Thursday, February 23, 2006, 20:06
Midnight Intruder (Yet Again!)
As I shut the basement door behind me Wednesday night, I heard it -- clunk-clunk-clunkity-clunk.
"That sounds like the kitty food dish in the barn," I said to our Springer Spaniel, Charlie.
I was on my way out to give the horses a little grain, more hay and to check their water before going to bed myself. In the winter, I always give the horses extra feed and hay. The nights are cold, and since the sun is not shining at night to help keep them warm, they need extra feed to fuel their bodies.
When I got down to the barn, I shined the flashlight on the wooden shelf where I put the cat food.
There were wet tracks on the shelf.
"I knew it!" I said. "The raccoon was eating the kitty food again!"
And not only had the raccoon eaten all the kitty food, but he had also put his muddy paws into the insulated cup of water that I set out for the cats.
The barn cats -- Squeak, Momma Kitty, Little Sister and Tippy -- were all extremely happy to see me. The raccoon had eaten the last of their food, and they were hungry. I put out some kitty food from the bucket I had brought with me, and then I turned to the task at hand.
"All right, you -- you -- you -- you raccoon you, where are you," I said.
I took the flashlight out to the lean-to, hoping that if I saw the raccoon I could yell at him and maybe scare him off. I met Charlie just coming out of the garden. He was whuffling and snuffling and snorting and clearly on the scent of something.
Charlie ran back into the barn, with me right behind him.
"Where is it, Charlie? Where is it?" I asked.
Maybe a 70-pound Springer on his trail would give the raccoon pause for thought about coming back to the barn.
I shined the flashlight up on the hay, down on the floor, and even checked the rafters, but no raccoon.
I turned around -- and there, on the other side of the tractor tire -- was a ringed tail sticking out.
"Ah-ha!" I exclaimed.
The creature was obviously intent on watching Charlie, who was over by the door, and wasn't paying any attention to me behind him.
Now's my chance, I thought. I've got my heavy workboots on. I can kick him, and maybe that will frighten him into thinking the barn is a bad place to be. I won't kick him hard. I can't stand to hurt anything. But just enough to scare him. . .
I was about to draw my foot back to launch a kick when I realized there was something seriously wrong with my plan.
Dreadfully wrong.
Absolutely and completely wrong.
Because the ringed tail did not, upon closer inspection, belong to a raccoon. . .
. . .it belonged to my little tabby kitty, Bobby-Cat.
"Bobby-Cat!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing down here?"
"Meow!" Bobby-Cat said, looking up at me.
Bobby apparently had heard the commotion in the barn and had decided to see if she could help me and Charlie. After all, she is a fierce fighter and an awesome hunter -- at least she's a fierce fighter and an awesome hunter where mice and gophers and voles and moles and little green snakes are concerned.
She is also a very helpful sort of cat. She frequently helps me untie Isabelle's water bucket and plays with the braided twine string while I am trying to tie the fresh bucket of water to the post again (so Isabelle won't spill it, you know).
And she loves to help while I am working with Isabelle and often sits by my feet, close to the horse, so that I worry Isabelle will step sideways and step on Bobby. I keep telling Bobby she has to be careful because Isabelle's feet are bigger than hers.
In the end, we did not find the raccoon.
The raccoon has been coming to the barn quite a lot lately, and I know he has to eat. I know he is only trying to stay alive, just as all living creatures try to stay alive by finding what food they can to sustain life. But the question is -- can't he find something else to eat? There are millions of raccoons in the world who live without the benefit of the cat food in my barn!
I have even briefly thought of buying some cheap dog food to put out for him. Except that if I do that, not only will this raccoon come to eat the dog food, but he will probably bring a hundred of his closest friends and relatives. And we don't need that.
One raccoon is enough, thank you very much.
LeAnn R. Ralph
Wednesday, February 22, 2006, 19:24
One Down, One to Go. . .
I took Sophie to the vet clinic Tuesday afternoon for her first round of vaccinations.
All things considered, it went okay.
I did not end up bleeding.
The vet did not end up bleeding.
Sophie did not end up bleeding -- or above the ceiling tiles, which happened with another cat that the vet told me about (thanks a lot).
The other cat, as I understand it, got away from them, climbed up on some shelves, and then climbed up through an open ceiling tile that had been removed so some wiring could be repaired. It was several days before they got the cat out of the ceiling.
But, fortunately, nothing like that happened with my little gray kitty cat Sophie!
As closely as we could determine, seeing as Sophie did not want to sit on the scale very well (with the dogs I can say "sit! stay!" and it's easy to get a weight on them), she weighs around six pounds.
Even though no one came out bleeding, however, Sophie was *not* happy about the situation. The first shot, rabies, took her by surprise. So when the vet came with the mouth swab to test her for feline leukemia, she was ready for him and hissed and spit and generally made herself uncooperative. He got the swab, though, so that was a good thing. Then we had to wait 20 minutes for the test results.
It was sort of a tense time for me because there *is* feline leukemia on a place about a mile west of here.
While we were waiting in the exam room, Sophie paced back and forth on the table -- and growled. And growled. And growled. And growled some more.
Finally I put her back in the kitty carrier. She was happy there and sat and groomed herself while we waited.
The feline leukemia test came back negative (thank goodness!), so then Sophie was set to get her distemper and feline leukemia vaccinations.
I had to haul her out of the kitty carrier again, and while she growled and protested and muttered under her breath, the vet gave her the last two shots.
She was more than happy to go back into the carrier.
"My husband is wondering if Sophie could have some Siamese blood," I said. "Our neighbor has had Siamese cats for more than 35 years, and there've been lots of toms wandering the neighborhood, so I'd say it's a safe bet that, yes, she does have Siamese blood. I would imagine that explains a lot about her behavior and temperament."
"And that's why I'm never going to own one," the vet said with a grin.
I also told him that Randy was working on teaching Sophie to fetch -- and that the night before, she did, indeed, bring the rabbit fur mouse back to Randy three or four times so he could throw it for her again. She loves her rabbit fur mice. And she loves to chase them.
The vet said he had never heard of a cat that would fetch. And he's been a vet for more than 25 years. I said I had heard of only one other, and that was a cat owned by a friend of mine who would fetch paper balls so my friend could throw them again for her.
While I was at the vet clinic, we also scheduled Sophie's spay surgery. She will be going in on March 15. At that time, they will do the second round of vaccinations and then she will be done with those for now.
As soon as we got home, unlike my other cats, who will follow me around for a while after they get back from the vet clinic, as if to say 'thank you for bringing me home again!' -- Sophie hopped up on the bed and settled down in the middle of the big kitties. I think she thought she was safe there, with her big kitty pals.
All I can say is -- I'm glad that's over with.
Now all we've got to do is make one more trip to the vet clinic. . .
LeAnn R. Ralph