A Little Orphan

Sometimes, when you drop your guard and think you've got a set plan, things happen out of the blue.  New pets, for example.  Unexpected ones.  They seem to cross your path at the times you are most certain of your future plans.  Their job is to change plans and make you adjust your life.  They make you move over and make room, like that extra person squeezing in at the end of the picnic bench.  

I have never had reason to fear going to the feed store, despite the fact that desperate animals have crossed my path there before.  One was an abandoned rabbit (she was a great pet).  Another was a young rabbit destined for the dinner plate (we call him "fork to farm", vice "farm to fork").  He is a great pet, too.  But rabbits are uncommon at this feed store, so I was safe.  

What no one saw coming was a private little drama in a feral cat family.  Feral mama cat had a litter in a snug trailer full of hay.  That hay moved to another state.  When the trailer was opened, mama cat moved her family into the next, almost empty, hay trailer.  Someone noticed her moving her kittens one at a time into the other trailer.  Except one kitten fell behind the remaining bales, where she could not reach him.  The truck took the trailer with the cat and her kittens (except one) back on the road later that day, The next day or so, the trapped kitten was found behind the bales of hay.  He was all alone, hungry, and in shock.  He was too weak to cry out.  The man who loads the hay for customers happened to see him when he moved the bales.

Meanwhile, John and I were finishing up our purchase of grain when in walks this man holding the tiny kitten in his hand.  He explained what must have happened and then came that inevitable question.  I was slow on the uptake.  I have a bad cold and should have seen this question coming, but, instead, I just stared at the weak little kitten thinking something along the lines of 'someone should feed it'.  That was it.  My brain stopped processing at the point.  My filing system had already placed the kitten into the folder marked "Someone Else's Project".  

John, however, was three steps ahead.  The initial question was innocent enough, but the following statement contained the dreaded word I should have feared above all.   The word free has many different meanings to different people.  In the adult world, we are somewhat immune to the magic of this word.  It usually means there's a catch (though not often a 16 year long catch).  It means full price on the other one, or divulging personal information to various email lists.  'Free' doesn't really mean free in the adult world.  But when you are a child, free means all kinds of good things.  Lollipops, for example, are still free at some stores (and our local bank).  Kids are so attuned to that word that they could tell you exactly where all the free things are given away within a twenty mile radius of home.  So, when that well-meaning man asked, "Who wants a kitten?", I had not yet entered the danger zone.  But when he followed up with a half-smile and a shrug while saying, "It's free", I should have been terrified.  I heard an inward gasp of air from the child next to me.  All of the sudden, into his world of free lollipops, Tootsie Rolls, and Kisses, entered Kittens.  Not just any kitten either, but a really tiny kitten.  Nobody moved.  The little dull creature was in the outstretched hand pointed in our general direction.  I could feel the boy's eyes studying me for the tiniest twitch of a muscle.  Without thinking I reached out and the warm bundle was in my hands.  It needed help.  Laser beams were directed at me from the offspring.  I passed it to him, again without thinking.  His whole face lit up.  Wait a minute.  What have I done?  It was a standoff and I blinked first.  We had a new animal to care for.  

I teased the feed store folks for setting us up in my weakened state.  Of course, they were all smiles now.  Then I added a bottle and milk replacer to the order.  The boy, meanwhile was enthralled with our new charge.  Before we even left the parking lot, the kitten was named Jacob. 

Jacob is doing well.  He is about two weeks old.  His eyes recently opened and he crawls a bit, but is clumsy.  He was dull, weak, and covered with fleas.  The flea treatment was easy and after getting his belly full a few times, he is more lively.  He is very serious about feeding when he wakes up, but then it's time to play.  He rolls on his back and sort of waves his tiny paws around.  We touch his little paw pads in a sort of tickle game.  Finally, he sleeps with his head tucked in the crook of my arm.

Mike just sighed when he heard about our latest addition.  He and I were discussing how no one else at the feed store offered to take the kitten when John piped up with sincere bafflement, "Who wouldn't want a free kitten?".  Mike and I had a good laugh.

Jacob at 3 weeks

Jacob at 4 weeks.

Jacob at 6 weeks.

Jacob at almost a year.  He is so friendly and needy that he greets us at the door and insists on cuddles.  He sits on a chair at the dinner table.  He wants to be with us as much as possible.  he is also a bit overweight, like most indoor kitties.  He still likes laying on his back.  It's like he's saying, "S'up?".  

But, he also snuggles with Audrey.  

Farm Animal Profile: Bagheera

Bagheera

The late fall weather was perfect for a walk and I had a young donkey colt to train, so we set out down the side of a relatively busy country road at about 11:00 am.  Trucks were going by, school buses were returning to the elementary school, and the colt was doing very well.  I scratched his ears and patted his neck.  Good boy.  

