Posts Tagged With: kitty
The fuzzy tail flicks as the kitty shows off her small, white teeth. Her whiskers lift as her tongue sweeps across her lips.
She peeks out, her head ducking beneath a wooden beam. She kneads her paws, moving one step, then another. She ducks her body beneath the wooden support and twists her head to rub her ears vigorously across the rough surface.
If I move too quickly, she’s gone; if I move too close, she’s gone. I talk to her as I move forward, telling her not to worry, that I’m her buddy. I promise cuddles and kisses and better ear-scratches than an inanimate object.
I can get within ten feet of her before she runs. She’s learned that when I move to the corner, something delicious will appear in a bowl–kitty food, both dry and wet, along with treats. Her nose quivers in anticipation.
Someday I’ll lure her from the hay bales and into my lap. She’ll purr with satisfaction and I’ll croon compliments about her soft fur and sweet nature.
Until then, I’ll be patient to watch for a fuzzy kitty’s tail to flick.
I knew there must be another heated water bucket.
I bought one for Melody when we boarded at Arrowhead Farm, and it didn’t miraculously melt into the ground–so I simply needed to search hard enough to find it. Our small shed in front of the barn either held the bucket or it would never be found.
I turned things over, cleaned out a space, and discovered a Rubbermaid container in a corner. I pulled the large plastic tub out, and noticed it appeared remarkably heavy for an item of its size. I lifted it up, and joy of joys–there lay the bucket. It held a great deal of leaves, pine needles, hay, and other random debris, but I’d found it.
I lifted the bucket out of the container and tipped the leaves out into the Rubbermaid container, intending to burn them later. Instead, two eyes stared up at me.
Either I had a very ugly kitty hiding in the bucket of leaves, or an opossum took up residence.
I gave a very girly, high-pitched scream, then grabbed a container of manure to set on top of the initial container. In my head I heard Giles Corey gasp “More Weight.” I couldn’t leave him like that. I lifted the manure bucket off the opossum’s new digs, and left him alone.
When I came back, he escaped, most likely back to the shed. I couldn’t kill him, nor could I let him stay there. I couldn’t.
I thought about the opossum’s food source, and decided he must enjoy dry cat food. I put some inside a live trap and left it overnight.
In the morning, I discovered that the “ugly kitty” trapped himself.
I don’t hurt animals. I avoid it at all costs. In my hands, I held the life of this so-ugly-he’s-cute animal, and couldn’t imagine killing it in cold blood. I couldn’t even think how to try. I don’t own a gun (the husband won’t let me–it falls under his “Nothing that could rip off and/or injure a limb” category) so the fast-and-painless option simply didn’t exist.
Therefore, I brought the “ugly kitty” to Mike next door. He promised that he’d give the opossum a “heavenly experience” at his farm.
This morning, he returned an empty live trap.
Now, all the stalls have working heated buckets for the winter. The ponies will have enough water. The kitties, too, will not be thirsty. However, outside animals are not welcome when they don’t pull their own weight. They’ll be sent next door to Mike.
(I did not harm any animals in the making of this post.)