still with us, and two seem to be "with kitty."

I'm not sure which is worse:  more cats or cats in heat.  While two are now silent, the one that continues to go into heat is driving me crazy with it's constant and unusually loud cat calls.  Part of me hopes the local tomcat makes its way back over and the other part of me hopes he never hears her.  I am so conflicted.  All I know for certain is that our mouse and rat populations are down and that I really dislike cats.