where the winds blow

A light snow fell last night. Just enough to deceptively cover the ice on the ground.  But it's soft ice. We had had a day where it flirted with the idea of melting, but in the end, icyness won and now it looks like we might have it with us for a while. The thermometer is registering below freezing temps. Still,  I have a very short window where I can try to remove at least some of the softer ice from the pathway that links the farmhouse with the parked cars. I hack away. It's now, or not until spring.

Looking back, I think -- what a waste of time.

The winds pick up, the temps continue to drop (we are getting those dire warnings of -25F, or -32C wind chill readings for the night). The path is quickly covered and any remaining slush turns hard as rock. We're in for a week of slippery walkways again.






All this takes place quite early. I am up and out, curious about the cats. More than curious -- I am a bit anxious about them.

This morning, I smile as I find Stop Sign in the garage. But she is alone. She waits patiently while I refill the bowls. I notice that they are scattered and empty. Someone came in to eat at night. The suggestion that there is a night stalker is no longer just a suggestion, it's a near certainty. We resolve to pick up all traces of food going forward (we'd resisted, lest the kitties came back in the wee hours, hungry, looking for food!).






Stop Sign settles in on top of boxes deep inside the garage. She seems to be waiting, but of course, that's just me second guessing a cat's mindset.

I feed the cheepers. I agree with Ed -- with the longer days, they are getting restless inside their enclosure.





I try not to think about our cheeper options. It's like dealing with farmhouse mice: with those little rodents, there are no perfect solutions and most of the "good enough" solutions don't work on all mice. So too, with the cheepers -- there are no good solutions. We know that. We simply have to choose among the imperfect ones.

I set the bowl of food for Whiskers. It really is windy and cold. I wonder if he'll show up. He has never missed a day since he first started coming here. He is a calm cat, who makes his rounds and this is one of his stops. We're okay with that. Perhaps we'll be able to trap, treat and release him in the near future. It's a daunting task, but when the right moment comes, we'll have to go through with it. Vaccinations will protect him, spaying him will tame the desire to mate and control. But for now, we're just getting him used to eating here.

As I go back to the garage, I keep wondering about the kittens. Are they hiding? And this is when I see Stop Sign's footprints from this morning. She must have arrived fairly recently because they are quite fresh.

Will they tell me where she spent the night?

I follow them (backwards, of course).

I'm not really surprised to see that she had walked all along the driveway. It is one of her promenades. Today, she clearly came from across the road.

And this is when I spot our neighbor. Well, he's sort of a neighbor: he lives across the road and over the hill. An interesting guy: he grows trees over acres and acres of land in some kind of an arrangement with the Department of Natural Resources. He gets some tax relief for this. If he were to allow hunting on his land, I believe he'd get an even bigger break, but he doesn't do that. He likes his trees and I'm sure he doesn't mind the small tax break that comes with doing this.





But even more interesting is his familial situation: he is married to a woman whose mother was a "Larsen" -- the family that long ago farmed these lands. (Indeed, these were the people who once inhabited the farmhouse where we now live.) He's a sweet guy and we usually chat about grandchildren and the weather when we find ourselves checking the mail at the same time.

Today, I see him trudging back up his steep hill. I call over to him. He stops and we talk. Not about the grandkids this time, but about the cats. I was sure that Stop Sign, Dance and Jacket are burrowing in someone's space nearby. It turns out that at least some of the time, the two little ones hide under his porch. He's not much of a cat person and so he mostly ignores them. I think he worries that they're birders. I'm more inclined to think that they catch his mice, lucky guy! At the farmette, none of them have ever hunted for birds, but of course, we give them food.

I tell him that the whole bunch have been spooked lately and we're trying to figure out why.
Coyotes, he says with confidence.
Coyotes? Maybe. Ed is not convinced. You'd hear them if they were nearby,  he tells me later.
But we do hear them! Just like we hear the owls! In the summer, when the windows are open!

It strikes me that we have quite the large number of predators: hawks for sure. Owls too. And possum, and raccoons, and coyotes. Skunks, occasionally. Foxes maybe. What doesn't come here at night in search of meat?

Eventually, Stop Sign disappears again. I'm imagining they're all guarding against the cruel wind, under that porch across the (dangerous!) road and over the hill. I'm hoping to see them soon.

In the meantime Whiskers comes, eats, departs. At least he offers a touch of predictability! The others? We're still completely surprised by them.

