is this day real?

If animal life, sweet sibs, youthful innocence, etc etc are not your thing, read no more! This post is saturated with all of that.

Do you have the kinds of dreams where you are sure that it is a dream because it does not comport with reality and still, you toddle along because you don't quite want to let go of the story line and are curious how it might end, despite the fact that it is, after all a dream?

In the wee hours of the morning, I dreamed that a test revealed that I was pregnant. Still dreaming, I said to Ed -- that cannot be, but here you have it! Must be a dream!

Believe me, it was a dream.



The morning is beautiful! Sunshine! Just below freezing, but with that gorgeous cover of a fresh  snowfall.






I go out to feed the animals. Stop Sign hasn't returned yet. Gone a whole 24 hours. Where is she? I'm not worried. She has been able to fend for herself for a long time now. But Dance is concerned. I can't speak her language, but she is significantly more cautious when I come into the garage. She is hungry...






... but when I fill her bowl, she wolfs down just a few mouthfuls, then retreats.


I go out, feed the cheepers, and call for Stop Sign. Loudly. Repeatedly. And I am much relieved to see her coming from whatever far away place she had been to!

Great exuberance on Dance's part! She returns to the food bowl, but mommy pushes her gently away."I'm more hungry. I need to eat first."






She takes a few bites, then retreats and lets Dance continue.






Happiness is having mommy back.






With a smile on my face, I fix breakfast (because of course, there is breakfast...)






Ed and I talk about strategies for keeping the animals safe. I put out some shiny stuff by the garage to deter hawks, but neither of us feels confident: the cats do roam outside of the garage. Sometimes beyond the property line. Even at a tender age, Dance knew enough to run far and be gone a few days after the garage massacre.

Ed brings up some more info about hawk deterrence.
Hey, listen to this! American crows protect birds and small pets from predators! They swoop down on the hawks and chase them away. You can encourage crows to hang around your property -- here are some tips. (He reads off suggestions about foods, roosts and stuff that actually seems a bit contrived.)
If you put all that out, you'll attract a lot more than just crows.
Ed laughs -- it's like that song about the old lady who swallowed a fly! One thing leads to another and soon you'll have killed off everyone!

We put away thoughts of encouraging crows.

So that's today's animal story?

No, not finished yet.

I glance out and see Whiskers, licking his paws by the writer's shed.






We think he's been raiding the other kitties leftover foods. It's not that we don't like having him here -- quite the contrary. He's so beautiful and, too, he may be offputing to hawks with his massive presence! (And if he is a Maine Coon, then his disposition is admirable: friendly and smart; a people pleaser.) Still, we're not sure how best to help these ferals eat.

Should we try giving him his own food by the shed?

Yes, that works.






As Whiskers eats, Stop Sign perks up.  She gets up and starts heading out. What's going on, girl? Do you sense the presence of Whiskers?

She ignores him and keeps going. Toward the road. It's one of her two typical routes, so we don't pay much attention. She seems to be roaming a bunch these days.

But hold on to your hat, Hannah! Ten minutes later she is back. And who should be trailing after her if not Jacket, the second little kitten!

Everyone is pawing everyone else! Reunion supreme!





Jacket is one hungry little guy!

(Stop Sign comes over to the farmhouse door -- her old way of asking "um, can we have some more food?")






So what the hell happened??


 



All my grieving, who was it for??

Digression: I am at the very end of a mystery novel. I cannot wait to read the last few pages, but so far, the morning has been devoted to animal discussions and one conversation with the Social Security Administration. Really, no time for anything else! In that mystery novel, Monsieur le Commissaire has this habit of writing in his little Clairefontaine notebook all the facts surrounding a case. Eventually, it allows him to reach sensible conclusions.

What are the facts surrounding our apparent murders in the garage?

Well, in January, a hawk did kill Cupcake. That's a fact. We picked up her body and chased away the bird.
We locked up the chickens.
Stop Sign brought her two kittens (less than a month old by our estimate) to the garage.
In the course of the next two weeks I heard a big bird fly out of the garage.
And then, a week ago, all the cats disappeared and we found a sizeable pool of blood, with some tuft, resembling cat fur and a feather. There is no blood outside the garage.
Stop Sign came back after a day and spent the day listlessly laying down on the cardboard where they once hung out. She wailed, she ate little.
Three days later, Dance showed up. A happy reunion followed.
Five days later, Stop Sign heads out, listens carefully, and comes back with Jacket.

