The Cat Sitter

No pets are allowed on the Divine property, the better to preserve our wildlife, but sometimes I like up close and personal, especially with exceptionally fine cats such as those I cat sat for this past weekend: Hermann, Rufus, and Mimi (pictured).

They filled life with surprises. I opened the bedroom door after waking, and ginger cat Rufus was there waiting for me--and raced me downstairs to the kitchen where each morning we caught the suburban sunrise from the exceptionally fine eastern-facing window.

suburban sunrise

The house is on a hilltop and it is very different for me to see houses below, to sit in an armchair (which I don't have) beneath a good lamp (which I don't have), with a cat perched on the armrest or in my lap, making a continuous bubbling sound, to enjoy life and simple reading and writing as if on a vacation--because I wasn't driven to do 200 things at once, as I am at home--and some inter-species communication, mutual curiosity, and unconditional love.

Domestic animals rule, too!

Cats Do Not Belong Outside

All I wanted was a short walk and I had to step over this and think about its life and death, its owners who must have loved, admired, fed, and held it and are probably now wondering when their pet will come back to its fine warm safe indoor home, just right for a domesticated animal. They let their cat out so it could walk on the wild side, chase a few mice, kill a few birds, get some exercise; or perhaps they weren't watching and it escaped, wanting adventure instead of lazing around the house looking elegant. Its cream-colored tail lay about 12 feet away. Please keep cats indoors; letting them roam is the same as killing them. A few feral cats live around here, and while they might survive for a season they all meet the same fate; I know that because I walk these roads. Letting your dogs run loose isn't a good idea either.

Come & Get It, You Little B-------d

Today on this first truly cold day of the season (high 32 degrees) I was making my famous Christmas cookies and had just lit the stove when a little gray blob shot across my kitchen floor. I hate meeses to pieces. So I loaded up a mousetrap.

Over many years I have learned:

1. Bait it with peanut butter.
2. Just a scant trace of peanut butter. Even a little too much and they’ll eat it without triggering the trap, the little cowards. The photo shows the bait dolloped and OVERFILLED.
3. Lay the trap in a tight spot so the mouse has to wend and elbow its way toward the trap and can’t weasel back out.
4. Listen for the sweet “snap” and gloat when you hear it.
5. Set the trap the night before you expect a guest or guests who is/are a real mensch and not too squeamish to take the icky trap with the broken-necked mouse outside and dump the body in the field.

I Wanted a Rabbit

Wanted a pet. Something all mine, beautiful and friendly and warm, to lavish affection on, and receive affection in kind. A true and loyal friend who would enjoy my company, who would appreciate little gifts I would buy for it, and treats, and cuddling, and be glad to see me. It would give me something to live for besides myself, and be a reason to get up in the morning when days were rough, and share my happiest and saddest times. We’d appreciate each other as God's special creations and be each other’s best friends. We would have a bond.

Wanted a pet to love and to love me back. Wanted a rabbit in particular. I thought long and hard about it and then realized what I really wanted was to love a human being.

Don't Make Me Kill Your Dog

Saw a dead calico housecat, run over, at the highway's edge. It hadn't been dead long. Its plumpness told me it'd been somebody's pet. Oh, when they find out; how terrible. Unless they are like some people and think the country is a place to dump their pets.

I'm seeing cats scattering into the field when I pull up into my road at night. They kill and eat mice but also bunnies and whippoorwills. Dogs chase everything. Six or seven times I've blasted the car horn at dogs trotting on Hwy F. They thought I was playin'. I fear that one day out walking or working I'll meet a pit bull the owner dumped because it was too expensive or loco to keep. When I see a dog barreling toward me I no longer assume it's a neighbor and friendly. I pick up a rock. Don't make me do that.

Let your pet out in the country and it won't be adopted. It won't become a barn cat, or go native and care for itself. It's used to your sofa. It'll get killed. Have mercy; please take it to a shelter. Better the needle than what I saw today with a crushed head and liver hanging out.