Mr. Innocent. . .

Always contemplating his next big maneuver against the world.

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Emotional. . .

Bobcat, sometimes people feel like that too.  Don't worry, it'll get better, not all men cats are like him.

See you're feeling better, aren't you?  Just takes a little time. . .

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The Life Cycle. . .

For the last couple of years a pair of Canada geese have been visiting the pond here at Camp Burning Toast and I noticed the other day that they had been staying through the night, which has not been the norm for them in the past.  Usually they would depart at dusk to bed down somewhere else only to return later the next day, so this behavior of lagging around is unusual for them to say the least.

It was not until I paid a visit out the the point that juts out into the pond that I made a profound discovery!

Seems these geese have been busy bumping feathers and have decided that this pond would be a great place to raise a gaggle of geese babies!

Of course, I cannot live with a goose nest unless I know all about geese, so this is what I have learned in the process:

Canada geese are lifetime mates and generally do not mate until their forth year with the female doing the nest building and incubating of the eggs as the male stands guard.  Incubation of the eggs takes from 25 to 30 days and the goslings will enter the water within one day and a typical brood is from 4 to 7 eggs.  Also, adult shed their flying feathers once a year making them earthbound for weeks, the male soon after mating and the female about five weeks after the hatch.  Both adults regrow their feathers, which usually coincides with the flight feathers of the maturing goslings.  A family that flies together, stays together.

I did not disturb the nest to see how many eggs were present mainly because I like surprises, but also because male geese can be rather fierce.  I prefer to no be attacked by large waterfowl, there is something, oh, I don't know. . .kinda scary about that!

So, I kept my distance and the geese gave a few residual honks as I left the nesting area. 

I hope that all the little birds make it, but the beginnings of life will be very difficult for them.  There are some large bass in the pond, not to mention snapping turtles, snakes and others aquatic beasts.

And don't forget Wildcat and his sick fascination with these large birds.

Bad, bad Wildcat!

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Not a lolcat. . .

This is Bobcat's morning face. . .

. . .and her afternoon face, her late night face, her just after I licked my butt face and just about any other time Black Kitty or Wildcat get a little too close.

Poor girl, must be tough living life without a kitty tail.

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Deep Freeze. . .

Like much of the rest of the nation, Mississippi has been experiencing some terrifically and unseasonably cold weather. I blame Al Gore. Everytime that sumbitch opens his mouth the mercury falls another ten degrees.

Although we managed to miss most of the frozen precipitation, the weather has shut down much of the general construction industry here for a number of days to which I am not complaining so much, because it reduces the chances that I will have to stand out in the coldness as I watch construction experts totally screw shit up.

The last time I can remember it being this cold for this long was back in the early 80's when we dropped to single digits for three days. Now, I know you folks in Minnesota, South Dakota and places where REAL winter sets in are scoffing at our plight, but for us, this weather is cold. Damned cold. I'm talking genitalia shrinking cold.

This was Tuesday morning. . .


. . .as I drove to Hattiesburg to watch construction experts drill giant holes in the ground. . .

. . .and fill them with concrete.



Here is the frozen pond at Camp Burning Toast on Saturday. . .



. . .as Beatrice and I tote a bag of deer food out to the feeding/viewing area across the dam. . .


. . .with Wildcat leading the way, keeping an eye out for the beaver that moved in recently. Nils, we have beavers in our dam!

And no I don't hunt, so you hardcore, bloodthirsty deer hunters can piss off. I'm not baiting the animals to kill them, I much prefer to watch them.

And lastly, Wildcat found a place where he could keep his little kitty feets dry after a trip out across the ice. But as I reflect, he's probably got big designs on the bird feeder.


And trust me, cats do have nine lives after a look at the ice thickness. . .

That's one lucky cat.

So, Al Gore, how bout a big ol' cup of Shut The Fuck Up to keep you warm this winter?

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A Few Words From Black Kitty. . .

