Cats on the Porch

Annabelle, in front of the barn, where a good kitty should be...

I made the mistake of feeding Annabelle and Barney on our front porch once last week. Who knows what I was thinking? And when they were up there I made an even bigger mistake by milking two of our goats on the porch one morning. Almost immediately we had two wanna-be house cats underfoot. Open the door: there's a cat. Look out a window: there's a cat. Annabelle even found the wooden cat house I so laboriously built two winters ago for our then cat-in-residence. Situated beside our bedroom window, atop the wooden house, she could stare into the house--her pretty little face there to greet any unsuspecting sleeper who awoke from a nap or in the morning.

"No cats on the porch!" The decree was handed down. "No cats on the porch," the statement reverberated throughout the house. "No cats on the porch," we said to the furry felines each time we stepped onto the porch.

Barney, on the porch!

No matter what we said, the cats were not about to budge. They knew a good thing when they saw it.

"Who's minding the mice?" asked our Operations Manager. "Who's looking out for the grain?" she wanted to know. But most of all she wanted to know, "Who's watching the barn?"

If I didn't know better, I would swear that the cats' expressions replied, "Who cares?" Cheeky kitties.

Tuesday evening I made a show of bringing the milking pail up to the barn in the evening. Whaddya know, Annabelle and Barney came right along with me. First Pamela stood to be milked. While she has very little milk--both of her kids died within a day of birth, and Leslie's kids, Samuel and Maguire, who used to nurse from Pamela are generally separated from the does of late--she has enough milk to make two cats take notice.

After I had their attention, we swapped Pamela out for Leslie. She had enough milk for both the cats to feast and for the dogs to get a good taste. Finally Miss Marcie, our Dairy Queen, stepped onto the milking stand. Although well fed, both felines lurked about the base of the milking stand--watching and waiting. They did not have to wait for long. Soon a fresh bowl of Marcie's milk was laid at their feet.

I did not hear her say it, but I think Annabelle swore, "I'm never leaving the barn again!" after that feast. Barney, our cat-about-town, still wanders. He likes to visit the self-proclaimed Cat Lady next door. After all she feeds gourmet treats twice daily. He did try hanging about the front porch, too, in spite of our continued mutterings of "No cats on the porch."

Adolescent fowl on the porch stairs; right: Lawrence, Guinea cock

What fixed him, though, had nothing to do with humans. No, yesterday afternoon I stepped out onto the front porch in time to hear Barney hiss and see him come flying up the porch stairs and streaking over to me. Unable to fathom what might have scared him, I walked to the porch edge. There I found the adolescent roosters fluffing about. Apparently they'd been snoozing on the stairs when Barney tried to pass, so they attacked the interloper. I'd say they did a good job; they just about scared the mice right out of him!

Mouse Tales

When I was growing up the children of our household belonged to the "Clean Plate Club." One did not get excused from the table until one's plate had been cleaned. We had no pets begging below the table (still don't), so we were responsible for cleaning our own plates ourselves, thank you very much.

I think the goats have their own version of this club, for nary a speck of grain is left behind when they are done. All the other animals have different standards. For example, the goats and chickens clean up behind the horses. (I mean they clean up the horses's feed pans, although the chickens do also clean up behind the horses.) The dogs can return to their feed at any time, as can the cats; self-feeding works fine for them--unless hungry geese stop by to chow down. And the alpacas do finish their feed, but they do not bother to clean their feed bins.

Some time ago when I went in to add feed to Spencer and Greg's feed tub I found two dead mice left there by our recently-acquired cats. I praised the cats lavishly and remembered to thank them again as I served their evening goat milk. Apparently they took note of the extra attention.

If the light is dim by the time I feed in the inside stalls, I'll reach in a hand to explore. In the three boys' stall (Hamilton, Romeo, and Shaun), I clean out any hay that's fallen into the bin. In the mama pacas' s stall, I used to do the same; however, since switching them to a self-feeding regimen (like the dogs and cats enjoy), I simply gauge the level and types of feed left in their bin before mixing an addition. (The mama pacas receive a blend of three grains/pellets, plus some alfalfa shreds to enhance their milk production.) Ever since finding those two mice, I reach into the young boys' feed tub to make sure no more mice are lying there. Tonight I felt a suspiciously corpse-like shape beneath my glove and refrained from adding grain immediately.

Backtracking to the corridor, I flipped on the light switch that enables me too see into the stall corners. A spot in the floor was squishy due to the recent torrential rains, so I checked the condition of the corridor ('twas acceptably dry) before continuing. When I stepped up to the feed bin, I received a surprise. The one or two mouse bodies I expected to see had multiplied eightfold. (The sight was so exceptional that I remembered to pull out the camera.) I had to gather sixteen mouse bodies [count 'em if you wish, photo above] before wiping the grain remnants out of the feed tub. Sixteen! (Think, Dear Reader, of the little presents cats have left for you over the years. Would the cats in your life ever have lavished such a generous gift on you? I doubt it.)

Leaving the stall with a glove-palm-full of little mice, I began singing the cats' praises immediately. "Wow, guys! I've never had anyone gift me with sixteen mice! Thank you so much, Ms. Annabelle and Mr. Barney. You did a fine job. That's right, I've never, ever--in my entire life--ever had someone present me with sixteen mice. You guys are incredible!" (Yes I babble when talking to the animals. They've never asked me to be quiet, so I figure it's okay with them.) Before I reached the trash bag by the barn door, I had two proud felines twining around my ankles.

As we talked I acknowledged that I had failed to milk the night before because of the rain--eventually I'll have the milking area under cover--and told them that the lack of milk was in no way a reflection of my appreciation of them. I promised to begin milking shortly and told them that they did not need to overcompensate by catching sixteen mice just because they'd been deprived of their warm treat the prior evening. I also admitted that I would be milking only every other day now, and that in a couple of weeks we'd stop milking entirely so that Marcie can build her strength for the kid or kids she's carrying.

Needless to say, both Annabelle and Barney were present and accounted for come milking time that evening. They received additional praises with their milk and appeared to be satisfied. These cats are tremendous hunters, and very generous with presents, too! We are so glad they moved here to P&CW Farm, and that my mother never had a chance to teach them about any clean plate club.

Thanks, Barney and Annabelle!

A Chilly Friday Morning

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