Cats, Part Three (the last and longest)(with pictures)

Before our story continues, we bring you this special announcement: Unless you intend to be a breeder, please be responsible and spay or neuter your animal housemates. Even if they are indoor only, spay or neuter - you never know when someone will leave a door open a moment too long. If you have indoor/outdoor animals, or outdoor ones, and you don't spay or neuter...what the Hell are you thinking??? Do the world a favor and keep your pet from adding to the feral population...unless you like the idea of half-wild animals tearing up other people's pets, carrying disease from home to home, starving to death on your lawn, being hit by cars on the road, and being caught and killed by animal control. Not that I feel strongly about this...

And now for the conclusion of our story:

We had another gap in feeding - our budget got tight, and I had an obligation first to my family, then to the strays. I'd put a handful of food out from time to time, but not with any regularity. I prayed that they would find food elsewhere, and they seemed to be doing well enough through the fall that I didn't worry too much.

I also prayed that they would come here if something was wrong, if they were hurt or being chased. I know it's silly, but I hoped that some part of them would know that this house, these humans, are safe. I was constantly telling them that it was alright, that I wouldn't hurt them. I could not bear the thought that I might find one of them dead, hit by a car or torn by dogs or hunting birds. It worried me. As the days grew noticeably shorter, T and I began to debate what we should do...we're a pair of softies, and we worry that they'll be cold, get wet, starve.

I decided that we would feed them again, and this time there would be no gaps. We can do without a few boxes of Cheez-Its to feed our little family.

Now, their bowl is on the front stoop. I go out and fill it, making a purling sort of call, and they come running. One day last week, they were so hungry they ran right up despite the fact that I wasn't back in the house yet. Less than a foot from me, they ate...and ate...and ate. These little kitties can put away as much in a day as our three cats eat in a week!

Sometimes Little Mother comes first, shy and sweet, telling me about her night or how hungry she is but never getting too close. She waits, halfway up the front stairs, until I retreat into the house, behind the glass door, then she comes up. If she is first, the three children wait their turn. She will put them in their place if they try to share, but she always leaves them plenty.

If the kittens come first, they all three eat together, although once in a while they'll growl at each other.

I sit on the bottom step in the foyer and watch them through the glass door, usually talking to them. Peach (as I've taken to calling the grayish one) is the most wary - she (I think) will jump and run if I move to quickly. Doppelganger (the tuxedo, so called because it looks exactly like Little Mother) is less frightened, usually taking only a step or two before returning to the food. Little Bit (the mostly black runt of the litter) pays me no mind, letting me get within inches. If I get too close or try to touch her, though, she will run away. Like her mother, she will come sit in the driveway and chat with me - we meow back and forth and I'm certain the neighbors think me barmy.

I have named them. Oh, dear. Well, I knew it was inevitable. We're thinking about investing in have-a-heart traps and finding a vet who will spay or neuter for free. It would be nice if Neighbor would neuter his Ginger Tom...he chuckles when I bring it up, a sort of "boys will be boys" laugh. He's not a bad man, just not as concerned about Ginger Tom's wild ways as I am.

We wouldn't try to tame them or make them pets - that ship has sailed - but it would help control the feral population and probably give them a slightly better life.

I'm worried about a couple of other large, obviously domestic cats that are lurking in the yard - they've treed Little Mother several times and are not afraid of me when I try to chase them off. I don't mind feeding them, too, but only after Little mother and her kittens have eaten, and the big cats keep them away. I told one I would turn the hose on him and he stared down his nose at me as if to dare me to try! I showed him who was boss, though - for a big woman, I can move fast, and I scared the crap out of him when he was prowling my stoop one day. War whoops are still useful, it seems.

We're talking about buying one of those dog igloos and placing it at the top of the back steps for the family. I have some scrap fleece we could line it with. On the top step, they wouldn't have to fear being chased off by other cats or wild things - too close to the house, and they already know we won't hurt them. They trust us, in their own fashion.

I thought I had some photographs from when we first found them, but Bob the Wonder Computer begs to differ. Oh, well. here are some from the last few weeks. They're blurry and grainy because I had to shoot through the glass door or living room window, but they'll do for now.

Little Bit and Little mother aren't sure what they think of the flash.

Little Bit and Little Mother look on while Doppelganger has breakfast.

Peach keeps his/her distance, but sits still long enough for a rare photo.

Maya wants to be friends, but the wild kitties aren't sure how they feel about that.

