Cats of Indiana -Part IV

By Richard Davidson

The General had been more than just a nursemaid for our kittens. He had been an enforcer, a policeman, and a friend. I don't know if he was the smartest cat I ever would know, but he was close, if only for his amazing ability to communicate.

We had a number of conflicts among our crew, and one of them was Nadko had grown very bold, and as the other boys grew, he started harrassing them. It was common for males to squabble over territory. The General had done an excellent job of keeping strays from hanging around, and he always had his eye on Nadko. We knew how bad he wanted to run him off, and we were always getting more tempted to let him do just that. He was trying to put himself at the top of the pecking order at mealtime, and we've got a rule about that.

One day, Nadko all-out attacked one of my wife's boys, and The General gave her that cocked eyebrow look, saying "please?" My wife told him to go for it, and Nadko was run off, and would stay gone the rest of the summer and fall.

That was The General's last contribution to our household. He seemed to genuinely love and care for our boys, and had taught them excellent values. He had shown himself to be a true leader before he was gone.

Boo was attacking both Trouble and Sierra on a regular basis. Both girls were skittish and whiney, and that sort of behavior always made her nervous. Boo's attacks weren't as deadly as those of the males; mostly she liked to inflict pain, and wouldn't chase her target very long.

It was the summer of a declining population. Trouble and Sierra were seen less and less, and it didn't take long until neither came back at all.

We'd had a visitor, who I haven't mentioned up until now. There was a Calico with very unusual coloring who would stop by from time to time. She was pretty friendly for a stray, and we always assumed she was from a nearby farm, and had simply realized the menu was better at our house, or perhaps she just liked all the company. We called her "Cali."

Cali

She too would be seen less often, and then not at all. Unlike some of our disappearing cats, we didn't get the feeling anything bad had happened to her.

My wife had told me the cat population had a way of taking care of itself, and she had a point. It was dangerous to live in rural Indiana. There was always the dangers posed by farmers and kids with guns; dogs, coyotes, hawks and other predators; and of course cars and trucks.

Throughout that year, Mama Kitty had often disappeared for up to three days at a time. I felt genuinely worried about her when she was gone, much to my surprise. For a person who didn't like cats, I sure had her on my mind a lot.

"Have you seen Mama lately?" I'd ask my wife, and she'd usually respond, "you don't like cats" with a grin. I think that woman thought she had something on me, and her smugness was duly noted. Someday I would get even with her.

I was always glad when Mama Kitty would return. I didn't see why she'd take off like that, since she had such a nice home, and seemed so happy to be here. Her and Boo had been in the habit of rubbing up against each other when they were trying to make that first breakthrough of letting the humans touch them, and once they'd made the leap, Mama had become as affectionate as any cat I'd ever seen, not that I'd seen a lot of affectionate cats. Maybe if I'd had, I would've liked them better.

Somewhere during the time when the days were growing shorter, and the shadows were growing longer, Mama Kitty had been missing for four days, and then five, and then six. For some reason, my wife and I always talked about her taking up residence somewhere else; maybe being adopted by some nice family. We seemed unable to cope with the idea of such a nice girl succumbing to the fate seen by a Trouble or a Sierra, or possibly Nadko.

Whatever the case, we were down to:

Boo Shy Our four kids; Seven, Axel, Gunner and Dudley

and that was the whole list. Winter came to our door with a cat population that had been cut in half. Of the six we had left, only five seemed to like us very much; Shy was just an orphan who liked a free meal. He was every bit as skittish as his mother, and as his name implied.

He was the only cat who was black and white like his grandmother; one of the nicest cats the world ever knew. A wild woman who had found love for my wife and I in the last days of her life. Maybe she was old, and had gone off and simply died like The General; maybe she really had been adopted by a family on the order of those in Disney movies, I don't know.

But I would always remember her for the show she put on the day she flew up that tree like a rocket.

A show that was for me, and me alone.

As fall turned into winter, the four kittens were amazed to see snow for the first time. At first they high-stepped like proud ponies, not liking the feel of the frozen raindrops on their feet. They were already looking almost like full-grown cats, except for dear little Seven, who it appeared would always be a mini-cat. My wife decided to get them a Christmas present. She went to the pet store, and got a ball of mice. That's right, a plastic ball with about 10 live white mice inside. I told her this idea was useless.

"You're going to open the ball, and the mice are going to run away, and freeze to death out there somewhere."

I couldn't have been more wrong.

At first she let the kittens play with the ball of mice, and it aroused intense curiousity in them as they pushed it around the floor. As they started to bat it around, I said this was approaching cruelty, so just release the mice. She released the mice out on the front porch, and each of our four kitties instantly pounced, each taking a mouse. Seven and Dudley immediately started to eat theirs, but Axel and Gunner played with theirs. Six of the mice simply milled about on the porch, not aware of the danger all around them.

"Run, little mice!" I wanted to tell them, but even running wasn't much of an option, as I mentioned above.

One of the mice walked up to Boo, and introduced himself.

"Hello, Kittycat," it appeared to say, and Boo looked at the mouse, and backed up a few steps.

Boo had never been a mouser. Unlike the kittens' mother, and Boo's half-sister, Trouble, she had never in her life killed or eaten a mouse. For a time, she backed away from the mouse, and then she petted it with her paw. It looked like a friendship had been struck, but it was not to last.

Seven had finished eating her mouse, had put a second one in her mouth, and like a shot, scooped up Boo's new friend. The tiniest, sweetest little kitten you ever saw had two live mice in her mouth, and was growling ferociously to let everyone know they better keep their distance while she consumed her prey.

Boo was angered by this, and looking around, spied Gunner still playing with his mouse. She didn't like the way the kittens were treating their mice, and she whacked Gunner a good one, sending him flying. The look of genuine hurt and surprise on Gunner's face could only make me laugh. Poor Gunner.

Eventually, all the mice got eaten. It was a strange day, and one we would never repeat, but all in all, we felt the kittens had enjoyed their Christmas gift. It was horrible for the mice, of course, but we must face the fact that most pet store mice are snake food, anyway.

Early in January of 2003, I went out into the yard with my camera, and a roll of B&W film loaded. It was a bleak, dreary day, and I needed some good photos. There wasn't much to photograph, and I saw Dudley walking by in the snow. In October, he had given me the best Halloween Kitty picture ever:

My best Halloween Kitty Picture Ever

I said, "do something interesting, Dudley," and to my amazement, he did!

"Do something interesting, Dudley."

"Like get up in this tree?"

"Maybe do a balancing act like Mama amazed you with last summer?" (that pole is round)

"Get up on this post and pose like a yard ornament for yet another award winning picture?"

"How's this for a dismount?"

Dudley turned out to be my most photogenic kitty by far. He may be a little nuts, and he may be a little moody, but he's an excellent subject for photography. He may eat mice, but he's all ham.

Talkback: Post Reply | View replies (2)