Winter is tough on cats.
admin on Dec 29th 2008
I haven’t been around long enough to say I was a part of the good old days just yet. I have been around long enough to have known my fair share of old fogies who were. Some of the things I’ve learned from them it just might surprise you to know. One example of that lost knowledge is that cats weren’t well thought of here in the western united states a hundred years ago. I’m sure there were cat people and dog people then as there are now, but as a general rule most people were dog owners. It comes from simple logic though and has less to do with loving your pet. Around the farm cats are a nuisance who don’t help out, eat your food, scare your fowl, and only want you to love them when they want you. Dogs on the other hand are loyal and obedient companions who will round up your sheep, fetch your paper and are happy to have your attention when you have time for them. I learned this little tidbit through someone recanting what I concider horrific tales. Stories about how the old folks used to catch the strays that come around in mesh potato sacks and toss them in the river hoping they’d drown or float far enough away not to come back.
I have never cared to own a pet though I have several. Somehow one always manages appear at my house and I end up bieng its owner. Our housholds most recent aquisition is a little black dog that is probably nearing death. (you can see just how old she is in her eyes) She’s a happy little dog and her previous owner obviously treated her well enough to potty train her. (though they obviously didn’t care enough to give her a collar and a name tag) This dog found her way into my back yard through a hole in the fence and it was obvious she hadn’t eaten or been taken care of in days. (maybe weeks) When she found her way to us she was barking constantly and wouldn’t approach a human. Must have been trauma. Once we got her calmed down and with us for some days, she’s been as gentile as can be belived. She has never barked since, not even once. (I’ve tried to get her to.)
I’ve always been more apt to like cats than dogs. The reason there is simple. Cats don’t want anything to do with me, and I don’t want anything to do with pets, so we get along great. I leave a bag of food open and we cross paths from time to time.
Over the past year one of our two cats has moved on. She came home one day rather chewed up, looked like she was half eaten by a dog. We nabbed her and did a bit of first aid. She didn’t like that, and took to not coming home nearly so often. Then after a while she didn’t come home at all. Thats another trait I like about cats. They know when they’re done for so they find somewhere quiet to wander off to and pass on. I’d like to think we have that in common. I’ll probably crawl under a rock when I hear the death rattle and feel sorry for whomever gets stuck finding me.
I mentioned before I leave a bag of cat food with the top open so they can get at it when the are hungry. That doesn’t mean I don’t feed them, just that I always leave it out so If I’m away a while they can. Our oldest cat prefers to stick her head in the bag instead of eating out of the cat dish anyway. Go figure? This habbit of mine has had some less pleasant consequences though. Neigborhood stray cats have gotten brazen. I used to keep the cat food in the back room and they would wander in through the dog door for a snack. I don’t mind it, but I had to stop that because it freaks my family out to encounter a stray when they pop back to do the laundry. This prompted me to move the cat dish into the kitchen and the bag into the dining room/pantry area.
Up until last week I figured moving the cat food meant problem solved. Then the harsh part of winter set in and one of the strays became more brazen. It comes through the back room, through the kitchen, and into the pantry to rifle through the open bag! Well, as I said the stray doesn’t bother me, but then the problem progressed. This big yellow stray cat (who scares my old cat half to death) went and got herself chewed up. She went to find herself someplace quiet to die and that place happened to be my pantry. Luckily we discovered her while she was still alive. (imagine the stink) But I had to call the pound and have them come catch her in my pantry. It wasn’t much of a chase, but I doubt they get called to catch stray animals inside the house very often.
Well from a pot full of dead kittens three weeks ago, to a mean old stray ally cat bleading to death in my pantry, animals have a strange way of finding their way into my life. It seems the less I want to have to do with them the more often they come to me.
I’m still waiting on the terrible clamaty to come at the behest of the pot full of dead kittens. Winter is tough on cats round these here parts.
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