Another day, and Maya is still trying...

The kittens have taken to climbing the Pink Popcorn Tree (Ornamental Cherry) and trying to catch the birds that wait there for a turn at the suet cages or the feeder. The birds find this amusing, as do we in the house. Here, Little Bit has just caught herself before falling - she has continued to try and walk on twigs, because if the birds can do it, so can she!

Cats, Part Two

I brusquely asked T to go fetch a handful of cat food from the house - he brought it out to me in a dish and I fed the little girl (I checked) a few pieces. She quivered in my hand, torn between lunch and fear. I put her down and let her be...I cannot bring another cat into the house - not fair to the three who already live here, not wise when I can't afford to get her shots, flea treatments, tested for communicable diseases. She flung herself away from me and I went in search of the others.

I found the little tuxedo kitten under a tree and managed to put a hand on it. It bit me but good, my own fault, and let me know what it thought of me. Mum was nearby, staring at me. I tried to soothe them both, but they were too wild. I let them go. Eventually, the peach/gray colored one rejoined them and all four were back on the steps, a blessing of sun-warmed wood during the day and a haven from cat-hungry critters at night.

Of course we started feeding them. We owe them. I will not let them starve. No one goes hungry 'round here if I can help it.

At first, they would scatter when we brought food out. We had a dish on the bottom landing of the back steps and fed them daily. Eventually, they simply retreated a short way and stared while we filled food and water bowls for them.

By late Summer we stopped feeding them - hunting was good and we didn't see much of them, just glimpses here and there in the neighborhood.

In the Fall, I notice that the mum-cat (I call her "Little Mother") was limping. Something was wrong with her foot...she couldn't run, or even walk very well, although she certainly tried.

She would never let me near enough to see what's wrong, let alone to touch and possibly help it heal. I decided to start feeding them again. I wouldn't make them endure cold weather on empty bellies, and with a pronounced limp/hobble, I knew Little Mother wasn't hunting well.

One morning, she sat in the driveway and cried to me. It had been a few days since I put out food, and she was hungry! At my behest, T ran inside and opened a can of tuna, which I placed on the ground. I sat on the concrete and waited, perhaps four feet from the tuna. Hunger won, and she came close and ate. I inched nearer, until I was perhaps two feet away. She always had an eye on me. I was worried about the kittens, because they used to follow her everywhere - but it turns out they had begin hanging out with the Ginger Tom (a neighbor's cat - I've asked him to neuter the lad, but Neighbor seems to think it's not necessary. Sigh.) following him around like a little parade.

I was putting their food near my trailer, because they like hiding under it. The little black one filled out nicely, no longer looked like she would blow away in a stiff wind. One evening, when some friends and I were sitting outside so our kids could run wild, Little Mother actually came quite close to our group and joined the conversation. I brought out some food and she ate, still watchful but not as prone to jump and run when someone moved. I was quite pleased.

To be continued...again...

Cats, Part One

No, not the musical - although I did see that when it came to the Fox Theater in Atlanta way back when dinosaurs roamed freely up and down Peachtree street. If you ever have the chance to see a show at the Fox, go - especially if you can get front row center loge seats...although, there's no bad seat at the Fox.

But I digress.

My friend Rachel wrote a post that mentioned stray cats. It reminded me that I haven't told you about our strays. I must remedy that!

First, I will share with you one of my (many) peculiar philosophies: We are responsible for cats. We, humans, are. We made them, manipulated their shape and size to become more pleasing to us. What we forgot to do was work out how to shrink their ego, their will, their spirit to a house-cat size. They all think they're tigers or the cats of the desert, not tiny little tabbies or tuxedos or jersey-spotted beasties. Because we altered them, we have a responsibility to them, to provide for them - we owe them. I did mention it's a peculiar philosophy.

So, on with the story!

Last Spring/Summer, a mum-cat had her kittens on our back steps. Hmm...turns out that black and white cat I thought was fighting the orange tabby tom from the neighbors? Was actually not fighting, exactly. The noises they make are not all that distinct, so it was (I think) an honest mistake.

