The disappearing cat mystery is solved

I've wondered several times why Mama Kitty would leave home for two weeks without ever checking in.  I now believe the answer was right in front of my eyes.  I imagine some of my hard-core cat-loving friends had guessed at this already.

Mama Kitty and Jake were on the front porch today when I went out to chore.  Mama Kitty used to lead me to the barn when she thought it was time to eat, but after I brought the kittens home, I only saw her in there once, and she didn't tarry then.  She growled, hissed, and left.  It took Jake awhile, but he finally yielded to hunger.  I give him a separate dish, though.  If one of the kittens gets less than five inches away from him, he stretches out a paw, growls, and slaps the impudent brat.  It's a gentle slap with no claws bared, but it seems to convince the kittens to get back.  

I believe Mama Kitty hates the kitten situation with such passion that she left for awhile, eating cat food left outside by neighbors.  I read years ago that cats get as intensely bonded to a location as to a person... so she finally got homesick and returned, but she still did not go near the barn ever, staying on the porch and begging me to feed her there.  

This morning I got my recumbent-bike-ride done and went out to tend to calves.  There Her Majesty was, meowing at me politely.  I put down the full calf bottles (seems like there are a lot of distractions lately) and gently picked the old cat up... as I mentioned in the last entry, she and I both prefer that I don't pick her up... and slowly started walking around the barn to the front, where the entry door is.  As I approached that door in the dark, she began a low growling.  Now, I don't know about you, but I'm a little leery of having my arms around an animal making that sort of noise, especially a creature with sharp claws and teeth.  I talked softly to her and loosened my grip so if it turned out she meant business I could release her quickly.  

Her growling got louder and more intense as we got to the door, and she even hissed.  I reached inside the door and turned on the light; Grady and Buttons, the kittens, were still in there.  Nervous and ready for anything, I carried Mama Kitty over to the pan containing the dry cat food, set her down very slowly beside it, and stepped back.  She would take a bite, turn toward the kittens and growl, then take another bite, still growling and sometimes hissing.  

In hindsight, I wish I had stayed out there a little longer; I have a feeling she left shortly after I did.  I'll try to work with her several times a day and perhaps we'll work this out.  I really don't want to keep cat food out on the porch because raccoons and possums are bound to find it.  They're already too close for comfort!  If I have to, perhaps I'll give her a pan for food in a different section of the barn or in the shed out by the chicken house, somewhere up off the ground.  Her own special place to eat!

In other news, last night I closed the chicken house door completely instead of just closing the door to the outside pen, so no varmint bigger than a rat could get into the hen house.  Cliff and I set the Havahart trap by the hen-house door and baited it with some bread soaked in bacon grease.  This morning the bread was gone, the trap was thrown... and empty.  

We don't have a lot of luck with traps.  Or possums, either.

What a morning!

After having a cup of tea, I mixed up the milk replacer and poured it into the two calves' bottles, then headed toward the door, flashlight and bottles in hand.  As I stepped outside into the dark I heard a hen cackle.  Hens don't normally cackle when it's dark unless something is messing with them, so I knew before checking that a varmint was involved.  I set the bottles down on the porch, shined the light out toward the chicken house, and saw nothing except Mama Kitty.  

Wait, what?  Mama Kitty has been gone for two weeks!  But when I said "Mama Kitty?", she came over and let me pet her.  No time to rejoice though, something was bothering the chickens.  
As I got nearer the henhouse, I saw my suspicions were correct:  a mangy possum was getting a drink from the chicken's waterer.  As I drew near, he leisurely slipped down under a wooden slab that sits in front of the door and was gone.  I aimed the light inside the house toward the roost to find there was a hen missing.  

I was fairly certain she wasn't dead, because a chicken in the throes of death doesn't just cackle: they squawk pitifully until death takes away their pain.  I shone my light around the chicken pen and finally saw her huddled in a corner, alive and unscathed.  I tried catching her in the dark, but she isn't a pet and wasn't having it.  Hoping that the possum was done with his raid for the night, I turned my attention briefly to Mama Kitty, realizing the calves' milk was gradually getting cooler than the body temperature warmth it's supposed to be.  We're talking about a cat I had given up for dead, one of the bravest, most noble cats that has ever won my heart.  I actually picked her up, which neither she nor I enjoy much, but she allowed it.  Putting her down, I turned my attention to the calves.  