So who was murdered, or at least badly butchered on the garage floor? Ed's guessing a squirrel, caught by a hawk. But why in the garage?

I suggest that Whiskers and Stop Sign had a fight but honestly the two seem indifferent to each other and neither seems injured. And there is a lot of blood.


I have no answers. Just four cats that are grateful for food during this cold and snowy winter.

But I must say, it feels like a dream. I could not shake the belief that I am close to waking up. We were so sure that the little guys were the victims of a brutal attack. Were they? If not, who got killed??

We have been so consumed by all this that I insist we clear our heads and go out skiing.

(A squirrel keeps to the track, Ed follows.)












I needed that!

And of course, in the afternoon, Ms Distraction herself comes over and so I switch my attention from animals to pretend play.












(Her toy breaks. Ed takes out his pocket tool kit to fix it. She is fascinated by all the sharp and in my view terribly dangerous parts.)






Toy fixed.






(I get her ready for gym. In waiting for her dad, she runs non stop. That she still has energy for gym is nothing short of amazing.)





So this is our day. A beautiful one, if slightly unreal. More than slightly unreal. Completely unbelievable. Except -- I never did wake up, so there you have it: the real deal.

and so it continues

I'll say this much for February: the forecasts have been accurate. When they say "snow on Wednesday," I listen, because sure enough, it's Wednesday and there is snow.

The farmette animals, on the other hand? Everyday there is a new surprise and not one I would have guessed. I thought we were in a holding pattern. I step outside to clear the walkway (from the snow, because you remember -- it's Wednesday), glance over at the garage and there he is, right by the garage door, the visiting Maine Coon, aka Long Whiskers, or Whiskers because we're mixing up the adjectives too much to keep them going.






So we know now for sure it's not a raccoon, just a Coon. He flies off pretty quickly once he sees me, which affirms a need to always dangle a camera around your neck because otherwise you'll miss stuff. Not that I could get much of a shot of a flying Coon, but still, I love the sense of motion here:






So, how do Stop Sign and her Dance feel about this visitor? I look around the garage. Nothing. Silence. Well, at least there is no new blood! I'll roll with these animal permutations and surprises, so long as they don't result in death or dismemberment. We had enough of those. And yes, I am relieved that Whiskers is definitely not a raccoon.

I put a little cat food in the step-and-dine (only Stop Sign knows how to work it) and move on to the barn to feed the cheepers. All quiet in that great big structure, except for the impatient clucking of the girls.

I walk back, calling out to Stop Sign, but everything is very quiet, in the way it gets when we have a snowfall.






As I pass the garage, I see movement. Oh, there you are, Dance! Where is your mommy? 

She does not answer. I give her some food in the regular old dish and retreat. She's very hesitant when Stop Sign isn't around. Best to leave her alone.






You can imagine any number of explanations for the current status quo: Stop Sign is hunting, for food or for a mate. Or, she just needs to move, explore, mark. Or she's looking for Whiskers and they passed each other by. I'm a little disappointed to learn that cats don't bond with their mates at all. Mom and her kittens? Siblings? Very much so. Too, a cat may enjoy a playful camaraderie with another pal cat. But tom cats are a fleeting presence in a female's life -- she doesn't swoon for him and he doesn't care about her nor their kittens. And so imagining that Whiskers would stick around as a companion to Stop Sign is unrealistic. (Though I must admit that I'm only sure about the gender of one cat -- Stop Sign. Every other cat here is a guess.


The farmhouse is warm and quiet. February is zipping along. Breakfast is lovely.





And honestly, I do not spend an excessive amount of time worrying about the unknown. I see our hawk fly just over the courtyard. I don't flinch. For now, we're all okay. We lower the garage door, consider adding some visual distractions, keep an eye on who comes, who leaves. That is our job.


Snowdrop is with me this afternoon...






And you might remember that Wednesday is her Storybook Dance day, so I take her to that class toward the end of our time together. And for once we are on time! She joins the line of little dancers.






... and eventually reenacts some fragment of the Pinocchio story.






