How Bobcat can go from this docile and sweet static creature. . .
Bobcat, sometimes people feel like that too. Don't worry, it'll get better, not all men cats are like him.
This is Bobcat's morning face. . .
Throughout my entire life, with a handful of exceptions, I've always had a cat. Or two. Or three.
I can name all of them.
Chouca, Meo, Angel, Varmit, Sammy, Kitty Witty, Butch, Kit, Cat, Boo Boo, The Guy, Momma Kitty, Ché Boludo, Bobcat, Black Kitty and finally, Wildcat.
Each of them had a unique personality. Like Meo. She was a big, fat Siamese momma kitty and when I was a kid during a moment of great distress and began crying, like the time I tried to "adjust" my cowlicks with the scissors but ended up mowing my bangs down to the skull, she curled up in my lap and purred her little heart out. A mother first, a cat second.
Or Butch. A female Calico, who was run over by a car and managed to pull herself from the driveway with her two front paws around the corner of the house and through the open back door, suffering from a broken pelvis and the ball of her leg/hip joint snapped off. Once rewired by my godfather, Dr. Johnson, she lived a happy 13 years, "butching" around on her bum leg catching birds and mice.
Or Sammy. A gray and white American Shorthair who grew to a fiercesome 17 pounds of ass-kicker. Just ask the dopey Golden Retriever from down the street who would come to our yard with his personal tennis ball for a game of catch every now and then. I wouldn't have believed it if I didn't see it, but Sammy whipped his butt and took his ball too.
Now I have Wildcat.
He just showed out of the blue one day. Like Bobcat and Black Kitty, great wandering felines who simply happened upon the right doorstep.
I named him Wildcat because the night he arrived, he had Black Kitty cornered on the front porch and was putting on a spectacle of cat intimidation that even real wild cats could've learned from. His body was twisted and contorted to such degree and his vocal emanations so loud and chilling that if I were a cat, I would have not had any second thoughts about getting away from such insanity.
The racket was loud and scary enough to roust me from my bed at 11:30 at night. I stepped outside to see what was going on and in the split second that I opened the door, Wildcat barged inside and made himself a feast out of the community food bowl. Right at home, whether I liked it or not.
Since then, he has become a part of the great cat family. Always rambunctious and never knowing when to quit, he is always on the lookout for something to do. Like, taking a giant leap from the floor to the bed and scrambling across my face at 700 miles per hour at 3 o'clock in the morning. Leaving me as a total, discombobulated wreck. Or diving under the covers as I seek safety to bite me on the ankle or toe. Or even launching himself onto the screen of the window from outside when he wants to come in.
Bobcat, Little Ms. Fussbudget, has learned to temper his aggressiveness with some scowling and guttural growls. Wildcat learned early on about Bobcat's razor sharp claws (we all have scars), yet this does not stop him fron an ocassional moment of bothering. Like plopping down just close enough to irritate, but slightly out of the danger zone from a quick swipe.
But Black Kitty on the other hand, still hasn't come up with a worthy defense. He, the perennial loner and lover of all things, has taken to slithering under the couch for a kitty nap or curling up inside the cat condo that no one else has anything to do with. Although, Black Kitty has learned that if a chase ensues, simply by stopping and spinning around with a hiss will halt all Wildcat pursuit. Hey, if it ain't running, I guess I don't want to eat it. Or harass it.
RETREAT!!!!
Yet, episodes such as this will never stop the intrepid Wildcat. He's always on the lookout for something to do. He is an adolescent after all and has much to learn. And of lot of that learning I fear, will be the hard way.
Take for instance, giant birds. They look tasty enough and maybe they'll run too!
Look good to eat from a distance.
On second thought though. . .
Where is Black Kitty? I think I'll just harangue him instead. . .
Ambient Temperature: 63°
Soil Temperature: 66°
Time: 6:30 p.m.
Date: March 28, 2009
Several weeks have passed since my last garden update and today was a glorious wonder of warmth, light and relaxation in the garden.
