One Cat, Two Cat, Three Cat, Four.....

                When I meet new people, I often get asked if I have kids and the response of “no” gets me plenty of odd looks to begin with given my age. Somehow it seems a social imperative that if you are above 35 and don’t have kids, there is something amiss. I am usually met with even more speculation depending on the audience when I say that I have “furry kids” instead. Most people accept this with a smile and ask if I have a dog or a cat. When the full list of the animals is finally shared, some either find it charming or so odd they don’t talk to me again. I accept this..its my life and I choose to live it this way. I wouldn’t trade it.

                Yes, I don’t have kids. I spent most of my younger life proclaiming that I didn’t want them, and then when I found my husband and we decided to share this crazy life, I found that perhaps maybe I did want to give motherhood a try. Alas, some of us are not meant to be mothers in the traditional sense. A good friend told me that she felt my legacy would be left in a different way. I suppose I will never really know, but since this is the life I have and I am not about to waste my time sobbing over things that will never be for me.

                My “furry kids” bring me joy and I treat them with the love and respect they afford me. I have often been asked if I am building an ark given all the creatures that have found their way to our farm. Crow’s Croft Farm is a haven for me and my husband as well as for our menagerie. People stare sometimes when the list gets run off of all that lives there with us, but the cats…that gets the most laughter and comment it seems.

                Somewhere along the way, having more than two cats made you a possible candidate for the term “crazy cat lady”. Back when it was just three cats, I got comments. When I say seven cats…well, you can just imagine.

                How on earth did I end up with seven cats? Well, there’s several stories involved and they all end with a cozy place somewhere in our log house.

                Most exotic of the bunch is Barnaby Jones, Cat Detective. This 18lb ball of fluff and craziness was just a kitten when Phil, my husband, passed him on his walk to work while stationed in Saudi Arabia. The compound up on which Phil lived and worked during his two year assignment there was full of feral cats and Saudi Arabia does not share our love of animals. Roundups and massacre of all ferals caught was a constant practice. In this case, it appeared the mother cat had been caught up leaving her barely weaned kitten behind. I remember Phil sending me an IM before he left his work day (his day ended when mine began back in the United States and we were able to communicate briefly through the company IM System each day). He told me about the kitten and how it had bothered him all day. He had called around, but was told reporting it meant they would catch and kill the kitten and he was sickened by that prospect. He said if he was still there when he went home, he’d find a solution for him that might give him a chance. I knew what that meant. Two hours later, this picture popped into my inbox.

Barnaby as a kitten (Saudi Arabia, 2012)

Barnaby Jones (Gig Harbor, 2014)

                The rest is history. Phil raised Barnaby in his apartment and brought him home when his assignment was over. Barnaby is our Saudi Arabian cat. He’s willful, mouthy, pushy, and despises sharing Phil with anyone, most of all another cat. He’s a bully to the rest of our cats and he will soon be my office cat only. We’ve had to separate him from the others as he is aggressive and outweighs everyone by at least 5 to 6 lbs. Despite all his nonsense and the hassle he creates, we love him and he is our responsibility. We have had moments of discussing whether or not he would be happier in a home where he is the only one, but his personality isn’t his best feature and it would take a very patient and special person to agree to take on what I lovingly refer to as my “monster”. So, he stays with us.

                Barnaby already had trouble adjusting to the company of two other cats when he first arrived. Chuck and Tasha were well established in the household. Chuck is all personality and he’s gorgeous and snuggly. He’s the perfect cat – mild mannered, gets along with others, and puts the dogs in line when they get too close. He can defend himself, he’s an excellent mouser. Tasha was the sweetest cat you’d ever met. Coal black, beautiful, and sweet, she crossed the Rainbow Bridge in February of 2015. Phil had raised her from a kitten. She was diabetic and required insulin shots twice a day. She had her own glucometer and we tested her before each shot to avoid hypoglycemic crashes and seizures. Cancer got her in the end, but she was in no pain and went to sleep peacefully with us holding her. It broke our hearts to lose her, but 18 years is a good long life for a cat, especially one with all her medical complications, and we count ourselves blessed to have been so lucky to have her with us for so long. Both cats accepted Barnaby upon introduction, but he took a little while to adjust to the idea of having to share Phil’s lap with any other feline. He didn’t warm up to me right away either, but now he prefers my office and he has his own chair (so he doesn’t steal mine). 

