Dante's Poem

Orange and white spirit cat
you appear as a ghost might,
spread out on the floor
sunbathing in a spot of sun.
golden coat with soft white patterns that
criss cross your face and the rest of you
shimmers in the warm light

Sometimes at night
I watched you silently hide
behind moonlit blades of grass
crouched low, head tilted upwards
watching stars, perhaps,
waiting to catch one...

You didn’t wiggle a whisker
for a long while
and I wondered if you were dreaming.
You must have had
wild cat lions and tigers on your mind
compelling you now to
chase ankles or slippers or
hide behind doors or suddenly pounce
or run wild up and down stairs

or trees
for that matter…
you dashed after squirrels,
each time
the noisy acrobat swung away,
you hung on to the end of the branch
watched it go, shaking your head.

I still look for you
in that field across the street
and I glance upward uneasily
to the top branches
of the cottonwood
where the limbs wrap
around an untidy nest.

It is abandoned;
the hawk family
that buzzed us all summer,
that first year,
is gone too.

Annie Banan-ie

Annie was the second Vizsla to come into our lives. If you are not familiar with this breed, you ought to be. They are loving, athletic, smart, energetic, 40-50 lb lap dogs who wiggle their way into your life and heart and never let go, and they are beautiful. They look kind of like a taffy colored cross between a Weimeraner and a Greyhound. Annie is no exception.

She is the second Vizsla because the first one in the family was Bailey. Annie and Bailey belong to our daughter Jennifer and her husband Miles. Now Bailey was the ‘older brother’. He always made sure his younger sister knew he was in charge, even as he aged to the point that not just his face but almost his whole body had turned gray. I suspect there was a lot more competition than we realized because when Bailey left us for the rainbow bridge, Annie stayed by his side, said good-by and then went to hide under the kitchen table to ponder the situation for a while. She worked it out in her own doggie way. Then I think she began to love being the ‘only dog’ for a change.

She loves her position in her family (squarely under the dinner table with her head in your lap waiting for a handout) and adores her daily runs on the urban acreage located on the edge of town. So she has mice and rabbits to chase in nearby fields to her heart’s content. As important as these are though, birds are more important. After all she is a bird dog. To be a little more accurate, a Vizsla is a hunting dog developed in Germany as a pointer as apposed to a retriever. Something got lost with Annie though, she is an excellent chaser with pointing coming is as an afterthought.

The two matching dogs were the only ‘kids’ in the family for several years and had a big adjustment when our grandchildren, first the twins, Cory and Tyler and then Amber, the younger sister, came along. Annie had some issues to work out, was jealous and growled warnings but never bit. She tolerated being drug around the house going for ‘walks’ and giving up her spot on the sofa. We know Annie well because she lived with us off and on. She always knew her place when she was here, even though she was delighted when she could bother the cats and clean their cat boxes once in a while.

But more than anything I think she has been a pal, entertaining everyone with her silly antics. She delights with her mischievous golden eyes and lopsided grin and is best known for her ecstatic plunges in the hot tub. She shows up at our door (we live next door to our daughter) at dinner time or when she needs a drink of water after a run. That’s OK Annie, we’ll ‘leave the door open for ya’.

My Horses Wish

March 2011 Agatha
It is not the kind of thing I want to write about but I think I owe it to a grieving horse owner and her horse to at least remember the few months we boarded Aggie at Fossil Ridge Farm. Agatha (her full name)was born in Germany. Her breeding was regal. She was a Hanoverian, a breed that carried hot Arabian blood as well as the blood of the cold climate horses like the Clydesdales.

In her time she had been a talented dressage horse, she may have also been a jumper, but I am not sure about that. More than that, she was a personable horse who nickered to you and was always friendly. A beautiful dark bay, she stood over 16 hands tall and had a lovely face and alert eyes. When she came to our barn she was 23 yrs old and had already had a bout with colic that almost took her life. We were feeding her supplements as well as a special oil to help prevent it from happening again.