I demand, with all respect, approbation and intemperance, that Wildcat, hereafter known as Exhibit X, obey, transfix, adhere to, concur and comply with all laws, jurisprudence, acts, decrees, charters, forms, commandments, covenants, stipulations and ordinances afforded me under the declaration of the 2009 sui generis Sovereignty Accord of Black Kitty.

Let it be known to all cat, kitten, kitty, pussy, pussy cat, feline, mouser, and tom, that Exhibit X refuses to afford me the rights granted to me under the above referenced declaration. Exhibit X has continually avoided compliance with the tenets of this accord as follows:

• failure to comply with Ordinance 27A(1)C-922 which states that clandestine reconnaissance missions dedicated to the pursuit, harassment, isolation and surveillance of Black Kitty must cease immediately;
• continuous frontal, flank or rear assaults launched from camouflaged positions underneath the couch before the hours of 7 a.m. is prohibited as defined in Ordinance 322(b)123-99.1(a);
• repeated episodes of catnip ingestion by Exhibit X after the prohibited time defined as "after the big orange thing in the sky goes away" in Ordinance 42(122)(a)(II)(i)27;
• violating Ordinance 40-99.23(r), which states that since the kitty condo in the corner was abandoned after the death of Boo Boo and has remained uninhabited, is now the palace of Black Kitty with all appurtenances rightfully afforded under current feline housing law [ see Coco v. Thunderballs, 1947];
• as prescribed in Ordinance 36.3(f)-294299.002, all cat toys, and particularly the one with the feathers that makes loud noises have been forfeited to the rightful possession of Exhibit X in a good faith gesture, because in reality, Black Kitty hates toys;
• as defined in subsection B of Ordinance 112-33-20, the lap of Black Kitty's owner is rightfully reserved for leisurely activities between the times of "after my food bowl gets filled" to the time when said lap and owner operate the befuddling doorknob to let Black Kitty out at night;

I, Black Kitty, recognize the right to change, modify, null or void any or all of the above documentation to fit my needs and really only want my peace and quiet. I am a cat born for leisure, relaxation and good times.

Total adherence to the all accords afforded by the 2009 sui generis Sovereignty Accord of Black Kitty by Exhibit X will reduce the likelihood that I, Black Kitty, will go Kung Fu on your ass.

Thanks.

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A Cat's Life. . .

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. . .

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Garden, Day 61. . .

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!

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Digestion Is The Question. . .

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.

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Es Lunes. . .

Yes, it's Monday and the words are just not there. Where are you words?

Must mean picture time! Oh, and does anyone remember Romper Room? Beatrice was stumped this weekend when I held a fine strainer over my face and recited:

Romper, bomper, stomper boo,
Tell me, tell me, tell me do. . .

All I got in return was a blank stare and an affectionate, "Are you ok?"

Am I ever really?

Anyway, some pictures of my Sunday walk through the back 80 with Beatrice and the new and improved Wildcat, fresh off of emasculation surgery. He's still a plucky little guy and right after we got him home Friday, no doubt under the influence of narcotics, he still managed to punch Black Kitty in the face. Poor Black Kitty.

Beatrice and I cut out through the pine thicket at the southeast corner of the property. It's pretty up there and easy to navigate as the shade of the pines and a blanket of needles keeps the undergrowth down.


Birds of a feather. . .this is probably the doings of a bobcat, not my Bobcat, but the real thing. I've seen a couple of bobcats before, but none this year. They're out there no doubt.


It's an uphill slog through the woods over a slight ridgeline that descends into th lower areas of the forest. It rained over the weekend and the lowland, swampy areas and creeks were full.

Care for a swim?

On the back property line is a cutover of waist high brome grass. Here comes the Wildcat!

Lots of interesting things to see, but don't eat the woody fungi Wildcat! You think the vet's dope was good?

Look at all the pretty colors!


Here's Beatrice in a moment of thought. I wonder what she's thinking?


C'mon Wildcat, let's get back to the house!

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No Garden For You!

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.

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