One of the calves, Lucy (a boy Lucy) has a mild case of "the scours".  That's diarrhea, for you city slickers.  He's not really sick, but it's a thing you can't just ignore or it gets worse.  So I had to somehow get a pill down him.  The calves are in a pen together, and if you enter the pen you are attacked by two calves butting at various parts of your body in hopes of finding a nipple to suck... the little suckers butt so hard they could knock you down.  Somehow... still in the dark... I managed to lure the calf needing a pill into the barn and administered his medicine.  Then I fed both calves their milk.

Finally, it was time to pay more attention to Mama Kitty.  Wherever she'd been, she had obviously been eating and seemed no worse for the wear.  I wish she could talk and tell me her story!  I was so glad to see her, I gave her a can of the kitten's special food right there on the porch, just to let her know how happy I was to see her.

She was glad to get it.  Now she'll probably disappear often, in hopes of being rewarded with the fancy stuff.

She ate every morsel and then had the nerve to ask for more, but I ignored her request.  So she started cleaning herself.

This is the second time Mama Kitty has been gone for an extended time; I truly had given up hope.  Now she can get back to hunting and earning her keep.  I did an entry four years ago about how she taught her kittens to hunt (the last babies she gave birth to).  If you aren't squeamish, you can see that entry HERE.  Cats don't believe in killing their prey in a timely manner; they like to play with their victims first.

On a totally different subject, our clothes dryer stopped working two days ago.  Thank goodness I have clotheslines outside to use in such an emergency.  Friday we went to Sears and ordered a new dryer, one with no bells and whistles, of course, because that's how we do things.  
Cliff, remembering our need for shoes, said, "What about going across the street to Kohl's and seeing if we can find some shoes there?"

We went and we did!  They had a few brands in my size, oh happy day.  I had to get away from Nikes because they've always been about a half-size smaller than other brands, but I found some New Balance walking shoes that fit me at a good price.  Cliff got Nikes, also at a bargain price.  We agreed that these are not as comfy as the ones we wore in the 70's, but they were certainly better than anything we'd seen at other places on Wednesday.  

I've gone to the dark side

Never say never.  Ever since those Keurig coffeemakers came on the scene, I've stood with the opposition.  Who would pay fifty cents a cup for coffee you drink at home?  Nobody stops at one cup anyway, do they?

I saw a real bargain on the Keurigs last week and shared the link on Facebook, mentioning that I wasn't interested in something that was so costly to use; then my friend Nancy told me they use theirs for cocoa, tea, and soup as well as coffee, and they bought the reusable filters that allow them to use their own ground coffee.  

This got me thinking.  

I've been drinking less coffee lately.  I've diagnosed myself with hiatal hernia, and am trying everything I think of to relieve the symptoms... don't worry, I will mention this little problem next time I have to go to a doctor.  For a few days I've been settling for green tea, which I'm learning to like.  So far I'm still having the 2 A.M. GERD., but the tea isn't bad.  I had headaches for three days from caffeine withdrawal, because green tea has much less caffeine than coffee.  But I digress.  

I was doing without coffee, but still grinding and making coffee for Cliff because he wasn't sure how many beans to use, etc.  It occurred to me that Cliff often just wants one cup of coffee, but drinks two because that's the least amount I want to make in our Bunn.  During the winter months, Cliff likes instant hot chocolate, too, and Nancy had mentioned they use their Keurig for that.  Cliff heats up water in the microwave and stirs in the envelope of instant hot chocolate.  How convenient it would be for him to simply turn on the Keurig and get a cup of hot water.

My only experience using a Keurig was during our stay at the Grand Canyon.  Finally, we had motel coffee that tasted good!  I don't have a lot of counter space in this mobile home, but the one at the motel didn't need a lot of space, so it would work for me.  

I found a deal at Kohl's that had the price, with discounts and free shipping, down to $80 and decided to take the plunge.  I then ordered the reusable filters, a package of four.

Yesterday my coffeemaker arrived... about three times the size of the one I used at the hotels; in fact, it's as big as my Bunn coffeemaker!  I scrounged around and found a spot for it.  I have K-cups ordered, but they won't arrive until Monday, so I used regular ground coffee in the reusable filter.  I've left the three free K-cups that came with the pot for Cliff.  He still hasn't tried it, but today is the day!