But on the morning of December 24th 2010 we found her, waiting for someone to come so she could let go. She was leaning against the side of the barn, head down, covered with sweat and saliva where she had been biting at her sides. No telling how long she had suffered. We automatically got a halter on her and tried to walk her a few steps to see if it would relieve her. She collapsed in that spot and died within minutes. She probably suffered what is often fatal to a horse, a twisted gut or severe colic.

Now, more than two months later I grieve for her in the only way I can when I lose an animal who had such presence; with sadness but appreciation for the beauty she brought into my life. I came across this poem written by another horse owner who had lost her horse. This is for Aggie and for Kayla I wanted to share it with everyone.

MY HORSE’S WISH
Could you bed me down with kindness
on the soft sweet words of love?
Could you ride me in your finest
with hands light as a dove?

Could you teach me with old wisdom
by the laws of just and fair?
Could you be my friend forever
with a trust so true and rare?

Could you meet me on the morrow
with grasses green and sweet?
Could you free me without sorrow
on the plains of loam and wheat?

Could you say farewell with honor
on the day my life is through?
And remember me forever
as I shall remember you?
Barbara Dun-Reeves
(From Mary D. Midkiff on the loss of her horse, Theodora.)

The Sun Spot

Mookie and Lily. An unlikely pair, not by looking at them because they are both white and black Tuxedo cats. Lily is my oldest cat and Mookie the youngest. Lily lost her litter mate Callie several years ago. She and Callie were close buddies. But Callie got out one day soon after we came to the farm and did not come back. Lily grieved for a long time, hid under my bed for most of a year. She really was not pleased when I moved Taffy and Cookie in from the barn when they were kittens. She intimidated them so much that now when Taffy and Cookie are bigger she still does.


After we got the 3 new barn kitties Lily would growl and glare out the window at them and also at any neighbor cat that wandered by. When Lily saw them she would stage a huge hissy fit. But one day our barn kitty, Moonbeam (Mookie), sneaked up to the house and sat under a window and meowed. I observed an unusual sight. Lily just stared out the window at her. No growling, no hissing. When Moonbeam disappeared around the corner of the house Lily jumped down from the window and tried to follow her to the next window to get another view of her.

I’d never know if she thought it was Callie but her behavior made me think it was possible. Then it ended up that I had to bring Moonbeam into the house because she was the last barn cat. I hoped Lily would remember the initial experience. It was not to happen. But eventually I noticed that Lily was not hissing or growling at Moonbeam while she still did occasionally toward Taffy and Cookie.

Then one day I was reading in the room where the sun came in onto the bed in a welcome warm spot on a cold day. Lily had not allowed another cat to be in that sun spot with her unless I intervened. Mookie came up and gingerly stretched out in a corner of the sun. Lily watched her lie down but there was no hissing or growling. Mookie was alert but didn’t move a muscle. Lily relaxed and in a minute, so did Mookie. As Lily relaxed she stretched out her back legs till one touchd Mookie on her leg. I held my breath. Lily was quiet. As they laid there together I realized it was the first time Lily had quietly touched another cat since we lost Callie. I was thankful.