I found out about the little family when I chased mum-cat away from the front of my house because she was pilfering my lizards (she had a big fat one in her mouth, still kicking). I felt awful - she was just trying to feed herself and her babies. She kept right on running, but the babies were halfway up the back steps and too small to jump. The peach colored one hissed at me and jumped anyway, following hot on the mum-cat's tail. The tuxedo (who looks just like its mum) growled and shot past me, tumbling down the steps and sailing off the bottom landing, utterly failing its saving throws for grace, style, and agility - it landed on its back, blinked, and hauled ass into the woods, meowling and feeding my guilt with worry I'd made it hurt itself. The last kitten simply huddled against a step and watched me with huge eyes. It was shaking, skinny, terrified. I picked it up, ever so carefully, and pet it a little. I could feel ribs, spine, leg bones. poor baby - it was the runt, and not getting much milk or prey. I honestly didn't know if the wee bairn would live very long.

To be continued (or this would be a very long post, indeed)...

Once more into the breach, dear friends.

I hope that nothing I write here will offend anyone - but I'm fairly certain that it will. I hope it won't run anyone off, but it's a risk I am obviously willing to take. It is, after all, my blog, a place for me to write the things rattling around in my head and set them loose to bother someone else for a while so I can have a nap. I am afraid that this will be long, because it's not an easy subject for me to discuss, and I haven't really had an opportunity to reach any sort of clarity with it. Hopefully it'll be worth enduring, and also give you pause for thought. It's OK if you don't agree with me...sometimes I don't think I make any sense, either.

First, a little history on how I got to writing this post, because you may need a little help sleeping: Because I am such a slacker fabulous mum, I have spent a large chunk of my day an hour or so meandering around Blogopolis. I was doing my usual daily perusal of sites, hopping from one to another with an ease born of familiarity. On my way through Dad Gone Mad (a Daddy blog worth reading, even if I am a mum) and decided to check out his forums. I'm a sucker for a well developed forum. One of them has links to folks needing help and support - causes that DGM's readers think are worth time and/or money. One of the people I already knew about, and posted about her here a while back - Crystal from Boobs, Injuries, and Dr. Pepper. The other two, I hadn't heard of, but being the intrusive curious critter that I am, I went on over and looked.

I read this post, and then poked around a little more on the blog, and it sparked some thoughts. Lucky, lucky you, I am now going to share them.

First, I think it despicable that anyone would use the court system as a means of vengeance. It's called the Justice System for a reason. Carrying out personal vendettas against others by lambasting them with legal fees, calls to court, lies and obfuscation is cowardly. Using a person's religion, politics, or beliefs in personal freedom against them in an effort to show them unfit is equally cowardly. Threatening to take children away from a mum simply because he doesn't want her to have them make a man less a man and more...well, honestly, I can't think what. There's not a critter in the animal kingdom low enough, and I wouldn't like to insult another life form by making a comparison. *Edit - this is equally true of women using the tactic against daddies. If you continually lose, you might want to reexamine your whole basis of complaint. Also, when you have made children, your first responsibility will always be to them and their needs, whether you like who the kids are with or not.

Granted, I don't know the folks over at Anarchangel, and am writing this after reading only their POV, but I am OK with being lopsided and biased a little. It balances out my constant need to be fair elsewhere.

So I think it stinks to high heaven that someone can use their financial means to try and wrench kids from their parents, and cases like this are a prime example of why people with real legal needs are often left in the dust, with no recourse but to take the kids and run or just give up.

Even if this particular tale hadn't set me off, there are others. Cases where divorcing parents have used religion as a means to take children away from each other (it was OK to be Pagan while we were married, but now that I'm dumping her for someone my mommy likes better, her Paganism is a means for her to corrupt and abuse my children, and no I don't think her clean, loving, smoke free home is a better place than my beer-fueled-nightly-tirade-filled-half-a-trailer, your honor, because I'm Christian and that's my trump card. Burp.)(I know that's offensive - but it happened. To someone I know. Not a friend of a friend. Someone I actually know.)(Although perhaps I am exaggerating a mite...I'm pretty sure he didn't actually burp in court, or admit that he was an alcoholic, drug using, spouse and child abusing asshole to the judge, and the only reason he wanted the kids was to hurt her and get child support. And the only basis he had for complaint was that she was Pagan. Which was fine with him until he started cheating on her with a teenage waitress. Oh, yes he did. Springer episode in two parts, truly)(And while it may seem like I'm generalizing about a religion here, I don't mean to - I have Christian family and friends whom I adore and who love me no matter who, where, or how I worship, bless 'em) make me angry.

So it isn't about religion for these folks...it amounts to the same thing - a strongly held belief in personal freedom and responsibility being used against someone to try and punish them. Please. Keeping a gun in the house isn't abuse - beating your child bloody, making their life hell, verbally abusing them, sexually abusing them, or allowing others to do so - that's abuse. A gun in the house needn't be any more dangerous than keeping a butcher's knife.

