NAME THAT KITTY - Part 2 on Thursday

The Cat Who Came In Through The Window

Tom says I ramble and get off track, which is true and I did, and Jeff says my posts are too long, and they are -- so I ended my last post when it got impossibly long--even though I hadn't even ever gotten to the point.  So this is part 2 and really is about the cat.  Or, at least, after a while it is.

But first, let me explain: 1) Cats who come in  and  2) The window

The first ever cat who came in uninvited did so through some door or other -- we're not sure which or when.  This feral cat, once in, did not like the inside of our house, nor the people in it, and especially the loud screams they made  and he tried desperately to get out.  The people did not like the feral cat inside the house, especially the loud shrieks he made and they tried desperately to get him out. We were all unsuccessful. The cat tore around the house screeching and shredding things and we sprinted after him.  When he holed up in the small back bathroom, 15 year old Jeff, who thought it was all much ado about nothing, volunteered to go into the room with a pillow case and capture the cat.  He proceeded to carry out his plan--without a plan.  Jeff is like that.  Shirtless, gloveless, clueless, in shorts, he entered the bathroom armed with a pillow case.  We listened, fascinated, to the uproar coming through the door.  Screaming and ouching and spitting and hissing and things knocking into others things went on for a very long time.  At last the door opened. Jeff silently emerged with a lumpy, vocal pillow case which he carried outside and threw over the fence as far as it would go. Jeff, who never spoke of it again, was ordered by his Grandmother to go for a tetanus shot on account of the cat bites and scratches that covered his body.  The cat never came back.

But there is another cat........ 

                                            And there is a window.....

We got the window because of Puck and Muck.  Puck is our animal shelter kitty that Jeff and Cyndy gave us for our wedding anniversary about 11 years ago. Elfin and mischievous  when she was tiny, like the character from Shakespeare, her name fit.  Now she is grown, and lazy and sleeps in the sun most of the time--but still is an important part of the family. She loves to pose on the deck rail, the front window sill, the bookcase, the top of Tom's recliner, or anywhere that shows off her beauty.
 

Please Take Me Home

Muck is one of those unplanned-for kitties thrust upon us by happenstance, because we are known to be a soft touch. A work friend called about the poor abandoned kitty who had been living in the field across from their office for some weeks. They brought it inside, but no one would take it home, so it was going to the pound, unless.......

Muck is a tortoise shell kitty, whose fur looks like it is all mucked up.  She looks exactly like Sideways Kitty, same fur, same half pint size, except that her head is sitting straight on her neck, so no one stares. She was not feral, so it was clear that someone had thrown her out into the field. She and Puck, after a few testy weeks, settled down and became friends.

I was not happy about some things though. Since the children were grown up and gone, we had pared down our menagerie to the two cats and had no more ancillary animals, such as gerbils, etc. I was ready to be less intense about animal care and less tied down to home.  Most especially, I hated, hated, hated, the mess of the litter box.  When we traveled for the weekend we could put the cat food and water outside in a bowl and that worked pretty well.  Unlike dogs, they don't eat it all up at once and it lasts the whole weekend. Because they are easier to maintain is why we have mostly stuck to cats anyway.  Except for the blasted litter box.  However, the food became a problem because of the raccoons and possums, who ate it all in whatever quantities we put out and who became bolder and bolder in their pursuit of it.  And they became bigger and bigger.

So, what to do?  I began to contemplate a cat door. I never wanted one, because I think they are way ugly and I always thought about the next person in.  How would a not-cat person new-owner handle our cat door. What to do?  I'll tell you the answer! Google it.

 The google answer is a cat window, which fits in the window like a window air conditioning unit.  That is, you push up the lower part of the window and insert the cat window contraption into the window.  No cutting a hole, and it goes with you when you go.  I was amazed that there was such a thing.  It was sorta pricey, but we ordered it and got our neighbor to help install it. (We are from the city and we went to law school.  We can't do anything useful.) Jeff's father-in-law saw it, loved it and made himself one. (He is from the country and he did not go to law school--though his daughter Cyndy did.  He can do everything useful!)  If you are of our ilk instead of his, I will be glad to share the purchasing info with you.

It took Puck and Muck a very long time to figure out how to use it.  We swung the flap back and forth. We stuck our hands through it.  We stuck them through it.  We put bowls of tuna on the other side of the flap.  We waved sardines in front of their noses and snatched the sardines through the flap as the kitties grabbed for them. Finally there was a breakthrough and it has been heaven since.  No more litter box. No more having to feed them outside where the raccoons can steal the food. They are completely independent. They are free to come and go as they please and so are we.  We can go  away for a weekend with no worries. 