Mookie Moves In

      The days after Polka Dot disappeared were dark and cold for me. But I wasn’t the only one. Moonbeam was by herself in the barn. More than once I would go out just to make sure the heating pad was working in her ‘warming house’. It was more important now that there was no other cat for her to snuggle up with. The temperature had dropped to 10 degrees and would probably be below 0 before this cold snap was through with us. When it was this cold I didn’t see her very often. She stuck close to the barn.
      But she was alone. All the time now. I know it has ben said that that cats are by nature solitary, but I don't believe it.  Little Moonbeam with only one eye was vulnerable with her gregarious sister no longer helping her.
     So after mulling it over in my mind I casually mentioned to John that if it got down to 0 degrees I would have to see if I could bring her in the house. ( I knew it would not be just for a visit) I knew I could probably pick her up and carry her in a carrier. I had been able to pick her up in the barn to doctor her once  but if it didn’t work it would be hard get her to come in again. She had actually come into the house a few times on her own, poked her head around and then run right back out.
     So I planned this elaborate plan where I would bring her into the house in a carrier and let her out while I kept the other cats in another room She very graciously went into the carrier where I had placed some treats. I closed the door and picked her up. I didn’t hear a sound. I got her to the house and let her out and she sat hunched over for a minute and then started slinking across the kitchen, belly to the floor.
     That first time she was comfortable for only a minute and then loud protesting meows came out of her small body. When I opened the sliding door she darted out and headed for the barn. She found her own way. Over the next few days as the temperature dropped more I brought her in several times. Only now she would follow me to the house from the barn. No need for a carrier. After a while she stopped protesting and was able to explore the rest of the house quietly.
     The day came when it was time for her to come into the house. I set up a wire kennel in the walk-in closet so she would have a relatively small area to observe her suroundingd. I kept a towel over the cage too, for the same reason.
     The first night I kept her in the kennel all night. She quit meowing after a while. In the morning I let the other cats into the room. It was mostly a non-event for Cookie and Lily. They walked by with hardly a notice. But Taffy, the laid back, more social kitty walked up to the kennel and gave it a good sniffing over. No hisses or growls. And then the next thing I saw was Taffy lying down beside the cage. She was Moonbeam’s first friend. I added a nick-name to her, it was Mookie, and since it sounded so much like her old name she responded to it instantly. She had taken the first step well, we would see how the rest would go. And even I was starting to feel better.

I'm Reconnecting

I have had to let up on writing my blogs for the past month or so. I’m sorry about that. I was hurting more deeply than I realized because I just couldn’t bring myself to write much of anything. But after my personable, sweet feral/hoarded/barn kitty, disappeared I found way too many other things to do. (anger) Polka Dot had become even friendlier with me than my house cats, and I couldn’t believe I had let this happen.

Each day for a couple of weeks I called for her but I didn’t have much hope. What made it even harder was the weather turned cold, very cold. I just couldn’t accept her being out in it. The only way I could think of her was if I convinced myself she had found a buddy and was in another barn or even a house where she might have been fed and had a warm place. (denial) I knew that since she was feral and we had recently sighted a red fox, it was a long shot.

The only thing that made me feel better during that time was my house cats. I held Taffy-ta, my big furry orange tabby for a long time. She put up with my hugging a little longer than usual before she struggled to get down. And about this time, my shy, beautiful tortie, Cookie, was beginning to climb up on my lap as if she knew it was the right time to do that. Even moody, unpredictable black and white Lily, my Tuxedo kitty spent more time on my lap than usual, looking steadily into my eyes as if saying, “It’s going to be OK Mom, I’m here” (acceptance) I’d never thought about the power of touch in this way but it’s thanks to my kitties I made it through those first few weeks.

Since Polka Dot disappeared lots of things have happened. I have some more cat stories coming up as well as a horse and dog story. Don’t miss “Mookie Moves In”, next. My goal is to write a post every other week. Welcome back.

Follow the Dots

Of the three rescued cats I brought to my barn that early fall day, you would notice Polka Dot first. Her abundance of long luxurious fur made her look fat, which she wasn’t, and reminded me of Garfield the cat's famous comment,
“I’m not fat! I’m fluffy!”

(The picture shows her in her summer coat)
She also wore a tuxedo. In cat circles this means black covers most of her body with a white tummy, chest or chin, and usually four white paws. The white area on the face and neck is a variety of shapes and sizes. For Polka Dot these markings were startling. She had 3 white dots,