Enough - I am getting myself all riled up.

The second thing I thought about was gun ownership. I am a staunch supporter of the Bill of Rights and believe in personal freedom and responsibility above law. I think a government should protect the borders of its nation, enact and enforce the laws of its citizenry, and always remember that it serves the nation's people, not itself. Hah!! I believe that people should be permitted, if they so choose, to own, carry, and even use when necessary, firearms.

My father hunts. My brother used to hunt, and would still if he had the time. My father-in-law hunts. I benefit from the skills of the hunters who use my mum's land, because they are kind enough to share venison with her, and she with me. I grew up in a home with rifles, shotguns, handguns, crossbows, and knives. For all I know, there was a cannon in my grandfather's attic - we are sea-faring folk, after all. I ate game animals and birds on a regular basis thanks to the skills of our family hunters. No one ever got shot, either by accident or on purpose. I even learned to shoot - first with a .22 rifle, then a .22 handgun. I wasn't all that bad, either.

Having said all that...oh, dear...I must admit here that...sigh... I don't like handguns. Hunting guns are different - they provide food, and my philosophy has no difficulty with that. It's the handguns that bother me.

Life is so complex, so special, so very unlikely that I have difficulty with anything that makes it so easy to take away. Guns are...impersonal. I feel that if you simply must take a life, it should have meaning and be deeply personal. It should never be easy. It should take thought, effort, a consciousness of your act. It should be visceral. There, I've said it. Of course I know that's insane. I don't hold with going around killing folks for kicks, or to take what they've earned but you want to steal. It's all terribly wrong to me.

Because of the way I feel, I don't believe that I could use a gun on another human. Because I don't believe I could use a gun on another human being, I will not carry one. This make T unhappy. He wishes I would. He used to ask me to, but has given up on it (at least for now). I won't though. Carrying a weapon you won't use is just another way of arming the thugs. I'd carry a knife if they gave permits for that...or better yet, a sword. I am a complete geek, I know. A blade doesn't discomfit me the way a handgun does, though. I believe I could use a blade to defend myself or my family. I could not use a gun.

Because of the way I feel, I am teaching my son what I call The Rules of Guns:
1. You never point a gun at anything unless you intend to shoot it.
2. You never shoot at anything unless you intend to kill it.
3. You never kill anything unless you intend to eat it or it is in defense of your life.

I have no issue with people who hunt and enjoy it - as long as they are not hunting wastefully and for trophies. I do have issues with trophy hunting. I think it's arrogant and disrespectful, at the very least. I don't even have a problem with mounting dead things on the wall, if that's what people are into - as long as the critter once attached to the mounted body parts was actually used for something besides decor. You know - like clothing or stew or something. I believe that a life taken must be used to its utmost, or it is dishonored, as is the one who took it. Maybe I should make a fourth rule - always honor the life you've taken.

I have not banned guns from the house. I think it's important that Bird learns that they exist, that there are rules and consequences to them, and that he has to obey these rules or suffer the consequences. Come to think of it, I think everyone who has a gun of any sort should learn those things. I don't refuse to associate with people who keep and carry handguns or other firearms. I know that most owners are careful, responsible, rational people, and I do feel safer sometimes knowing they're there - if you'd been some of the places I have, you might feel the same.

I don't yell at my son for playing "guns" with his fingers or sticks or whatever - I just quietly remind him of the rules. He may only be five, but he has them memorized and can repeat them with just a little help.

I wish I wasn't such a wuss, so squeamish about them. In the abstract, the power, chemistry, mechanical engineering, and ingenuity that they embody is awesome. I even think some of them have a terrible beauty to them. But I don't like them, so I won't use them. Collect them, perhaps, but not use them. I am told I'd likely change my mind if someone threatened Bird. I don't know. I hope I never find out.

T carries a magnum somethingorother...one of those great big ones. He can do the shooting while I do the dialing-of-911. Yes, I realize that smacks of cowardice and sexism both, but I can own who and what I am, at least in this.

I could go on, but I really do need a shower and a nap, and to let my somewhat overheated brain cool off a bit. Whatever your feelings on the above, I hope you'll go give Anarchagel a read - they've got some terrific geekery that confused me entirely, a few cartoons, and they are refreshingly honest. Also, it's two people sharing one blog, which I find astonishing since I don't even really like sharing a computer with T, never mind a blog!!