Chuck

Tasha (crossed the Rainbow Bridge, February 2015)

                 Barnaby Jones has never forgiven us for the other five cats though. I don’t think he ever will either. When he gets to be my only office cat and has his own box, his own kitty tower, toys, and birdfeeder to watch out the big windows in my office, perhaps he will get a little closer to forgiveness.

                How did we end up with five more? Well, remember that neighbor whose ducks ended up with us? Yeah, that guy. Well…the cats are a similar story.

                We were very friendly with this neighbor at first and I won’t say that I think he is a horrible person. I just don’t like how he treats his animals. He made it clear he didn’t care for cats, but when you live in the woods and have poultry, etc., a cat to keep the rodents down is a good idea. Still, this neighbor truly didn’t care for the cat which was evident by the name he gave her. He named her Get Out of Here which he would yell at her any time he caught her lounging in the back room he’d built on to his deck. She was a small cat, white and grey tabby, and very sweet. I used to volunteer in cat rescue and this neighbor knew all the stories of our own cats, so when we were having a campfire one night and talking he sighed and told me he though his cat might be pregnant. I immediately exclaimed “you didn’t get her fixed!”

                This fool went onto tell me how he figured it would be all right since there weren’t other cats around that he’d seen and “I’m not like you two. I don’t spend that kind of money on my animals.”

                “They’re cats. They will find each other and you have to get them fixed or they will just keep having litters.” I told him.

                Well, I checked her out and sure enough, she was pregnant. He fed her cheap cat food and still wouldn’t let her come inside, even when pregnant. She did have that back room though. When he went away for a two week trip, we agreed to look after his animals (the ducks, chickens, cat, and dog). He wanted us to leave his lab at home and just feed him, but we wouldn’t hear of it. Theo, his sweet black lab who liked our dogs and was kind to cats, enjoyed two weeks of luxury napping in a warm house on a bed and, I was informed later, even spent a few nights snuggled up with my goddaughter on her bed in the basement. If I could have taken him, I would have. While the neighbor didn’t care for his cats, he did love his dog, though I think Theo’s care could have been better.

                While the neighbor was away, the cat had her babies, but she hid them. My goddaughter and I spent hours looking for them, crawling under the deck, through the woods, trying to follow her. We never found them. She brought them out when he returned. Six kittens – three pairs of twins. Two that looked like her (grey and white tabbies), two tuxedos, and two black and whites.

                He had Phil over to visit and showed them to him when I was on business travel and Phil told him he should get the cat fixed and take the kittens to the humane society. He said he was going to find homes for them soon. They were barely four weeks old. He told Phil the mother cat had stopped feeding them already and so he wasn’t worried about it. I came home and we walked over to see the kittens. I had a speech planned. The Humane Society would fix his cat for free if he surrendered the kittens and I was bound and determined to talk him out of them and get her fixed. I was even going to just take her myself and the kittens too to have it all settled.

                But, no…he cut me off as I started saying he’d already given away four of them and there was just the Mama Cat and the two grey and white tabby kittens left. He said I could have one kitten, but he was going to keep the other, so he would have two mousers. I tried to argue with him, but my husband gave me a look. I knew what would happen…I had seen this story too many times before volunteering cat rescue in New York. He wouldn’t get them fixed and there would be more. I was sickened over the other four kittens already being taken away to new homes way too young, but knew there was nothing I could do now, except save one kitten. I picked one of the kittens, the boy, and carried him home on my shoulder that day. He liked to burrow in my hair and he was the snugglier of the two. I named him Mycroft. I tried again in vain to talk him out of the other kitten, but he refused. 

Mycroft as a kitten

Mycroft full grown

                Four weeks later as I was preparing to go on yet another business trip, I happened to look up towards the old shop on our property. This building was nearly falling down and has since been removed. At this time though, it held storage we couldn’t fit in the house or garage quite yet and housed my husband’s Jeep and Blazer. It was June and the days were long. We’d heard that our neighbor was gone for a few days. We had found out when Theo heard us around a campfire one night and came running over. We went to take him home and saw that our neighbor was gone. A quick text to his mother told us that he was gone for a few more days. He had not bothered to ask us to take care of Theo or the cats or the birds. I informed his mother Theo would stay with us.

