Cats! Love 'Em Or Leave 'Em

I must be in the former group because someone else leaves cats on our doorstep.  We live on prime farmland, a haven to an abundance of rodents.  People assume their furry friends will survive, providing they learn to hunt fast enough or aren't killed on a busy road.

          We think Sarge, our huge male who came with kidney problems, was dropped off because the owner couldn't afford the vet bill.  A 20 pound sack of Purina appeared on our lawn a week later.

Mama Kitty, now twenty-one, was born to a ready-to-pop female someone discarded.  Both cats have stories, but it's Rascal, our chosen one, that I want to talk about.  Rascal is a treasure hunter.  Cat lovers know what I mean.  He hunts at night and brings home his treasures for all to see or find.  You can tell cat lovers by the way their feet shuffle at night on the way to the bathroom—that way their toes encounter the treasure first.  It only takes one whole-footed experience to turn a prancer into a shuffler.

 The only critters Rascal brings in alive are tomato worm moths.  He releases and catches them until they drop dead from sheer exhaustion, or we swat them to save the curtain from another rip.  Moths, alive or dead, are no good to eat.  Rodents are for eating.  Lucky for us no live rodent enters our house, unless a skunk is considered a rodent, but that is a different story.

Rascal is the hunter of all hunters.  Have you ever heard of a cat bringing home two young rats in a shopping bag?  In retrospect, I must retract my no-live-rodent statement.  One rat must have been alive because I heard it squeal before Rascal started chomping on it.  Close to 1 a.m., my potty break, I listened to him crunching.  Now was the time to make my move before he left his meal.  Rascal being white, I could see his shape in the semi-darkness.  I skirted around him, and my toes encountered a plastic bag.  Though puzzled, this gave me a point to aim for later should Rascal leave a morsel behind.

I arose again at 5 o’clock, feeling safe from unexpected surprises, but my foot came down on something hard in the bathroom.  I didn't want to turn on the light as this would have awakened my husband.  Daylight revealed a young rat with its head caught in a plastic trap, and the logo on the nearby plastic bag said Tower Mart.  Now how did Rascal know how to go shopping at Tower Mart to bring home two young rats--one for eating immediately and one for later?  That takes one smart cat.  Thus I name him hunter-of- the-year.

The skunk?  You want to know about the skunk?

She came into the house by way of the pet door to eat cat food.  Our daughter saw her scoot out one night.  The next night Sarge, our chase-any-stranger-out-of-the-county cat, met the skunk at the pet door.  The skunk fled with Sarge close behind.  He returned in short order, shaking his head as if to say, "What was that varmint?" but he didn't get sprayed.

How do you get rid of a skunk?  The animal shelter told me to buy a trap.  In other words, it was my problem.  The Haven Humane Society told me it was illegal for me to trap and dispose of a skunk.  After many frustrating phone calls, I learned about Animal Nuisance Control.  Yes, it cost me a few bucks.  Who cares?  It took three nights of keeping our cats indoors before that huge lady skunk took the bait in the trap outside our pet door.  The trapper also told us to spread flour at the crawl space next door.  Our renters had left the entrance uncovered.  Tracks proved the skunk was living under their house.  Who knows how long?  Who cares?  No more!  No critter will ever get that crawl space open.

If there was a male skunk, I hope he went to the next county to find a mate.  Skunks are one cat I will leave alone.

                                            Donna Brown