We'll see how this turns out.  Who knows, we might decide to store the Bunn until there are going to be several people around and use the Keurig all the time.  Worse comes to worse, Kohls would take it back.  Returns are a simple matter with them.  

This morning I stuck a teabag in the filter and used the Keurig to make my green tea.  It worked perfectly.  I've learned, thanks to the Internet, that you can get the K-cups for as little as thirty-three cents each.  That's still expensive by my standards, but if it fits our aging lifestyle, it works for me.   I also learned that by registering my Keurig, they'd pay for half of my first order for pods. 

I know in my bones that Cliff will love the convenience.  I feel myself being swayed in that direction, too.   

Shopping for shoes

Our little girl's daddy was rained out at work yesterday, so she stayed home with him.  I told Cliff it seemed like a good time to shop for shoes for the two of us.  Both of us are due for some walking shoes, not that we go on walks any more, but because that's what we find comfortable.

Clothes shopping has never been fun for either of us because we aren't that concerned with what we wear.  Shoes are a special thorn in my side, because I have feet so big that it's hard to find anything in my size.  My feet have been mistreated in so many ways, with toes that have been broken (a podiatrist asked, "When did you break that toe?"  "Could have been one of many times, " I said.  "I don't wear shoes much."), flat feet, and no toenails because I got tired of fighting fungus and had them permanently removed.  Oh, and did you know that feet can keep getting bigger throughout your life?  Cliff and I both find our feet are getting larger; either that, or the makers of shoes are shrinking the sizes.

All we want is to find a shoe that is as comfortable as the Nike Oceanas that we bought when we first began walking for exercise in the late 70's.  

We usually buy walking shoes for Cliff at Kohl's because their prices are the best if you catch the right sale.  Cliff dislikes Kohl's because there's nothing there he would normally be interested in, but we've bought a lot of his shoes there.  Unfortunately, they don't usually have my size. 

I suggested we start at Sears this time, since we don't usually shoe-shop there (it's only a tool-store to my husband).  Cliff tried several of their choices, but none were comfortable.  Same old story for me:  There wasn't much in my size.  Now in case you're wondering why I just don't buy a man's walking shoe for my big feet, it's because men's shoes don't feel right to me.  It's as if they have whole different proportions.  

"Well, let's go next door to Famous Footwear," I suggested.  "We'll walk out stunned by sticker shock, but we ought to find something there."  

There were some shoes in my size, but nothing felt comfortable.  I even tried some on in the men's section.  Cliff tried several on, and out of a whole store full of shoes, found one pair that felt good to him.  The price was outlandish, but comfort is important, so I told him, "If they're comfortable, buy them, I don't care how much they cost."

As we made our way to the checkout, he noticed the way the soles were made:  There were big indented holes and grooves in them, which makes them mud-catchers, down on the farm.  He wasn't going to have that!  I told him that shouldn't be a problem; we have sidewalks and a gravel driveway, and any time we are wearing our sneakers, we're going someplace in the car so there should be no problem with mud.  That didn't sway him.  Maybe he thought a calf would get out and he wouldn't have time to change shoes.

Finally we abandoned the search for shoes, did some grocery shopping, and came home.  That's how we roll.  We'll probably buy shoes at Walmart when necessity forces our hand.

Back in the nineties we had no insurance and Cliff had been off work a lot.  I was climbing up into the hay in the barn to see if a banty hen's eggs had hatched.  When I jumped down, I landed on a metal thing, barefoot, and did some real damage.  I ended up going to the hospital and getting stitches at various levels; during my recuperation I wrote a poem to my feet.  

I recall sending tiny amounts of money to the hospital, probably $10 or $15 monthly (all we could spare), against what we owed them.  After about three years, one December someone from the hospital called and said if I would send a certain amount of money by the first of the year, they'd write off the rest.  By then it was almost paid off anyway, though.  Here's my poem, which I really needed to read today.

  

I’ve taken walks for many years. I seldom miss a day;
It’s then I seem to hear from God, and find the time to pray.
I took for granted two good feet that carried me along,
And seldom thanked the Lord for them… till everything went wrong!
In fact, I griped about my feet, so hideous to me,
And several sizes larger than a lady’s feet should be.
Shoes were so confining that I didn’t wear them much,
Except when going shopping, or to Sunday school and such.