one on either side of her nose and one on the tip of her nose. Polka Dot had well... polka dots. Three of them.
For a large fluffy cat, Polka Dot had a small meow. But one night that tiny meow was enough. It was later in the winter, after we had moved them into a warm empty stall protected with stacks of hay.
Along the way she had a few more adventures than Lollipop. Lollipop was the shy one who spent most of her time curled up under the table and even Moonbeam, the one eyed wonder who was bold but still careful. Polka Dot seemed to be braver or maybe the more feral one. She was bound and determined to show me how adventurous she could be.
Somehow one day Polka Dot found her way to the rafters in the storage room. It was not too unusual because all the junk that was piled up from floor to ceiling allowed a curious, determined or frightened kitten to make it to the ledge without much trouble. When I got there to feed them I couldn’t figure out where she was. My heart sank. I had them for only a week and I was afraid if they got out they would not survive in a strange place, compromised as they were from their recent spay or neuter surgeries.
Frantically I pushed boxes and junk out of the way, looked under things, even behind the old stuffed chair, but it seemed hopeless. Then finally I spotted her high above me. My breath caught as her tail disappeared through a previously unnoticed hole in the wall. She had found a small space large enough to wiggle through.
I yelled to my husband, “Quick, bring a ladder! Polka Dot is getting out!” Luckily he got there in time and used another piece of wood to gently push her back in, backwards. There she sat eight feet up on a narrow ledge, tilting and unsteady, looking just as scared as I had been a few minutes before.
But that was not the end. I had to get her down. I carefully found a foothold on the table that sat against the wall and stood up on it but I was barely able to reach her. Have you ever tried to grab a scared feral cat! ? I spotted a fishnet hanging nearby on the wall. My son-in-law had hung it there when he moved his fishing stuff into storage. I grabbed it and began to move it slowly toward her. Finally I wedged the frame against the wall circled around her while she sat on the ledge surrounded by the net.
Then, suddenly, without warning, plop, she slipped down into it while I tried to hold on to the handle with one hand. When she felt herself falling she became a whirling dervish flinging her tail and legs and paws everywhere. At that point I began to lose my balance dropped the net to avoid being shredded by cat claws. When it landed on the table she sprang out. With a sideways glare she disappeared back under the table. She took it all in stride as cats do but I was still shaking an hour later.
Another time I arrived with their food and again no Polka Dot to be found. As I tossed things out of the way I mumbled to myself,
“I thought I had plugged all the rest of the holes.” Then I noticed a strange thing, the patio umbrella propped upside down in the corner moved. When I peeked in I saw a small black furry ball wedged down between the ribs, stuck tight with three white dots showing in the darkness. I decided it would not be wise to stick my hand down into it. I picked up the whole umbrella carefully and slowly turned it right side up. Sure enough, she came sliding out and as soon as her little feet hit the ground off she flew, this time under the old stuffed chair sitting in the corner, just a little bit ruffled.
“That was number two” I told her.
It was November and the first big snowfall of the year was in progress. I didn't see her in the barn…again. By now I had moved them out of the small storage room into an empty stall where we stored hay and where I had assembled a small cat shelter. I called it their ‘warm house’. The cats were out during the day but came home for their dinner in the evening.
I got my best-lost-cat-tool flashlight out and walked through deepening snow around the house, barn and arena and toward my neighbor’s property. And then I heard it, a small meow. I shined the flashlight toward the gate and saw a little black kitty face with three white dots poking up above the snow drift. The mouth moved, barely making a sound, but it had been enough.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to pick her up. She would not allow herself to be touched for six more months.
I had left my footprints in the snow behind me as I walked. When she saw me she tentatively put her paw out but she still fell through the drift. By now it was getting really cold and darker. So I called her by name. She could have known her name by then because I talked to her all the time using it. Names are important. When you have been named it is like you exist.
When she heard my encouraging voice and her name she jumped out into the first close by footprint, as I backed up she jumped to the next footprint, following the ‘dots’. She jumped along following me like the proverbial bouncing ball, footprint to footprint all the way to the barn where warmth and her dinner ware waiting. She looked like a little fuzzy black fur ball bouncing along behind me.
I called their names each night when I brought them dinner but I still wasn’t sure if they would come. And because she had learned to trust me she rescued herself that night.

Polka Dot

Rescued August 31, 2009 - Disappeared November 13, 2010

I miss your sweet spirit terribly.