This past week, the state of Mississippi absorbed no less than four individual storm systems in the same number of days. Several tornadoes touched down causing moderate damage and multiple injuries, but luckily no deaths. The rest of us, well, we only had to suffer through a lot of rain, thunder and lightning. By my count, we received over 7 inches of rain, much needed, but the ground is saturated and should remain that way for a couple of days.
This, however, did not stop me from cleaning up around the garden as best I could considering the sloppy conditions.
To date, and with Beatrice's earlier help, I've managed to plant 6 tomatoes, 6 collard greens, several red potatoes, and 4 sweet peppers. There is considerable clean-up to be done in the four remaining garden beds and still left to plant are other varieties of tomatoes, cucumbers, squash and zucchini as well as Swiss chard, wild garlic from my brother's garden and whatever else I haven't thought of yet.
In between dipping a hook in the water and sitting on the front step watching a pair of Canadian geese that like to hang around here, I was able to get a handle on all the weeds that took over the garden beds, fence and just about everything else during my extended absence last year. I must say it feels good to have an orderly garden again. Not much left to tame really, except for a few persistent fire ant colonies. Stubborn little buggers I tell ya!
I was able to harvest four leeks that popped up over the winter. As you can tell by the bulging root bottom, I left them in the ground a wee bit too long, but they will taste delightful nonetheless.
The "sprunging" of spring brings with it countless variety of critter. Some beneficial, others pesky and some downright disgusting. I noticed today that we've had a bloom of caterpillars and generally they are harmless, interesting creatures until you notice several hundred of them loping along in their undulating, rhythmic lurching. I watched one trundle along the steps out front as I was watching the resident geese. He stopped on the leafy part of some weeds I've been trying to eradicate and burned through several leaf segments in a matter of a minute or two. Hhhmmmm.
Better stay outta my garden little buddy!
Bobcat, kill the bug!
How about you Wildcat? You game?
Lazy cats!
Another of nature's creations that reappear with the warming weather are snakes. Mississippi has it's fair share of poisonous and non-poisonous snakes, some 40 species, 6 of which are poisonous and some of them can be rather large! Last summer, I was driving on a desolate back road between Port Gibson and Highway 28 through a uninhabited game management area when I saw a snake crossing the road. His body stretched from the road edge to the centerline stripe. That's ten feet roughly. I tried to speed up ahead and take a photograph, but it was summer and I'm sure he didn't want to wait around on the scorching asphalt very long.
This afternoon, after pulling the leeks, I was turning the corner of the house when I looked down to see what I thought as a knobby piece of wood in the freshly cut grass. Much to my surprise and good luck, I found a little snake. So, as any good naturalist would, I went into the house, got the official snake-scooper-upper and captured the beast.
Thankfully, we've had a couple of nights of cold weather and the snake was more than happy to oblige. I'm glad he wasn't moving too quickly because poisonous or not, no one wants to mess with the business end of a snake.
When I first removed the lid, he threw his head back and opened his mouth. I knew then I was dealing with a dangerous critter as his fangs descended from the roof of his mouth. I tried to get a picture of him in this position, but as a reluctant model I guess he didn't understand me when I requested the he "pout" more.
Alas, what do you do with a poisonous snake? Most people would have killed it, but not me. I toted him out into the pine thicket as deep as I was willing to go into the woods. He seemed quite happy when I dumped him out on the carpet of pine straw and he snaked his way through the straw, flicking his little tongue, back on the hunt. I just hope he keeps moving north and doesn't revisit me later on this summer. Larger and more sinister.
Initially, I thought he was a copperhead, but after looking a little closer and with a clear remembrance of his white mouth, I realized now that it's a cottonmouth.
Either way, I hope he has a long productive life doing snake things in the woods where he belongs. He has no business hanging around my tomato plants. That's stinkbug territory!
Last night was one of the many miniature adventures one goes through in life, but this one started with a can of tuna.
Bobcat and Black Kitty have been such good little furry beasts this week that I felt they needed a treat, and the house favorite is Star-Kist tuna in water. Don't ever feed a cat tuna in oil, their little kitty poots are like tiny atomic explosions and can clear a room in a few seconds.