Now, when a person won’t wear shoes, her feet get stained from grass
And spread out even larger, and look unrefined and crass.
The calluses grow thicker, and unsightly scars appear
From all of the abuses heaped upon them, year to year.
One day my foot was injured as I went about the farm
(Keep tempting fate for long enough, and you will come to harm).
The doctor took some stitches, and it put me in such pain
That I could see there’d be no walks. That fact was very plain!

Well, now I can appreciate the things my feet can do…
So many years I’ve used them, and they always got me through.
Who cares if they’re not sexy feet, or delicate or small?
I’ve learned to thank my Maker that I have these feet at all.
Two weeks I couldn’t take my walks; my foot was slow to heal,
But I can count my blessings with a gratitude that’s real.
This whole experience is one I hope I don’t repeat,
But one thing I have gained from this: I’ve learned to love my feet! 

Thoughts from Arlo Guthrie

Sharing Youtube videos on the Internet is usually a lost cause, especially if, like me, you mostly listen to folk songs.  Often nobody has heard of the song or the singer in the video, and many folk singers don't worry about how well they sing or how they sound:  I'm thinking of Bob Dylan and John Prine and Kristofferson and so many others.  John Prine's voice, which was never great, was "ruined" by throat cancer, but he still sings.  

So when people see a video of an artist who isn't on their list of favorite musicians, they cruise right along on the Internet highway.  Occasionally a brave soul might listen long enough to decide they don't like the sound, and then they move along.  I know, because I do this all the time.

This morning a Facebook friend shared an Arlo Guthrie YouTube video of Amazing Grace.  I checked to see how long it would last, because Arlo can get a little long-winded.  Thirteen minutes?  Did I really want to spend that much time listening to Arlo's rendition of a song I've heard since I was in the womb?

Turns out for me, it was worth it indeed.  Almost halfway through, he tells an amusing, spot-on story about some rabbits that ends with the statement, "I've just been home, breedin'."  That was good for a laugh and gave me something to think about.

But after that story, after Arlo had already made me laugh and almost cry, I took the time to write down some of the words he said after the rabbit story and realized I was listening to one of the best sermons I've heard in years.

"If the world was perfect... if everybody had money, nobody was homeless, nobody got sick, everything was wonderful, everybody was smart and happy all the time... you'd have to go a long way out of your way to make a difference in this world.  You'd have to do a lot to improve the way it was.  But in a world that sucks like this one, you don't have to do very much at all!  There was never a time in the history of the world where you could do so little and get so much done!  You could do more with a smile, just hold somebody, say hello to somebody, or just feel good all by yourself when you don't FEEL like feeling good!"

So I'm sharing this Arlo Guthrie video knowing full well most of you will move right along, and that's OK.  I do the same when some of my friends share songs by artists that aren't my style, or that I've never heard of.  I'm sharing it so I have a way to come back and listen to it again sometimes and perhaps realize that there ARE some things an introvert like me can do to make a better world, yes, even while I'm marching to the beat of my own drummer.

 

Barn cats

It's been three or four weeks since Cliff and I hauled some kittens home from a neighbor's place.  They've done pretty well:  After spending their first two or three days here shut in the barn with no escape, and being fed there, I opened an entrance for them.  They discovered Cliff's shop the first day, and as long as the shop door is open, that seems to be their favorite hangout.  Considering Cliff isn't a big cat fancier, he doesn't seem too opposed to cats in his shop; I suspect that is mainly because Cora likes the kittens so much: he will do almost anything to see her happy.  I feed the kittens a tiny bit of canned food in the evening; they expect it, and when I say "kitty-kitty-kitty", they come running from the shop as fast as their tiny legs will carry them.  

When I first brought them onto the place, my two grown cats, Mama Kitty and Jake, refused to acknowledge the newcomers and even went on a hunger strike of sorts, although I'm pretty sure they were eating something when I wasn't watching.  They didn't really get all that skinny during their fast.  

A week ago Mama Kitty disappeared.  I know she isn't looking for romance, since she's been spayed.  It has never been normal for her to disappear, although she did it once before and returned.  She is a home body... if the back pasture counts as a part of home, because she spent lots of time out there mousing.