And then I return home, check the garage (Dance -- yes, there, Stop Sign -- nope), shrug my shoulders and reheat bowls of home made chili. It's such a good dish to eat on a snowy February 20th!

a winter of animal worries and snowstorms

Have we finally finished with the winter stories from our modest farmette animal kingdom? I surely think so, as we wake up to yet another brilliantly sunny day. We are, I think, in a holding pattern: the chickens are safe for now (though their future is much under discussion here, at the farmhouse, as Ed does not want to pen them for good and we both agree that a release is asking for trouble). Stop Sign, our sort-of-feral cat is slowly climbing out of despondency and showing some interest in Whiskers, the perhaps-feral cat whom we encountered yesterday. We will see where all this will take us, but for now, we toddle along, cautiously, warily, but without terrible trepidation.

I look out and see many many tracks, in every direction, but I am not surprised. Most likely we had a herd of deer pass through in the light of last night's spectacular full moon.






It's really more than just lovely outside -- there's an icy glitter on the delicate branches...






.... especially visible and stunning on the two great willows.






And to top it off, I'm beginning to hear the chatter of birds -- as if telling us they're ready for the return of spring. Soon, so very soon... (A spot of red on the old crab apple! See it?)






Breakfast in sunshine. (A spot of red in Ed's hand!)






And then I have a coffee date with my visiting friend.

I'm in a hurry. She is already waiting for me. As I walk to the car, I automatically throw a glance toward Stop Sign, who does love to sit on a cardboard shoe box positioned well to capture the sunshine. And what do I see? A kitten bounding to her, a teen-age kitten, a white socked kitten -- yes, it is none other than Dance!






The reunion is spectacular! Dance is meowing, mom is meowing, they paw each other, sniffing, meowing, laughing I'm sure at this miracle.

And then Dance immediately goes to the food dish. Clearly she has not eaten for several days: she wolfs down every last morsel.






We wont ever know her full story, but it is obvious now that we lost only Jacket, her brother, in the hawk/or-was-it-an-owl raid. (Which of course, makes more sense: we could not understand how a hawk could carry off two kittens.) Dance ran, only to find her way back, to reunite with her mother. And now there are these two.






Don't ask where we go from here. There is much to review and consider. It's hard to imagine how we can successfully keep the young cat safe: close the garage door more fully? Coax them both into a better space? Can that even be done? What's a good outcome for them? There is much to think about and discuss.

In the meantime, I'm late for my meeting with my friend. She is understanding. Friends are good that way!






And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop and I tell her that she is still shorter than the curbside snow pile.







In one of our pretend plays, she fishes out books from an old stack. She vaguely remembers them. When I had read them way long ago, she had an "eh" reaction. Today, at the more mature age of four, she's delighted with the characters. She wants to play Madeline. The stage is set for a new game.











Time to go home. I'm in a hurry. It's cold. I have a sweater, my warmest jacket, a cap and mitts. And still, I hurry her. I want to get in the car and turn on the heat. But she has a different body thermometer. Her story takes her to one of her favorite play stations -- by the "cliff string," which marks the spot beyond which you should not drive or park the car, or else you'll roll over "the cliff." Oh what stories follow! But Snowdrop, I'm cold, aren't you cold? No, gaga.





Perhaps she has adapted to Wisconsin's extremes. It will put her in good stead: we're about to get pounded by another snowstorm tonight.

If you like quiet and dull winters, this one may leave you disappointed. But if you like snow, oh, is this one for you! We'll see what this next storm brings to the farmette.

fresh Monday?

It's a beautiful day! Truly gorgeous. A tad cold, but the snow transforms the farmette into something out of a painting.











We begin to move forward after all our animal dramas. Well, we're trying. We have a lovely, sunny breakfast...





And as we settle into our routines (no Sparrow today -- plans are still being adjusted for the young family following last week's medical emergency), we talk about corrections we can make going forward. Protecting the cheepers from hawks and owls has always been a challenge. We don't want a rooster -- I wont put up with that aggressive temperament. We'll muddle along as best we can.

As for Stop Sign -- that's now a challenge too. We had talked about trapping her to get her vaccinated and spayed (Ed has been actively involved in any number of feral cat maintenance programs), but then she up and got herself pregnant! Figuring out how to help her protect her kitties is a major problem (should she again choose to mate). We think she lost several little ones before she brought her two to the garage. Given that she kept them hidden for a long while, it's hard to imagine how we can keep them safe for the duration of their young lives. These are animal issues that will be part of our conversation for many weeks to come.