Anyway, I opened the can and gave most of the juice to Bobcat with a little tuna flesh. The remaining fish and any leftover juice for Black Kitty. Yes, cats have idiosyncrasies. Bobcat prefers the juice and Black Kitty the meat. I divided the can and the happy felines munched and lapped their way through the tuna and afterward, each found a nice warm corner to preen in and all seemed well in the cat world.
That is, until I heard Black Kitty squawk.
I'm used to his constant vocalizations and the majority of them are call-like as he wanders around the house checking to make sure that all things are in order and places like the bathroom, for instance, haven't been moved away. Not sure what he's looking for, but he has a routine and sometimes I play along, calling back to him. It seems to please his edgy cat brain and after a bit of this he usually sacks out for a nap.
But this call was different. More like a yelp or a distress call. I peered around the corner and found him hunched over with feet tucked close under his body, but before I could get to him, he had already begun the convulsing movements of vomiting. From personal experience I can assure you that it's not a great idea to pick up a vomiting cat. So, I just let him go. Nothing a quick clean with bleach on the slate floor won't solve.
So, Black Kitty yakked. Twice more. And that was it. A huge pile of undigested tuna, some cat food, some indescribable and outlandish looking stuff. I examined it closely for worms, just to make sure, then scooped it up and cleaned the floor. Black Kitty seemed no worse for wear and I resumed washing clothes and packing.
About thirty minutes later, he stood by the door as if wanting to get out, another cat game he likes. In in this game, I play the stooge who operates the door handle and he pokes his head out the door just to look around until he retreats back inside as if well-satisfied to see that the charcoal grill and rocking chair are still present and accounted for on the porch. Me, standing there opening and closing the door. As many times as I open it, he'll poke his head out.
As I was closing the door the last time, I looked to my right and noticed another pile of yucko.
Just woooooonderful, I thought.
I got some paper towels, bent over to pick up the fourth pile of the evening when I noticed something glistening in the sputum and half digested cat chow. It was a nice, fat, gleaming, milk-white tape worm, oh roughly six inches in length and obviously quite irritated it had been expunged from it's living quarters in the cat's bowels.
Ugh-O-Rama!!
Add living, slimy, slithering tapeworms to the list of shit I don't like to see, which includes cockroaches, sunflowers and honeycomb patterns. Sorry for the vulgarity in a relatively vulgarity-free post, but fucking nasty!! Beyond fucking nasty!!
After my crawling skin settled down, I pulled off half the roll of paper towels and disposed of the thing in the garbage. Cleaned the floor with a triple dose of bleach and kicked my poor, tapeworm infested kitty out the damn door.
I was wigging out for half an hour. Every little skin twitch made my skin prickle and the thought of that slimy bastard oozing around in a pile of vomit was making me ill in my own right. I finally settled back down and proceeded to relax, sorta.
I heard the front door open and I figured one of the cats had pushed it open and paid no real attention when I heard some nibbling of the cat food in the kitchen. My cats eat constantly, as if they've never seen food before, this on top of the various birds and mice they massacre from time to time. Probably where Black Kitty got his parasite from.
Fifteen minutes or so later, I walked into the kitchen, to find the door open and a giant possum meandering around the kitchen. I grabbed to closest weapon I could find, which is a brand new feather pillow. I charged at the thing, waving the pillow wildly in front of me! The possum, in great defense of his own well-being, just fucking sat there, blinking absently. And seemingly, uncaring.
Well, this is not what I expected. I lunged in with my pillow and this time he went scurrying away from the door and into the living room, but again, in no real hurry. Three low-speed laps around the Lay-Z-Boy, him trundling along and me in hot pursuit with a dangerous feather pillow until he finally slipped out the door, right past Wildcat who never even blinked at him.
A lot of good you are Wildcat! You damn near kill Black Kitty every time you see, smell or hear his little ass! WTF??? Didn't you just see that giant, smelly possum???
Wildcat casually walked over to the empty bowl, turned to look back and in protest said, "Meow?"
Damn cats.
Last night it rained over two inches under the explosions of big thunderstorms and it appears that it's too wet for gardening today. But after being cooped up for days with a cold, I decided to get out and about Camp Burning Toast to see what happening anyway.
With cats in tow. . .