I don't remember how long she was gone the other time, but I have a bad feeling.  For one thing, her big son Jake has caterwauled (ha!) constantly ever since her disappearance.  He's always been very vocal, but this is different:  It's like a low, moaning howl, a wail that he emits all the time.  He's easing up on it, though.  I guess he's adjusting.  Maybe I got those kittens just in time.

Jake still refuses to eat WITH the kittens, but if he begs in the barn when I'm putting feed out, I grab a paper plate and put a handful of cat food on it for him.  He digs in for all he's worth until Grady sees the big guy over there eating alone.  Then he goes to check it out, starts eating with Jake, and Jake skulks off, miffed.  

There's hope, though:  This morning Cora and I brought the kittens to the front yard so she could play with them while I dug a trench and planted a few more tulips.  I happened to glance up to see big Jake stalking Grady.  Just for the briefest time, I saw them batting paws at one another, staging the beginning of a play fight.  Then they went their separate ways.  I believe an olive branch has been extended.

They'll be OK.  

This is Grady, my favorite of the kittens.  He briefly ran away next door the other day when he heard two little neighbor girls playing.  I had to go get him, but he has stayed home since that time.  I don't mind them visiting over there, but I'd rather they wait until they're bigger so they know for sure which place is home.  Grady's eyes were matted almost shut when we got him, but we've finally got that cleared up.  I was going to call him "Gray", being unimaginative when it comes to feline naming.  My friend Joanna, in Virginia, then asked me to name him Grady... I believe she said she once had a cat by that name.  So Grady it is.

I was calling this guy "Pink", but Cora had already picked out a name for her favorite.  So he is now "Buttons".  He had ear mites when he first arrived, but now his ears are clean as new.  

I sure do miss Mama Kitty, but dangers are many for a barn cat.  Perhaps a coyote grabbed her when she was out mouse-hunting in the field.  She had just begun accepting the kittens as part of our family when she disappeared.

Or maybe there will be one more small miracle and she will return.  Jake doesn't seem to think so.

Pretend Stories (a short story)

I’m not sure what started it all, but one day before Cora was two, she came to me with a book and climbed on my lap for a story. When I finished, she wanted us to read another book. At some point I decided to make up a tale and tell it as though I was reading it; I started with “once upon a time” and ended with “they lived happily ever after”. I told the simple tale about two old people who wished they had a baby to play with and how they achieved happiness. The story probably consisted of six sentences, and when I concluded it, I said, “The end”

“Read it again,” she said, which of course cracked me up, since no reading had been involved.
She's three years old now. Yesterday at nap-time I read her the book she had chosen. When I laid it down, she said, “Now read me a pwee-tend story.”

So I made up a story about two kittens who needed a home and finally met a little girl who loved them. She wanted another, but I begged off at that point. I can only come up with so many pretend stories in a day.

Isn’t it interesting that a child would rather hear a hastily-thought-up tale told by an old lady, a story with no pictures, that sometimes goes nowhere... rather than a $20 story book?

Perhaps it’s just that she recognizes some of the characters in the stories.

No, David

Cora wasn't two yet when I went looking for a simple doll that could be taken into the wading pool with her.  The other baby dolls around here were partly made of materials you wouldn't want to get wet.

I looked around at Walmart and found such a doll for a reasonable price.  She was dressed in pink panties and a sort of cape/hood thing.  We didn't name her; none of the dolls Cora plays with here had names, we just call them "the babies".

Cora, typical for a child her age, ripped off the pink panties and removed the cape.  If, in her absence, I re-dressed the doll with her meager supply of clothes, as soon as the girl noticed it, off they came.

Typical for a toddler.  I stopped fighting it and left the babydoll in her shameful nudity.

A few months later I was reading a book to Cora that had been recommended to me:  "No, David".  I actually loved this book the first time I saw the cover, and for a while Cora enjoyed it too.  We had many discussions about the pictures, talking about why David's mother was telling him "no" in each picture.

We especially enjoyed the part where David went running down the street naked.

One day as Cora was playing with her naked doll, I said, "Hey, your baby is always naked, just like David was when he ran away.  We'll call your doll David!"

Toddlers with a good imagination don't care about small details (like the absence of male genitalia on the doll), so Cora played along.  We talked to David, soothing him when he fell and singing him to sleep.  He was constantly present when Cora was here.  If she was playing on the swing set, David had to swing too.  If she was riding in her little car, there he was, like a guardian angel.