Breakfast, late, after a thorough house cleaning.






And now we have only a half a Sunday left and it must include a trip to Farm and Fleet for more cheeper food and a better mouse trapping device.  This last item on our list is nothing short of impossible. I will not bore you with the details of what's wrong with each implement. Something I find more or less acceptable is completely unworkable in Ed's view, and vice versa. I grow impatient. Still, we have to improve on what we have. Four of our traps have at some point been successful but this current mouse ignores them all. We are determined to get it out of the house, even if we must resort to banging it on its head and throwing it away with the trash.

Eventually, we stuff some options into Ed's big pockets (the guy will never use a plastic store bag, not for anything!), haul the sacks of feed and grain treats and head for home.





Was there any playful moment today? Oh yes! On the way to Farm and Fleet we stop for two games of bowling  at the nearby alley. It's not a game I'm good at, but I enjoy watching Ed compete against himself and sometimes I do get lucky. (Today was not one of those days.)

And in the evening, I hurry to prepare dinner for the young family.






(Predinner munchies)






(Where Snowdrop discovers that she really really loves smoked salmon. With or without a cracker.)






(Sparrow tries out a "walker" that Snowdrop once rejected. He loves it, showing a great expertise at moving backwards in it.)






Dinner.





Did you notice how light it is outside? The longer days, the heightened expectations -- spring is coming. I promise!

saturday with a small s

At around midnight, I made my way to the bathroom to do the usual presleep stuff. I looked out the window at a beautiful night. I kept the lights off so that I could take in the singular light of a heavenly wintry tableau. And that's when I saw Whiskers. He was walking slowly from the garage. He paused by the picnic table, hopped up and sat there, perhaps looking at me. We watched each other for a long time. Eventually he got down, walked back to the garage, but just for a minute. He left along his usual path -- toward the writers shed.

I had opened the window to listen. Everything was so very quiet. Were the other cats ignoring him?

I don't think so. As I write this (Saturday evening), I'm throwing facts together to create some kind of plausible story out of them and the best I can do is to conclude that the three cats were, by then, already gone.


The night was a grab bag of winter noises, of the kind you don't necessarily want to hear: ice pellets hitting our roof and our sky light, winds gusting, branches crackling. By morning, we crossed the magic line and the ice pellets turned to something that was exactly halfway between rain and ice.

I'm up early. I want to take food to the garage to reassure the kitties that despite the weather, they'll be fed.

Stepping out, I am immediately discouraged. The ice build up on the walkway is tremendous. I take out the heavy duty shovel and work away at clearing it. It's hopeless, really. The farmette is coated with ice.






Still, I create a walkable path. I put the shovel down and head to the garage, loaded with food.

Well, you'll probably have guessed that I found nothing there. Only empty spaces and a few overturned containers.

Who did that? More importantly, who scared the kitties? Or did they just go off? And the disturbance that I see has nothing to do with their departure?

Every new day brings new information and it never fits with what I had learned the day before.

I leave food in the garage for the little guys and Stop Sign. Ed leaves food for Whiskers by the writers shed. We retreat inside. It's really nasty out there. Yes, ice can be photographically pretty, but today, it's it's just mean out there!

And this is when I decide to do my taxes. Misery outside -- meet misery inside.

But first -- breakfast. This is perhaps the highlight of the day for us.






I spend the rest of the day's hours filling in numbers and correcting mistakes on a new set of IRS forms. Things are different this year and that's a headache. New boxes, new supplemental forms, new scroll down options -- it's all really messy. Just know this: if you live in this country and if you usually spend two hours filling out your annual returns (because you know, like me, you have a very modest and simple economic situation), plan on four hours this year. Me, I took seven, because I made a mistake and struggled to then find it. Without Ed's help it would have taken me eight.

Every hour, I open the door to the porch and shout Stop Sign's name. Nothing. A pretty winter scene, but no sign of cats.






By evening, I am done with the taxes and the rain and ice have let up. And this is when I see Whiskers doing his rounds -- from writers shed to garage and back again. (He does not touch the food in the garage. He has his own dish and he sticks with clearing that one.)

What's the significance of this?

Once again I have no explanations. I don't know what chased them off or when they will come back.

One last poke out into the cold, wet night, one last call to Stop Sign. (Could I be more dramatic?)