And now here comes another twist: today for the first time, we spot the big blob of a raccoon, hanging out under the writer's shed. That is bad news at so many levels! A raccoon is a danger to the cheepers. He carries diseases. He probably wont hunt down Stop Sign, but he can kill her by infection. And for sure, we have to limit the amount of time we leave food for her outside. Eat now or forget it, little girl!

In the meantime, Stop Sign seems at times morose...






... at times sanguine, or at least her usual calm self.






When I go out to chat her up, she comes closer and meows non stop. I tell her I have no answers for her. Just care and concern.


Ed and I should have gone skiing, but I tell you, all this animal stuff is a time drain! I do my yoga and we enjoy the utter beauty of the day looking out, from the warm comfort of the farmhouse living space.






And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop.


 


As we come inside, Ed comes in. He hovers, as if wanting to talk.
I ask -- You been to the garage? Something's up?
Well, you wont believe it, but as I was going in, this large animal came out, running past me toward the writer's shed!
The raccoon?
Maybe. But Gorgeous, I don't think it's a raccoon.
Was it a leopard?? (This from Snowdrop.)
Let me show you how raccoons run. He finds a youtube and we watch raccoons saunter across the lawn to the tune of Chariots of Fire. Snowdrop is fascinated.





This was not the way the big animal ran.
So what are you saying?
It's not a raccoon.
What is it then? (Here's a tiny shot of it, taken from the kitchen, so at a big distance and through window panes and porch screens.)





I think it's a Maine Coon.
A what???
You know, that very, very large cat.
Ed, this thing was huge!
They are huge. And look! Stop Sign isn't concerned! She's on her way now to check him out!






Snowdrop is captivated by this exchange. What should we name him?
What do you think?
She'd been listening to Ed's description of these large cats. How about Long Whiskers? She does pick the complicated names.






(You cannot say that Stop Sign is not interested in The Huge Cat! At the very least, it's refreshing to see her demonstrate some spark again. Off she goes to sniff him out!)






Snowdrop and I play. I try not to think about the animals in our various sheltered spots. Who is this newcomer? A welcome friend? A new headache? How will it all turn out? I save all this for later and concentrate on Snowdrop's story of the snake in a box. It is, thankfully, a happy story.






(A pause for a new book: The Pink Umbrella. Rich in illustrations... Suggestively spartan in its story line. The Amazon pitch is "perfect for fans of Amélie." For whatever reason, she loves it.)






When I drive the little girl home, I notice it -- the full Snow Supermoon. I mean, it's supersized! And beautiful. A February special. Funny how even this month has its fair share of stunning surprises.

Snowy Sunday

Stop Sign, the cat who has been hanging out at the farmette, on and off, ever since she was a kitten, the one who this winter had a litter of her own and brought two of her kittens to the farmette's garage less than a month ago, had disappeared yesterday, along with her two babes (who were more like adolescents by now). We found blood in the garage and expected the worst.

Near midnight, I went out for the thousandth time in search of any traces of a cat and in calling her name, I saw Stop Sign coming toward me from the direction of the barn. I took food to the barn and left it there. I checked a half hour later and saw that she had eaten a chunk of it. By then, she had disappeared once more into the night.

Today, I am up early. The snow is coming down hard and I find myself shoveling the walkway to the farmhouse door many times. All day long -- snow falls, Nina shovels. Light, pretty snow, but it's a misleading loveliness: we still have a horrible thick layer of ice underneath. Walking is very tricky: you never know if and when you'll slide over a solid pane of ice.





As I step outside, I look up and there is Stop Sign again. She is coming out of the garage. I give her more food and then I go down to take care of the cheepers. As I walk back to the garage, I hear the saddest cat wails coming from within. Snowdrop is besides herself with grief. Her two babes are gone and they aren't coming back and she knows it. And now I know it too: two young cats, gone.

I stay in the garage and talk to Stop Sign for a long long while. She wont let either of us come too close: she trusts us only to a point. You want to hold her, comfort her, but she wont let you. It's not what she is used to. She straddles that blurry line between feral and domesticated. She is, in so many ways neither.  She knows us, relies on us for food, hangs out near us when the sun is out and we're working the garden. But she is at this point a creature of the wild. We don't know if she'll ever cross over toward domesticity. My guess is that she'll always come and go, but truthfully, I don't know. 



Breakfast. Ed does come down for it, but I spare him the photo. We're both treading gently with each other, not placing too many demands, not asking for too many favors.