A couple of months ago I found an outfit that looked like it would fit David.  It was cheaper than most doll clothes, so I grabbed it.  I also bought Cora a doll baby carrier to use as a "car seat" in her Barbie Jeep.  This put David in a pink outfit and a pink car seat:  He had turned back into a girl because I was too cheap to buy boy clothes or a blue car seat.

Children, though, are so innocent.  Cora liked the clothes just fine and now leaves the baby's clothes on.  And we are left with a girl doll named David.

You can't just change the name of a girl's best friend.

The Show Hank Williams Never Gave (and Janis Joplin too)

Back around 1979 or so, I was reading the Kansas City Star and happened to notice a stage show was coming to Kansas City:  It was "The Show Hank Williams Never Gave".  Hank died on the way to do a show in 1953, and this play portrayed what that show might have been like if he had lived.

Now, you can't be a country music fan if you don't have some sort of interest in Hank Williams.  I asked (begged) Cliff if he'd mind going; we'd get a ticket for his mom, too, because she loved country music with a passion.  Cliff reluctantly agreed.  He didn't like going places back then any more than he does now.   

When the big day came, Cliff had something going on, probably a project of some sort, and said, "Why can't you and Mom just go without me?"  

Well, I had three tickets.  I really wished he'd go, but I could see he was adamant.  As luck would have it, we had a very musical (country musical) family living next door, so I invited their teenage daughter to come with us.  Ronda agreed to join us.  (For local friends who read this, her last name is Baugus now... you might know her.  She sings.)

We arrived and took our seats, and soon the show started.  When the announcer introduced Hank Williams, the actor, whoever he was (possible Sneezy Waters), came out dressed like Hank.  He could sing pretty much like Hank, too.  There was some chatter back and forth between the actors, everybody calling the guy "Hank", and at one point Cliff's mom said, "Why are they acting like that man is Hank Williams?"

She didn't understand it was a play, even after I explained it to her.  

You only had to watch the first fifteen minutes of the show before you genuinely felt like you were watching the real Hank Williams on New Year's Day, 1953.  The guy didn't look that much like Hank, but he sang like him and was dressed like him.  He pulled it off quite well.

I've always regretted the fact that Cliff didn't go, because I've never forgotten it, it was that good.  

Last summer I had a similar experience when a granddaughter and I went to see "A Night With Janis Joplin".  I became a Joplin fan rather late in life, and quite unexpectedly, but I've never looked back.  Mary Bridget Davies portrayed Janis so well it was like we were seeing Janis, live and in person.  There was a scene where Janis and Aretha Franklin sang together that was unbelievable, my favorite part of the show.  I wish I knew who played Aretha.  All I can say is, she did the part justice.  I wish I could see it again.  If you like Janis and have an Amazon Prime account, the songs from the sound track are free to listen to HERE.  

You never know how much a movie or stage show is going to touch you.  The price of those tickets was worth every cent.  

Hello Autumn

I woke up a little cold in the night  but it's no wonder, really.  I had only a sheet and a very light summer bedspread to cover me.  I thought about putting flannel sheets on the bed, but after checking the ten-day forecast I saw there are temperatures in the upper 70's coming soon.  So it's too soon for flannel sheets, but I will throw one of my mom's quilts on the bed, and perhaps dig out my winter bedspread.  It's 65 here in the house, and 41 outside.  Yes, I think I feel Old Man Winter breathing down my neck.

I generally wake up many times during the night, which used to drive me crazy, but at some point along the way I realized that if I can keep myself from obsessing about my lack of sleep, it doesn't seem to bother me that much.  I try to stay in bed until 4, but if I can't get back to sleep, like today, I will get up at 3.  

This morning I listened to music on the computer and shared a couple of Youtube videos on Facebook.  I mostly just share for my own benefit, because I'm pretty sure most people are like me and aren't interested in unfamiliar music.  If someone shares a video of a familiar song I love, I will listen.  But if I've never heard of the song or artist... well, you know how it is:  My music is better than your music.  Ha!  

I'm one of those people who can't keep music playing in the background all the time, even if it's music I love.  If I'm trying to do a blog entry or read a book, it distracts me.  When I was in high school, I couldn't listen to music and do homework the way so many kids do.  In fact, even when I'm not reading, I can only take so much constant noise.  I remember when my kids used to watch cartoons in the morning before getting on the school bus, the noise drove me crazy.  It was pure ecstasy, that silence that enveloped the house when they left.  