Nothing is ever perfect.  Though Puck--the lazy one--is not, Muck is a hunter.  I think it comes from his time living in the field on his own. He quite frequently catches things and brings them in through the cat window. (see earlier post YEECH SOME BUGS DESERVE THE DEATH PENALTY)  Usually they are not dead; in fact, they are often quite lively. I try to catch him if I see him come in with something in his mouth, but if he sees me approaching, he dashes down the hall with the garden snake, cricket, field mouse, baby rabbit, frog, or bird and decides its fate.  If it gets away, it may live in the house for several days before we rescue it or he recaptures it. Then it is released back into nature or suffers a slow death at his paws in the same way it occurs in the wild on Animal Kingdom.  Except it is our rug that gets all bloody under the bed and all. Yuck! 

This window thing has worked well for many years.  There have been naysayers.  So many of our friends have warned us of the dangers. "What," they say, "if wild creatures from the outside--raccoons, possums and such, come in through that window?  What will you do then?"  Of course, it has not happened in all these 9 years, so why should it now?  I have seen no raccoons, no possums, no deer, no bear.   Not in all these years of Muck and Puck going in and out 10 or 15 times in the day and in the night.

And then............

About a year ago, a big black cat came in that window.  This feral cat, once in, did not like the inside of our house, nor the people in it, and especially the loud screams they made  and he tried desperately to get out.  The people did not like the feral cat inside the house, especially the loud shrieks he made and they tried desperately to get him out. We were all unsuccessful. The cat tore around the house screeching and shredding things and we sprinted after him.  He clawed up the walls and slid down; he tore across the tops of the upholstered chairs; he ran up the front drapes and shredded his way down, pulling them apart as he came. Then by some miracle he found the cat window and zipped his way out.

We were all traumatized, including Puck and Muck and sat quietly for awhile, gathering ourselves until we could regain our senses and be thankful it was over.

AND THEN THE CAT CAME BACK.  Again. and then again. and then again. Mostly he comes in the dead of the night. Mostly he comes straight in and out like a streak through the cat window.  To get food and water and be gone.  Muck and Puck, who once freaked out each time, hardly blink an eye now, though they do not approach him, or even move while he is inside for those few seconds.  He has become slightly bolder.  He comes sometimes in the evening while I am at the computer in the next room, but never when I am in the den--the room with the window.  He comes more often.  I can not post a picture, because I do not have a camera with a shutter speed fast enough to catch anything more than a blur.

So, is he ours yet?  Or will he ever be?  Is it time to start trying to make friends? To start picking out a name? 

Fenster and  Sam

Among the most recent good names we have used is one by master namer Jeff for their german short haired pointer who just died after 11 wonderful years.  Fenster was the most kid friendly dog I have ever known with almost the best name ever.  We have immortalized Fenster in the law firm by incorporating his name into some of our computer passwords--though I guess we will have to change them now since I have spilled the beans. 

Some years ago Jeff's kids gifted us a bronze cat for our deck, which they and Tom together named Buck, to go with Puck and Muck.  Tom is quite anxious to be in charge of the next choice of names for any new animals.  Considering his South Park nature, I am refusing to accommodate and, still in the nascent stage of the relationship, I am wondering, what shall we name the cat who came in through the window?

HOW DOES YOUR GARDEN GROW? THE TENDING

In an earlier post I talked about the adventures of planting our garden. Of course, once the garden is planted, comes the hard part, the tending.  Now I know why I am not a farmer by trade.  How do they do it?

I know why I should want to be a farmer: being outside in the air and sunshine is wonderful, watching things grow from nothing before your eyes is awesome, staying strong and healthy in a natural way instead of with machines and exercise videos is good for your head--and your body.

Farming or gardening is really, really hard work, and full of risk.  So many things can go wrong-- devastating if you are a farmer, only irritating if you are a gardener. 

The Weather

If there is no rain, the garden will dry up.  We don't water our lawn at all any more, because we are trying to be more ecologically mindful.   If a drought comes, it just turns brown.  However, during a dry spell,  Tom--who 

does most of the garden tending-- waters it every day, either early in the morning or after we get home from work.  It is important not to water in the heat of the day--I forget why. 

I was the official waterer when Tom was recuperating from his hip replacement last year. We don't use one of those automatic waterers, again,  because it wastes water and we are trying to help the planet a bit.  So we water by hand,  holding the  hose and using the squeeze nozzle to regulate the spray of water. It takes at least 45 minutes to do our whole garden.  It is boring work, so I would try to amuse myself to make the time go faster. I would squeeze the nozzle different ways to see how big I could make the drops.  I would hold the hose up as high to see how far it would spray so I could cover as much area as possible.  I would count as I moved the hose back and forth in an arch, counting to 50 at each section of the garden. I liked to watch the birds and the squirrels, but if I did that, I would forget what I was doing and water in one place too long. By the end of the 45 minutes I was pretty sure my arm was falling off and I couldn't squeeze the nozzle anymore, even using two hands. But I usually didn't complain when I reported in to Tom, with his hip packed in ice and his next pain pill overdue.

