I am a great believer in equal opportunity when it comes to animals. People have heard that a particular cat is “ just “ a barn cat. So if we follow that line of thinking, people born poor are just “ poor,” so Because of the circumstances they were born into, they shouldn’t expect anything decent. Hogwash!!
We have three barn cats working for a living. We have had them for around six years now. Mom ( Clementine) showed up with a large tummy. She was feral for sure, hiding out under our horse trailer for better than a year. We knew she ate food left out but had no use for people. Then we noticed the kittens. One, Ken named Spot. Oh gee, Ken! I named the mom Clementine and the other surviving kitten Buddha. They are now part of our family. We feed horses twice a day, and during that time, we feed the cats and ensure they have clean water. I also brush each twice a day, which they enjoy. We have a big dog igloo with beds in for the winter. They get dry treats every feeding time, and on Sundays, they get a can of wet cat food. High times indeed! They recognize that can immediately, or maybe they have a calendar with Sunday circled.
I enjoy the different personalities. Clementine is the greeter. She scoots under the barn door and stands out to greet us when she hears our truck. She’s come a long way, from a hiding feral cat to a cat that loves strokes and brushes. She deserves it all. Who knows how she came to be alone in the world? Spot is easy going and can be lifted here and there. His one failing is he likes his chow a little too much. Something had to be done when his tummy started dragging on the ground. So, instead of leaving food out 24/7, I feed twice daily, removing the food when leaving the barn. Spot has lost weight, enough that he, too, can now scoot under the barn door. Buddha was the last kitten we spotted when they were born, and he has definitely been the hardest to tame. He has a husky little voice and long silky black and white hair, unlike the other two, which are short hair. He has stayed a little reserved no matter how kind we have been. However, he allows patting now and brushing; just don’t try to cuddle. He’s a barn cat, working for a living, not a lap cat sitting in the sun. Clementine is by far the smallest, but that doesn’t stop her from giving the other two a good biff with her paw, just because. After all, she’s their mama, just keeping them in line.
All three have been neutered or spayed. Big Sandy is overpopulated with homeless cats, so we aren’t about to add to the problem. We see they get their shots. A challenging job, let me tell you. I’m very grateful rabies shots last three years! I’m sure you’ve heard the saying “ as hard as herding cats” that could be changed to catching cats and getting them in a travel cage. Harder than herding, I tell you. We concoct a plan ahead of time as you have just seconds to make the grab and push into the cage. I set the cage out a few days earlier, so they become accustomed to it. I always feel like a traitor when they are in the cage, wailing their displeasure at our treachery. As with young children, you can’t explain it’s for the best. We take them to Erica Chauvet. Erica is very understanding if your first try is a fail. She’s very good at setting up a future appointment, hoping for a “catch.”
Buddha has eluded us for a couple of years. He seems to have a sixth sense that something underhanded is going on. He races outside, not to be seen for hours, or claws up to the top of the hay, hissing his dislike of us and everything to do with us. I honestly can’t blame him. However, I decided enough was enough. We were going to rider ‘er on through this time. The cage was positioned. I brought a can of the coveted wet food. Ken casually moved behind the cage, pretending to be interested in something else. As hoped, all three moved in around the pan with the wet food. Faster than this takes to type, we wrangled that cat into the cage. Success! We drove to Erica’s office, as proud as if we’d won an award. I guess we had. We had wrangled the wiliest cat alive! As my mother would say,” pride goeth before a fall.”
Now in the office, the three of us, Ken, Erica, and I, surrounded the cage; this not being her first rodeo, Erica shut all adjoining doors. As we decided how best to proceed, we opened the cage door slightly. Whoosh, a blur of black and white fury erupted like a mad bull out of a pen. Ken had wisely worn gloves. He grabbed, and Buddha bit hard. Ken’s glove and finger were punctured; Ken jerked his hand out of the glove, and Buddha took his fury out on the glove. Ken swore, and the cat was on the loose. Like Santa’s reindeer, it was up to the rooftop--well, not exactly, but certainly up to the ceiling on top of the cupboards. Wild times. Buddha was here, and then he was there. Blood was on him and Ken. Erica grabbed a comforter she had, and we all pounced on poor Buddha. So there we were. All three hunkered down on the floor, holding the cat under the blanket. I had to get up to fetch the shots, which Erica administered quickly. Now we channeled him with the comforter into the cage, leaving no wiggle room around him. Only one way out, and that was into the cage. That was Erica’s idea. That’s why she’s the professional.
Homeward bound. Ken had washed his finger at the office, and I had promised him antibiotic cream once home. Buddha was released, and off he tore. He was violated for no good reason, he imagined. Ken felt the same way.
So we rode ‘er on through and did the right thing for a barn cat working for a living. So now you know mice catching should have medical benefits along with board and room. No one said it would be easy, certainly not long-suffering Ken! Cause he KNOWS it isn’t easy.