I slogged around the pond through the sloppy mud and grass to find a dead turtle. Can turtles drown? He's an old guy, so I suspect that it was just his time to go. Before we arrived, a vulture was having a feast.
Bobcat was cautious.
And Wildcat seemed uninterested as he dried his paws on the back of my shirt.
We observed the excess water as is babbled from the pond and down into the creek system through the back 40.
But a little running water is nothing for young felines.
Bobcat will never be outdone by the new cat, an interloper in the standard of her kitty brain.
Wildcat had to one-up her though, as he checked out the bluebird house. Sorry Wildcat, it's a little early for the bluebirds. Give it another month.
Well, all seems well and good. I guess I didn't miss much in my Nyquil-induced hibernation. Sure can't wait to do some fishing though! I think it'll be a good year. Another 13 pound bass this year? Maybe, just maybe.
Ambient Temperature: 29°
Soil Temperature: 39°
Time: 5:30 a.m.
Date: February 3, 2008
Well, Puxatawny Phil, thanks for your glorious spring outlook you dirty little wombat!
The garden is coming back to life, whether it wants to or not. Someone, namely me, has the fever and it is an illness with no cure. My thumbs are already turning green after a long winter sleep.
Beatrice and I spent the weekend with an all-out assault on the weeds, brambles, scrub bushes and fire ants which took over the garden last summer. Most everything is dead, which facilitates easy removal, although the ants are alive and well. Especially the giant mound in raised bed number 7, which served as last years compost pile. WE MUST RETAKE THE COMPOST PILE!
Beatrice led the charge on the riding lawn mower, which was recently repaired for a dollar to a dime.
The damn field mice made off with half of a wiring harness that controls the ignition and fuel pump. God only knows what these mice do with the plastic coating. Maybe you can enlighten us Mr. Greasywrench on the propensity of small rodents who shred the sheathing off electrical wires.
I spent the afternoon turning dirt, folding in composted manure and lime and pulling out those dastardly weed things that the stinkbugs love so much. And I poked around in an abandonded ant bed or two ensuring that no one was home before I turned the dirt over. You really don't want to stir these ants up because they don't call them fire ants for nothing.
In bed #2, we planted a row of red potatoes, which after a week of living in the warmth of the kitchen, had sprouted eyes and were looking for a new place to call home. Bed #2 seemed like a prime candidate, so we cut the potatoes down, isolating the budding eyes, leaving behind enough potato to form a root mass and planted about a dozen of them down the middle of the row. If they survive the next couple weeks of cold weather, we should have a deluge of red taters by mid to late spring.
In other news. . .
Camp Burning Toast is much like the United Nations rotating Security Council presidency, we have a rotating parliamentary body in the form of animals. The last seat was vacated by a skinny black dog, who had apparently escaped from some form of bondage and spent about a month with us before departing into the great unknown. Friday night, I heard cats howling outside and found Black Kitty all bowed up and ready for a fight in a face off with another cat. I stepped outside assuming that my mere presence might scare away the intruding cat. Buddy, I was flat wrong.
In my lifetime, I've raised an army of cats and I know, understand, and can emulate perfectly cat behaviour, body language, calls, and let me tell you, this skinny little beast, had you heard him in the woods in the dead of night, would have scared the skin right off your body. He knew how to curl his body up into the oddest, and probably for another cat, most frightening contortions ever seen, and when I breached to doorway of the porch, he paid no attention to me. Black Kitty, who is a lover not a fighter, and who would throw himself in front of the mouth of past body president Black Puppy only for the affection of a few licks, did not know what to think of this feral animal.
I tried my best to intervene in the situation which resulted in both cats charging into the house at the same time. Black Kitty scared to death (he's a nervous cat anyway) and the new cat quite comfortable in his new surroundings. So, I guess we have a new cat and of course he has the curse of big furry cat balls leading me to predict a trip to the vet in the near future.
Everyone? Meet Wildcat.
He's not too fond of the other cats obviously, but he's a juvenile and removal of his manhood should reduce the incidences of cat on cat violence. In the meantime, Black Kitty will just have to toughen up and Bobcat, well she has razor blades for claws and knows how to use them.
Anyway, I like my new kitty. He's got spunk, ain't afraid of shit, including the lawn mower, and well, just seems like my kinda guy.