After I got the Amazon tap and started taking it with me when I went to bed, I discovered music labeled as "new age" doesn't distract me at all.  I turn the volume down very low and it helps me go to sleep (Cliff can't hear it, since his hearing aid doesn't come to bed with him) and it also relaxes me.  I can even have it playing when I'm reading!  

There used to be a handful of other early-morning people on Facebook, mostly ladies, who awoke as early as I do.  We'd start our day together.  The group is pretty silent now, in part because one of us will soon be gone and we're dealing with that (yeah, I know, it's all about me... good grief, what about her?)  Mortality is a fact of life, but when we stare it in the face, it silences us because we realize our time is coming.  (Christine, you are never far from our thoughts.)

So I listen to music, discovering new artists nobody else will give a hoot about or listening to old hymns from my childhood that almost make me cry, they're so meaningful.  I laugh at Todd Snider's lyrics, but I don't share them on Facebook because he uses a few bad words from time to time, and I try not to offend folks.  But the guy cracks me up.

So there you have it, just a little more drivel from someone who has nothing noteworthy to blog about.   

Enjoy this day.  It's really all we have, this day.

A practical solution to the cattle situation around here

I miss having cows.  It's nothing I shed tears about, but I do miss interacting with cows, and I think I have found a sensible solution.

There will be no more milk cows here, as much as I love milking and all that goes with it.  Every time I think I'll get another Jersey, Dona Smith comes to mind.  She is one of the best friends I ever had.  She and Bud, her husband, would have driven anywhere, done anything, to help us if we needed it (one time when Cliff was out of a job, they offered us the loan of a substantial amount of money; of course, we declined).  Bud has passed on now, and Dona is in a nursing home.  She had a stroke years ago, which may be what caused her sometime dementia; I've only been to visit her twice over all these years, which tells you what kind of lousy friend I am.  On the first visit we had a good chat, but she wasn't quite "with it".  For instance, she told me that she was planning to buy some Jersey cows (she and Bud kept a small dairy herd at one time). She was going to get out there and milk again!  Now the woman was, and is, wheel-chair bound.  So she obviously didn't realize the impossibility of her milking cows... or keeping them at a nursing home.  

The second time I went, the old Dona was back and we had a nice, sensible  conversation.  

So every time I think I might get another Jersey cow, I remember how sad it was to see Dona, sitting in a wheelchair in a nursing home, planning to buy some cows, and I remind myself that these days I just don't take care of things, or pay enough attention to a cow's cycles and condition, to have a cow.  

Our supply of ground beef in the freezer is dwindling fast.  There are plenty of local farmers who would sell us half a beef, but by the time you pay for the beef and then pay for butchering, you are out quite a chunk of change.  So the wheels in my head began to turn.

The last time I checked, the dairy at Higginsville was selling Holstein bull calves at a very reasonable price.  If those prices are still low when I call them (after we go on a bus trip with our tractor club), I think I will buy a calf.  This will give me a bovine friend to enjoy and bottle-feed, and in a year we can have him butchered to put ground beef in our freezer... city folks will shudder at this statement, but country folks understand.  I will be bottle-feeding him with milk replacer for three months, then buying some grain for awhile; but when spring comes, we can turn him out in the pasture and let him grow.  We'll butcher him, probably, by the time he's a year old.

The thought of buying ground beef at the grocery store scares me, because it doesn't smell and taste like what we raise.  

In dealing with a steer, there won't be any worry about neighboring bulls, or cows that come in heat at too young an age.  

I hope it's as easy as it seems in the telling.

One thing and another

I like to keep dry cat food out all the time now that I have growing kittens in the barn.  I also supplement the kittens' intake with a little canned food in the evening, which the two of them devour in about two minutes as I watch.

I check their dry food when I'm out there giving the babies their treat to see that they have something to eat through the night.  For the last two or three weeks,  when I go out next morning, there isn't a single crumb of food left in their pan.  The cats never clean up their food to that extent.  There have always been a few pieces of food left in the morning.  

Furthermore, I have gotten in the habit of putting a paper plate in the bottom of the pan before I put cat food in it, and not only was the food gone, but the paper plate had been pulled out of the pan!  Cats would not do that, but varmints will.  I figured raccoons were the most likely suspect, since they like to use their little "hands" to move things around... you know, things like a paper plate.  Just checking to see if there's a crumb under there, no doubt.  