I do have a wonderful distraction today (and I have to say, I need it badly). Because her father is recovering from surgery, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse for the day. Her mom has a lot on her plate right now and Snowdrop loves having a long, unhurried day of play here.

And the snow keeps on falling...






And the drive today is long and along the slippery roads...

Once I pull into the farmette driveway, I want nothing more than to check on Stop Sign and head inside. But Snowdrop has other ideas.






She has this toy chicken. It's something to do with the movie Moana that has so thrilled her this past week. In any case, she wants to show the chicken to the cheepers and so we make our way to the barn.

I haven't told the little girl that Cupcake is no longer part of the pack. Nor have I told her about Dance and Jacket, the kittens. It's not that she doesn't understand hawks' (or was it an owl?) predatory behaviors. Too, she is familiar with violent death. She told me today (as part of one of her stories) that a super hero killed an evil thing and that it was a good thing because the evil thing was really really bad! (Where she got this is beyond me. When in doubt, point the finger at kids in school -- the source of all such wisdoms.) Still, I say nothing. I suppose I don't want any more sadness working its way into my day and so I put it all aside and she and I play...


 



.... and eat lunch...


 







... and read and tell stories until dusk draws near and it's time for me to pack her and a container of supper foods for the young family into the car and drive the whole sweet lot of them home.


And then I visit Stop Sign and talk to her some more, even as she is curled into a ball of sadness as she rests on the cardboard that was once a place of rest for the three of them, one on top of the other, in a beautiful display of kitten love.

rough winter

In all my years at the farmette (and granted, I've not lived here that long), I have not been forced to confront the reality of the natural world -- with all its beauty and pitfalls -- as much and as often as I have this winter. Maybe it's because these last months have been extremely cold. Or maybe it's sheer dumb luck -- somehow, for the most part, we felt that we had the upper hand here.

Humans have such hubris!

It is again cold. No Arctic blast, just plain old winter cold. We've been leaving the light bulb burning in the garage. The cats can get near it if they feel the need to warm up.

But despite the cold, the morning is lovely! Sunshine, that singular prettiness of a snow covered landscape -- it just makes you smile in total appreciation.






There are again no cats in the garage. Eh, I'm getting used to this: they're roaming! I leave out a little dry food and remind Ed to keep an eye out for when they return. They'll want their real grub right away!

We eat breakfast. Leisurely. Things are looking good all around.






And then I go off to meet up with my friend who is in town and happy to spend a long while reviewing life over a cup of coffee.






On the drive home, I pass the lesser lake. Do we have a bunch of dedicated ice fisher people or what??





I come into the farmhouse and ask after the cats.
Well, I'm not sure what's going on.

It turns out there's blood in the garage. And bits of fur. A feather, too.

There is no good explanation.

We must have had a visitor late last night (an owl?) or early this morning (a hawk?). Our best guess is that one kitten was taken away and the other ran away with the mom, Stop Sign.

That is a tough reality. Keeping the cats safe and well fed was something we took seriously. They had plenty of places to hide. How were they made vulnerable? Had this predator taunted them before? Is that why they left, then came back? So many questions now, ones without answers. Worse, they suggest a vulnerability that is still very much in play. We were to let the cheepers out in a few days. It seems now that whoever is keeping watch over the animals that live here would have ready food in them as well.

Ed asks -- Do you want to hand over the cheepers? We have a friend who raises chickens and would probably take our five girls. We don't want to keep them locked up in a coop year round. What's the point? They don't like it, we don't like it.

We do nothing for now. Processing this newest animal drama will take a bit of time. Ed reminds me that the life of a feral cat is usually very short. I can understand why: it's cold, food's tough to come by, cars are their enemy, and it looks like they're vulnerable to predators as well.


In the late afternoon, we go skiing. It's that or sit and watch the paths to see any sign of cats.






On the way home, we pass the usual fields of corn, farms, rural homes.

 



In one field, just short of a mile from the farmette, we pass three species of wildlife settling in for an evening feeding time: geese, deer, turkeys. There's a richness of life around us... with all the consequences that follow.



And in the evening, we go out. To our old favorite -- Brasserie V, where we huddle over mussels and fries...


 


... feeling comfort in a familiar spot, hoping so much that our sweet kitties are good and safe somewhere in the vast expanse of our rural lands, but knowing that probably, they're not safe anymore.