Sigh... It's just cats. Sweet little ones and their mom. And a cold, wet night. And a newly forming layer of ice and complicated tax forms that took way too much time.

Never mind. Ed pops some corn and we settle in to watch a really terrible movie (that I first saw when I was just a tad older than Snowdrop). Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown... Why does even a tragic Rogers and Hammerstein song remind me of cats?

I think February does loopy things to your sensibilities, really I do.

sunshine and its impact on stuff

We knew we would have ourselves a gorgeous winter day and indeed, the weather gods delivered: plenty of sunshine and by afternoon, we'd crossed that magic divide, drom frozen to melting and on our way toward spring.

(Please do not remind m that tomorrow we're getting another ice storm. Perhaps the weather gods will be kind and will push the thermometer just one degree up. Rain would be preferable. Thank you.)

Pretty, pretty morning walk to the barn!




It's on the early side: I have a full day before me and I know that feeding the animals takes time these days, what with the drama, the searches, the calling, the moping.

Also an early breakfast for the two of us.






And then a second breakfast -- at a very sunny bakery...






... one last one with my out-of-town friend, before she returns to her home in the much warmer Albuquerque.






Grocery shop, unload, get in the car, pick up Snowdrop.






The girl is all over the place today. Read this book. Play that game. Do a very complicated art project. ("Can you cut this out for me in a rectangle? Here, sort of like this...")






Play! She is insatiable: her pretend games consume her and she pleads for my participation. I beg off for a minute. Stop Sign is at the door -- a sign that her food dishes are empty. I want to refill them. Snowdrop asks -- can I do it?
We're off.






She wants to stay outside. Here she is, wanting so much to build another snowman!





But, I ran out with just a sweater and I'm cold. And it is getting late. And there's an ice storm coming, followed by rain, followed by a deep freeze. Uff! Let's go in, Snowdrop!



The sun is long gone by the time she leaves. I take out the veggies and start in on a reliable seafood stirfry.

Ha! You thought you'd get through a post with no reference to cats? Not possible! Each day leaves us wondering -- how do you explain this scene? That movement? The only difference is that today, you're getting the synopsis at the end of the post. It does not mean that I spent less time thinking about the cats. Their behavior has grabbed our emotions and preoccupations -- mine, even more than Ed's, which is curious, as he is much more of a cat person than I am.

Today's story is different yet again. When I went out in the morning to feed the animals (mind you, it was earlier than usual), the garage was empty. No sign, no sound. I called Stop Sign high and low. No response. No Whiskers either. I got some satisfaction talking to the chickens. They clucked loudly to let me know that nice weather tugs at their little sun starved hearts. Sorry girls. Not yet. We're still contemplating what to do with you!

Right before I left for my various meetings and chores, Stop Sign showed up. Without her babies. Still, if I can at all read her mood, I would say that she was very undisturbed. She ate a little, then did a thorough bath routine on the plush old blanket we've left out for them. Honestly, she seemed content.






I told Ed to call me the minute a little one returned! And he did. Just before noon. In fact, his report was so beautiful that I deeply regretted doing grocery shopping rather than lying in wait for them all. He described all three cats playing in the sunshine on the picnic table and, too, the appearance of Whiskers, who now gets his own food by the writer's shed.

When I pulled up on our still slick driveway, I saw them all...










... though Whiskers lingered only for a minute. He is still a very shy huge shaggy guy. (Or girl. I tried to explain to Snowdrop that only Stop Sign's gender is a sure thing for us. I tied it to the fact of her having had babies. Perhaps that wasn't too clever. She now evaluates cat gender based on whether the given animal has had babies -- a bit too dismissive of feline's who decide to pursue careers or artistic endeavors rather than going from one pregnancy to the next.)


You could say that these last two days were nearly perfect cat days: all were here, at least for some portion of the day, all were content, all were well fed and well rested and I could engage in their lives, even if a little at a distance. I am living a fiction, of course: I'm wanting pet like loyalty from animals that live in the wild. Most feral cats are too antsy to stay rooted to one place. Still, Stop Sign is a bit of an exception. She looks for us when she wants something. In the summertime, she hangs out close to where we are. She feeds my image of a nearly perfect animal companion (perhaps human companion too) -- free to move as she pleases, but with seeming affection that always brings her back, not just for the food, but, too, for the conversation.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Rain, for sure. Otherwise -- no clue.

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!