A strange bird called from the bushes across the street.  Donkey swiveled his giant antennae ears towards it.  Another call, but, almost a mewing, vice a chirping.  Against my better judgment, I called out the universally known, "Kitty, kitty?".  Anxious mewing emanated from the scrub brush.  "Oh no", I thought. "But, it's probably feral and will run as soon as I approach, especially with Donkey in tow", I reassured myself.  So, I waited for the traffic to clear and then walked with Donkey to the other side of the road.  "Kitty, kitty", I called again, certain that the unseen cat would scamper further from me.  Instead, a disturbingly thin, ten week old, black kitten ran to my feet, mewing pitifully.  Donkey lowered his head and it pleaded it's case to him as well.  I scooped it up in one hand and a powerful little purr motor started as the kitten continued to serenade me with needy mews.  Why would someone dump a tame kitten?  There were no houses nearby, but, perhaps they dumped it at the school across the street.  I crossed the road and headed home, leading the donkey with one hand and cradling the kitten with the other.  She was a handful of vibrating fur and bones.  I have never see an animal eat as fast or talk to it's food the way that creature did.  Once it was safely tucked away in a carrier, fed, and watered, I called the vet to schedule an immediate check. Shortly after I found the kitten, it rained. Hard. That night was cold for Northern Florida.  It would have been a bad night for a starving kitten.  

She, as it turns out, was negative for feline leukemia and did not appear to have any upper respiratory illnesses, so she was vaccinated, spayed and wormed before I picked her up from the vet's the following day.  I could easily see the outlines of her hips, vertebra, and shoulders.  To my surprise, she was about six months old, but small. 

She was groggy that first night, from her surgery, but bounced back like only kittens can.  My husband named her Bagheera.  Despite her rough start, she grew quickly and caught up to our other female kitty, who was just a few months older.  She is stunningly black; even her whisker and claws.  No white fur anywhere.  Her eyes are yellow with green around the pupils. 

Trips to the vet became the stuff of legend.  While our other two kitties were large eyed, but relatively cooperative, Bagheera was in full battle mode as soon as we walked in the door.  The sounds from her crate were frightening.  The poor vet tech would grimace when she saw us and whisk Bagheera to a back room to do the necessary routine care.  No matter where you were in the vet clinic, you could hear her yowling threats.  Every single time, the poor vet tech had a fresh scratch on her arm when she brought Bagheera back to us.  She is a strong willed kitty.

As she grew into a full grown kitty, she didn't do well with our son when he was a toddler.  She also spent more time with her ears pinned back at the other two cats.  In that same time period, we were losing a battle with the rodents in the barn.  We had a brief respite with two adopted barn cats, but they had to find indoor homes because their long, soft fur became matted very easily with the hay.  The rodents moved back in after the cats left and made us miserable.  We transitioned short haired Bagheera into a barn kitty, and she flourished.  She was always happy and purring when we did chores.  I had gotten so used to seeing her quarrelsome and angry in the house that I had forgotten how happy she could be.  

Instead of trips to the vet, our mobile, large animal vet took over caring for the pets, as well as the farm animals.  When it comes time to vaccinate Bagheera, we treat it like a military operation, complete with pants, gloves, and long sleeves to protect our skin.  Perhaps kevlar would work better.  For about a day after either shots or monthly flea/tick treatment, Bagheera glares at me with ears pinned and darts for cover.  The following day, she is sweet and mild again. 

When we built our tack room, we put in a cat door, so Bagheera could come and go freely for safety or warmth.  She is queen of the barn and all she surveys.

The best Bagheera story is about her and Nancy the goat.  Nancy was living in the first barn stall, which has a paddock behind the tack room.  Bagheera's cat door exits into this paddock.  The first time the two of them met was quite entertaining.  Bagheera emerged from the cat door with all the grace and dignity of her species.  Goats, by nature, are the disruptors of the world.  The embodiment of chaos itself.  Such grace and dignity could not pass within the boundaries of chaos without a collision.  Nancy, in all of her tactless exuberance, bounded up to the shiny, black thing in her paddock.  Bagheera froze momentarily and then took on the stance of a Halloween kitty.  Nancy was completely undaunted.  The little, noisy, black thing was making neat noises.  What would happen it it were head butted?  Nancy reared up and bounced around Bagheera, threatening her with a head butt.  Bagheera lashed out with deadly claws, but the goat was too quick.  Nancy was thrilled with the spitting and hissing and tried again.  Swipe, dodge, rear up, bounce, swipe, hiss.  It was a dance between joy and pain.  At one point, Nancy was a little too slow and contact was made between a single claw and Nancy's poor nose.  Nancy stopped for a moment to contemplate this, and Bagheera ran for the nearest hole in the fence.  Nancy spotted her movement and gave chase.  Bagheera stopped to face her and they continued their dance, with a more wary Nancy.  Eventually, Bagheera made her way out and Nancy stopped to watch her, disappointed that her playmate was gone.  Nancy's scratch was tiny, but she had learned to be careful.  They still have a little confrontation now and again, but Nancy is more respectful and Begheera doesn't hiss at her as often. 

The move to the new farm should be smooth for Bagheera, if we transition her carefully.  Just like we did when we first brought her home, and again, when we introduced her to barn cat life, we will use an extra large dog crate as a temporary home in the new barn (which will begin to take shape today).  We will feed and care for her in the crate for one week before turning her loose on the new farm.  The gates and perimeter fence should keep dogs and larger wild animals out.  She will move a week before we will, so she is free to roam when we get there.

Bagheer as a young kitty, with Audrey. 

Bagheera now.

**Update**

Bagheera was diagnosed with aggressive osteosarcoma in her shoulder.  This is a very rare cancer that cats can get.  We did move her, but she didn't live very long.  She never showed any illness or discomfort.  Just around the time I thought about catching her and taking her to the vet to put her down to keep her from suffering, she passed away.  She was a great mouser and a great barn kitty.