Sometimes it rains too much and the wind blows the plants over.  We have to go straighten them back up and pack dirt around them or tie them back up.  Sometimes they have been broken too badly, are declared dead and are sent to the compost pile.  One thing Tom does that I didn't understand.  I imagine few amateur gardeners know to do it.  If the tiny plant gets splashed with mud or falls in the mud and we straighten it back up, Tom always carefully washes its little leaves off.  I follow suit, but I had to ask. Actually it is to expose the whole leaf to the sun for photosynthesis.  If the mud blocks the process, the leaf will die and if enough die, then the plant does too.

Tom's Expertize 

I marvel at Tom's knowledge of gardening. How does he know these things?  I grew up in Birmingham, a city of cement and steel mills; he grew up in a rural part of Mobile, Alabama, helping tend his family's WWII Victory garden as part of Roosevelt's call for patriotism.  After the family's move to the eastern shore, he and his brother won blue ribbons as members of the 4H Club and earned money by selling the corn they grew in the rich soil of the plot of land their father gave them to farm. He is the true son of an agricultural scientist.

So the difference in our background  may be why the part of the tending that involves pulling weeds is hard for me. I know weeds.  There were a lot of them that grew in the cracks in the sidewalks in Birmingham.  Trouble is, I can't tell in the early garden which are weeds and which are plants,  till they get big enough to see that some are in a row and some more random. In a row, plants--leave them alone; random, weeds--yank them up!  Until then, my weed pulling requires very close supervision by Tom.

Tom does much to encourage the plants along in our thin, clay soil.  Several years ago we bought some compost from a farmer in South Congaree.  Since then we have added only our own home made compost made of vegetable peels, egg shells, coffee grounds, leaves,etc., turned often and processed with the red wiggler worm.  Early in the tending season he transplants the delicate little seedlings a lot, moving them around in the garden, till he finds the very best spot for each to settle in,  take hold and flourish the best. Of course we rotate the crops each year.  Again, I forget why.

Different Crops

We have tried different crops over the years with varying luck. There has been eggplant; butternut, acorn, and yellow crookneck squash; strawberries; cabbage and lettuce.  This year, and every year, it is tomatoes, okra and peppers-jalapeno and banana.  We have added back one of my favorites, field peas, a real southern crop to go along with the okra.

Butternut Squash

Different plants bring different challenges.  Last year the prolific butternut squash spread like the plague and crept throughout the garden, its vines slithering up the tomato and okra stalks, its fruit appearing everywhere. There was a whole lot of choking going on.  We didn't replant.

Okra

Tom has to love the okra into growing. It is delicate at first and needs much tender care.  This year our cats decided to add a twist to the okra struggle by adopting one corner of the okra plot as their kitty litter.

   Each time they visited, they scratched up the tiny plants along with the dirt before they wandered off. We lost a fair number of plants, despite our various attempts to alter the cats' behaviour.  Puck and Muck are not good listeners.

Tomatoes

The tomatoes every year have a different challenge.  One year it was stem rot -- the only year we used poison on the garden.  One year something tried to eat them on the vine--down low.  We figured rabbits, though we never saw them. 

 This year the birds have decided to take a bite out of each--and we have watched them do it. This is the first year that has ever happened! I think they have never liked the hybrid ones, but the heirloom ones we planted this year are to their liking.
 It may also be the squirrels.  We have loads, though for the life of me I can't imagine that they would be hungry with all the bird seed they eat. One of our Republican, NRA supporting, friends tells us with an evil grin that he handles the predator problem with a shotgun. I picture his garden strewn with the dear little bodies of wildlife.

Crookneck Squash

The biggest problem we ever had was with our crookneck squash. It began disappearing, the entire squash.  Turns out the raccoons were clipping them off at the stems and carrying them away.  We tried everything to discourage them, some suggested from Google, our primary research tool. Their big suggestion was to sprinkle cayenne pepper on them.

Fail. The raccoon does not care. Apparently he carries the squash to the closest water, washes the pepper off, and down the hatch it goes. Any he leaves for the next visit the rain takes care of and the pepper is washed away.  In desperation we called Tom's entomologist brother Sam for professional advice, knowing that he is better than Google any day.  Professor Sam, cleared his throat and said, "Hell, Tom.  Just plant enough for you and the raccoons."

Will all the hard work pay off?  What kind of yield will we have?  Every year I can't wait. Will this year be the best ever? 

*Tom wishes me to note that all photographs of vegetables are from our own garden.