Hamlet's Sister
Yea, the stork in the
heaven
knoweth her appointed
times;
and the turtle and the
crane and the swallow
observe the time of
their coming;
but my people know not
the judgment of the Lord.
—
Jeremiah 8:7
Got cats? Got drama. They're like
that. We live around a lot of horse barns, and with them come a lot of barn
cats. They've got their own ways. It's taken me years to catch on.
One neighbor's barn cat leaned on lampposts and wore black net
stockings. No, she didn't, but she does hold the neighborhood record for the most
kittens birthed in one year: 20! One became our own Pumpkin. Every day, striding
regally like an orange powder puff, she inspected our neighbors' yards, and returned
for her power nap. Everyone loved her.
One night, though, I had a strong
premonition. Something woke me up in the middle of the night. I sat bolt upright in bed, all upset, and
didn't know why. Eventually, I fell back asleep. Next morning, we found out
that at that very hour, Pumpkin had met a cruel fate, trapped in a fenced-in
area with some fierce hunting dogs a ways away. Our neighbors heard it and
noted the time. We were crushed. My wakening that night was amazing. But then
again, not so very.
That's cats. They're mysterious.
Pumpkin's barn mate, black-and-white
Patch, eventually disappeared, too. We think she got lonesome and took
squatter's rights in someone else's barn.
Meanwhile, the neighbor across the
street moved, and left someone behind: Fat Louie, chubby, white and orange.
First, he tried to live with the tough lady barn cats across the way, but they
drove him out. So he showed up at our barn, a quiet, pleasant presence.
What is it about me and cats in the
middle of the night? One other time, I woke up, sad about something. I went
outside to sit under the stars and think and pray and fume. I started to cry,
in my little pity party. "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me; I'm going to eat
some worms. . . ." Well, here came Fat Louie. He dumped himself on my lap,
purring up a storm, forcing me to pet him. Pretty soon, I was petting, and no
longer weeping. I felt better. He has never since shown me an ounce of interest,
unless I brought food.
That's cats.
We also have Tigrrrr. She came to us
as a charity case, skinny and small. Unfortunately, our horse Zippy stepped on
her. That made her a flat cat from her shoulders back. The vet kind of hinted
that maybe we should put her to sleep. After all, she was a barn cat and we got
her for free. But did THAT make her worthless? You know the answer. We gritted
our teeth and paid the vet $250 to fix her up. Today, she's no worse for wear.
I love to tell our very first cat
tale. When we bought our acreage here at Mount Laundry, there was a large,
orange cat who came as part of the deal. Hamlet had been living in the barn
when the people before us bought the place. They said he was at least 17. He
was the calm, collected king of the barn, and let us live with him for a year
or so.
Then one day, I found him on the
tractor seat, dead. I panicked that there might be poison in the barn, so I
took him to the vet for an autopsy. Nope! Hamlet just died of old age. We laid
him to rest.
Then about a month later, I was
walking into the barn and almost stumbled on a large gray cat laying on the
tack room floor - dead. I panicked again: maybe there WAS poison in here! No
collar, no tags. We took the gray cat into the vet for another autopsy.
Nope! Natural causes. The cat was a
female, about 18 years old, the vet said.
A neighbor put the pieces together
for us. Turns out the gray cat was Hamlet's sister. They'd been litter mates in
our barn two homeowners before. When they grew up, Hamlet stayed, and the gray
cat migrated on; no one knew where.
Somehow, though, when it came time
to die, she came back to the place she'd been born.
Yeah. They're just dumb animals.
Riiiiiiiight.
There's more going on with them than
we know.
That's cats. They're like that. †
