Spit, Scat & Skedaddle

On a Saturday morning, about a couple of weeks ago, Mom dug out a cardboard box and we anxiously drove to a neighborhood farm to pick up some give-away kittens. We wanted more than one, but no more than four.

We ended up with three colorful little fur balls and, by the end of the day, my parents brought home a pregnant, full-grown, very tame cat to keep the little ones company. We’re still waiting for the mama to have kittens – I think she’ll have four, but I’m pretty sure my dog Molly is wishing she won’t have any. There are too many four-legged, furry felines to suit my pretty pooch’s ego.

Bringing kittens to the farm and exposing them to “the huntress” was a definite concern, although Molly’s reaction to the little kittens has assured us we needn’t worry. Yes, we’ve finally found a critter Molly is afraid of.

Especially when those critters spit and show their sharp teeth and jab in the air with their cute little paws.

Poor Molly puts her tail between her legs, looks up at me with her sad brown eyes and makes a sideways-backwards move slowly away. I can’t help but laugh a little as I watch their actions and reactions, and then I’m not sure who to comfort first – Molly, who was subjected to angry kitties, or the kitties, who were subjected to Molly’s inquisitive looks.

With a house full of nieces and nephews at the farm over the weekend, the kitties received loads of attention and poor Molly, once the pampered pooch, was relegated to whining outside the barn.

Having kittens back on the farm is nice, and I’m sure Molly will come around some day. When I was growing up, we seemed to have a good supply of cats – especially when I was in the milk goat-raising business. Most of the cats were given names like Frisky, Buffy, Blacky, Orangey … yeah, not so creative.

This time, with the exception of the kitty I named Twister, the nieces and nephews have come up with names. I heard Billy Bob mentioned over the weekend, which I don’t think is very fitting for a pretty orange tabby, but oh well. Chances are the kitties will answer to anything, as long as the person visiting them has a can of chicken dinner kitty mush.

2 thoughts on “Spit, Scat & Skedaddle

  1. When I was a child living on the farm, We always had cats and kittens and very few mice. My dad loved cats and had a favorite called Mike. Mike would wait on top of a gatepost and climb on his shoulder and hitch a ride to the barn on many mornings. One of my favorite farm memories. Thanks for reminding Me. Tom

    • Thanks for reading, Tom. Up until this last year, we’d always had cats on the farm too. I don’t know that they did too well controlling the mice population. I still remember, although not fondly, a mouse scurrying up my arm after I’d reached into a feed sack with a coffee can to get some protein for the goats. Yikes! I learned to always check the feed sacks after that!

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