Fur In The Paint

Okay, so they don’t look it. But trust me they are. I took this photo the day Oliver died. (That is of course before I knew) I had planned to blog about them that day but lost all heart for anything once I found Ollie.

So here they are today (3 of 4 in the photo). They are looking up at me because no way, no how was I getting down to eye level to photograph them. These are the late (born in November late) litter of barn cats that we moved into the porch because they never would have made it outside.

Now don’t let the big eyes and sweet expressions fool you. Thats how they lure you in, yes siree. That and the fact they make these adorable little cooing noises every time they see someone. They are held in half of the porch by a 4 foot piece of tin. So they sit there and coo and look at me with slow blinking eyes. And I think okay just for a little while. I ease myself into the enclosure and sit down on the bench. They tumble around me like little drunks and almost immediately one climbs up into my lap and commences purring loudly. So I know what you’re thinking right now, Umm Mona…what is all this about hellcats? Well let me tell ya.

After approximately 43.6 seconds they transform. One will be chewing on my shoe and one will be dangling from my sweater. Yet another is on top of my head trying to pull out my hair while simultaneously giving me a deep acupuncture treatment. Now the one on my lap at this point usually begins to do one of two things. Either it will be chewing on my hand while I flail feverishly about with my other, trying to nab the one off my head. Or it may have just decided to sharpen it’s claws on my knee. As quickly as I remove one kitten from my tender flesh another is digging in and biting my butt. Seriously. I can only handle them long enough to clean their litter and feed them. Their mother Little Grey has the freedom to come and go from the enclosure as she chooses. (And, she chooses to do so often)

So after all my sad talk of losing Oliver I thought I’d show you some new and bright little spirits in the world. I seriously thought of adopting one in as the new gallery cat but none are really the right personality for me. Besides, it’s not like they could replace Oliver. If you lose a friend, running out and finding another doesn’t stop the pain of the loss. Still . . . a pair (or is it 2 pair) of tiny kitten feet is awfully tempting. Tomorrow I will be at the gallery for at least 6 hours. A long time to go it alone.

It is November in Iowa and so the weather has turned decidedly chilly. Our main barn cat, whom we call Little Gray has had a second batch of kittens this year. This late in the year, they don’t stand a chance of surviving outside. So, we moved the whole family into our west porch (which by the way is soon to be ripped off and replaced.)There are four kittens in all. Three tabby grays and one black. Currently they are tennis ball shaped and staggering around like little drunks. Sooo cute.

Little Gray has single handedly (pawdedly?) doubled our barn cat population this year. Her first batch was seven in number. When one of our other females was accidentally killed we took her kitten (one mind you, only one) and put it in with LG. She took it in as one of her own and her whole brood has thrived. So now we have 4 more, which brings her total up to 11(or 12 depending on how technical you want to get.) Shesh!

LG is queen of the farm. Being one of her kittens means living a privileged life. Well… that is until she pops out another batch. Then they are smacked down like all the rest of the riff raff. She owns the yard. Cats don’t even dare step into it or she freezes them with an icy stare. Thats all it takes. One cold look from her emerald eyes and they hiss at her and run off like they’ve caught fire. Or when two other cats are squabbling in her space, she promptly runs over and kicks the tar out of both of them, and tah-dah! peace is restored.