We have a Havahart trap, and discussed setting it up in the barn.  However, there's no doubt in my mind that there would be a cat in it next morning rather that a raccoon.  Maybe not the old cats, since they've each been trapped in there once and seem to have learned their lesson.  But the kittens, as kittens will do, would go in the trap just because it would look to them like a space they hadn't yet claimed, a new box to play in.  They'd get caught, for sure.  I could put them in a cage for the night, but I really hate to do that to them.  

i have some past experience with varmints, so I have a strong feeling that if someone would wait until half-an-hour after dark and went out silently with a gun, the possums would already be at the buffet ready to shoot.  Once possums and coons find out there's going to be steady access to good food, they don't waste a lot of time getting there.  We once killed multiple chicken-killing possums with this method.  If they hear a voice, they run.  But keep your mouth shut, get there with someone to shine a light on them, and they are easy targets.  Unfortunately, I don't use guns, and "someone" isn't usually interested in sneaking out into the dark once he's taken off his shoes for the night. 

I noticed something else that convinces me raccoons are the culprits:  The water dish I keep in the barn for cats is rapidly filling up with wet cat food.  Why?  Because the little varmints like to wash their food, and this water is conveniently located next to the pan of food.

For tonight, I intend to put the cat food pan and its contents in a safe place.  At least the pesky creatures won't be rewarded for their long trek from the woods to the barn.  I have set an alarm on the Amazon Echo to remind me of this, since I've been forgetting to shut my chickens up lately.  And if I'm forgetting that, I would surely forget to put the cat food up too.  

I'll let you know how things work out.

Peace... unless you are a raccoon reading this.  If so, I wish you no peace at all.

One thing and another

I like to keep dry cat food out all the time now that I have growing kittens in the barn.  I also supplement the kittens' intake with a little canned food in the evening, which the two of them devour in about two minutes as I watch.

I check their dry food when I'm out there giving the babies their treat to see that they have something to eat through the night.  For the last two or three weeks,  when I go out next morning, there isn't a single crumb of food left in their pan.  The cats never clean up their food to that extent.  There have always been a few pieces of food left in the morning.  

Furthermore, I have gotten in the habit of putting a paper plate in the bottom of the pan before I put cat food in it, and not only was the food gone, but the paper plate had been pulled out of the pan!  Cats would not do that, but varmints will.  I figured raccoons were the most likely suspect, since they like to use their little "hands" to move things around... you know, things like a paper plate.  Just checking to see if there's a crumb under there, no doubt.  

We have a Havahart trap, and discussed setting it up in the barn.  However, there's no doubt in my mind that there would be a cat in it next morning rather that a raccoon.  Maybe not the old cats, since they've each been trapped in there once and seem to have learned their lesson.  But the kittens, as kittens will do, would go in the trap just because it would look to them like a space they hadn't yet claimed, a new box to play in.  They'd get caught, for sure.  I could put them in a cage for the night, but I really hate to do that to them.  

i have some past experience with varmints, so I have a strong feeling that if someone would wait until half-an-hour after dark and went out silently with a gun, the possums would already be at the buffet ready to shoot.  Once possums and coons find out there's going to be steady access to good food, they don't waste a lot of time getting there.  We once killed multiple chicken-killing possums with this method.  If they hear a voice, they run.  But keep your mouth shut, get there with someone to shine a light on them, and they are easy targets.  Unfortunately, I don't use guns, and "someone" isn't usually interested in sneaking out into the dark once he's taken off his shoes for the night. 

I noticed something else that convinces me raccoons are the culprits:  The water dish I keep in the barn for cats is rapidly filling up with wet cat food.  Why?  Because the little varmints like to wash their food, and this water is conveniently located next to the pan of food.

For tonight, I intend to put the cat food pan and its contents in a safe place.  At least the pesky creatures won't be rewarded for their long trek from the woods to the barn.  I have set an alarm on the Amazon Echo to remind me of this, since I've been forgetting to shut my chickens up lately.  And if I'm forgetting that, I would surely forget to put the cat food up too.  

I'll let you know how things work out.

Peace... unless you are a raccoon reading this.  If so, I wish you no peace at all.