Might have to stock up on Heineken though.
Black Kitty - 3
Cutesy Veterinarian Helpers - 0
I'll put it to you this way, human skin is no match for a terrified, buzzsaw cat.
Black Kitty's surgery went off without a hitch, almost. He managed to mangle two of the girls at the vet's office, but he seems no worse for wear after the whole ordeal. The frowning women of the doctor's office on the other hand. . .
Last night when we arrived home, I let him out of the cage and he stumbled and bumbled around, obviously still under the influence of some narcotic, the lucky bastard. I let him outside, whereabouts he tore into some food, alternating between two bites of food, 20 to 30 laps of water and several episodes of just staring off into space. Must have been some good dope. All of this was followed by insatiable scrotum-licking sessions lasting 5 to 6 minutes. Then, in an instant, he disappeared.
This morning, he was there, purring up a storm in the early fog. And happily munching away on his food.
Good kitty. Everything's gonna be alright.
Next obstacle?
Moving into Bobcat's house.
Cats are incredible creatures. Intelligent, sneaky, affectionate and sometimes a downright pain in the butt. The black cat above, Black Kitty, is no exception. He greets me every morning with purrs and guttural meows, crashing his thick head into my ankles for a rub. Today was his big day or at least it was supposed to be.
See, he just showed up one day. Completely feral, untouched and untouchable. I guess he's been living around the house now for almost 9 or 10 months and it's just been in the last couple that he has allowed anyone to touch him. He is the lap cat of all lap cats now with a complete and full undertanding of the power of the human hand.
And much to the chagrin of Bobcat. . .
. . .I'd like for Black Kitty to become a part-time inside cat like Bobcat is. Only one problem: big, furry, cat balls.
For those of you who've never owned a cat, let alone a male cat, let me explain. Big, furry, cat balls lead to one thing and one thing only, well two things, but thankfully Bobcat is fixed.
Big, furry, cat balls lead to spraying, the instinctual marking of territory by the male. It's not a big deal when it's on a bush or the hedges, it's another when he splatters your couch. It doesn't stink in the normal sense of the word. It's stink like the stink has been distilled, refined, pressurize under the graviational pull of Jupiter, ionized, ozonated, concentrated, fermented, agitated and just for good measure, if you could piss off stink, this is what pissed off stink would smell like.
In a word, bad.
So today, Black Kitty was going to the vet for big, furry, cat ball removal surgery.
I bought a brand new pet carrier and everything. I had it all planned out, except for one thing. Cat intuition.
This is the first morning in months that Black Kitty has not been on the porch waiting for me. I suspect that he knew, he somehow understood that his big, furry, cat balls were hanging in the balance. Bastard!
I'll get you and your big, furry, cat balls tomorrow buddy!
Cats are amazing creatures and never cease to amaze me with odd behaviors and doings. Curious, agile, affectionate and independent are a few likable qualities you can find in your feline friend. And if there is one thing cats do better than any animal, it's getting comfortable while they sleep.
Bobcat is no exception. And if there were cat-sleeping Olympic events, she'd be a sure-fire gold medal winner.
Although sometimes, I think she's just an attention hound.
. . .are these your relatives???
Really dear, you should teach them better manners.
. . .the end is near and even Bobcat prescribes to the premise.
Dr. Peter Venkman, facing the prospect of the end of the world once said, "Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together... mass hysteria!"
The end has arrived. Painted in the face of a slack-jawed dog. . .
And the rich green eyes of a black feral cat.
Hang on folks, it gets rough from here on out.
And for how long??
What am I supposed to do with that damn dog out there?
Bobcat loves to be scratched right there.
Some of you may not know this but cats have scent glands in the sides of their heads, not to mention many other places in the feline body. Most of them have a little hair or two protruding from these facial glands. So, the next time your cat is rubbing up against your leg or your cabinet door for that matter, he or she isn't saying they love you. They are saying, "My property! Other kitties? Hands off!!!
Well honestly, they probably do love you. You feed them, why wouldn't they??
Polishing the nails for a catfight.
Bobcat remains unhappy that the nameless black kitty is still around.
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