                When I saw Get Out of Here in our shop, my heart skipped a beat and I admit the devious side of my brain starting plotting. My heart leapt when I saw Mycroft’s twin sister with her. If I could catch them both, I could get them to safety. Get Out of Here was very thin, much thinner than she had been last I had seen her. She was ragged and very skittish of us suddenly. I ran inside and told Phil and we tried to catch the cats, but to no avail. They were too quick, so I put out a dish of dry food instead hoping I could entice them to stay and I could try again before I left. Get Out of Here was ravenous and it boiled my blood to see that Mycroft’s sister was still nursing. Mycroft had taken to suckling on my shirt or thumb when being held, kneading his paws into whoever was holding him looking for milk. Our neighbor had lied. He wasn’t weaned and she hadn’t stopped nursing her babies…he had stopped feeding her so she would mouse and she had given any spare she had in fat to her one remaining kitten. That was my assessment anyway. I was partially right.

                Not an hour later, I saw another kitten. It was black and white and snuggled up with Mycroft’s twin in the blackberries next to our old shop. Then I spotted another black and white kitten by my garage. It was meowing for its siblings and Get Out of Here. Get Out of Here had disappeared. I called for Phil and he confirmed angrily that those were two of the kittens from the litter. He had seen them all, I had not. Our neighbor had lied to us. He hadn’t given all of them away.

                Another hour later, a tuxedo kitten joined the furry pile by the blackberry bushes by the shop and I was enraged at this point. I told Phil we were going to catch them and find them homes. “They’re not our cats, Chris.” Was his answer.

                “They are now,” I said, “He’s not caring for them and he clearly doesn’t give a damn if they live or die out here. Between the highway and predators, they won’t make it.”

                Phil didn’t disagree. We agreed that we would be honest if he came looking for them and I was adamant that he would get a piece of my mind if he did. I boarded a plane for my business trip. Phil was going to keep their food bowl full and try to catch them in my absence. If he didn’t have them when I returned, we would catch them together. Further inspection of the shop that night by Phil revealed two things. The mother cat had built a nest for her babies and they had been living in his Jeep for at least a week by the looks of things and….the last kitten joined the litter that night. A tiny tuxedo kitten, the runt of the litter. I received that text as I landed in Atlanta and muttered expletives under my breath for a good five minutes.

                Phil watched over the kittens that week and said there was no sign of the Mama Cat (Get Out of Here) for most of the week. The kittens played and snuggled up in the carrier we had filled with old towels and placed in the shop and they scarfed down the food he put out for them. In the middle of the week. Mama Cat returned and she took the kittens somewhere else for a day or two. The neighbor returned, picked up his dog, and never mentioned the cats. Mama Cat returned two days later (the night before I came home) with her litter and settled back into the Jeep in the shop. They were all ravenous again and the big bowl of food Phil put out when he saw them distracted them long enough to allow him to catch all of the kittens and put them in the garage. Mama Cat (we refused to call her by the name she had been given at this point) put up more of a fight, but he got her into the carrier and put her in the garage with her babies. He gave them fresh water, a litter box, and food.

                Our veterinarian and his wife are dear friends of ours and when he was informed of the situation by Phil, he offered to adopt two kittens and fix, worm, and give shots to the rest (including Mama Cat). A few days after I arrived home, our vet, his wife, and their daughters came over to pick out their kittens. They chose one of the black and white kittens and Mycroft’s twin. Catching them in our garage was no small feat, but we managed and those kittens went to their new home. We caught them all and took them in for deworming and their first round of shots. The kittens had never been handled, especially the runt, and were very skittish and distrusting. Mama Cat was only five pounds and in desperate need of nourishment. We free fed her dry food and wet food, got her shots, dewormed her, and gave her flea meds. She had a tick too which was removed. I scheduled her spay appointment. Her examination placed her at about one to two years old.

                Mama Cat and I started to bond. I had taken to having my coffee in the garage each morning and talking to the cats in the hopes that they would become a bit more socialized. Mama Cat was the first to respond which I was happy to see. She had been so sweet before and had been so affectionate, it was nice to see parts of that return to her personality. One morning, I was sitting crossed legged on the garage floor sipping my coffee and talking to her. She walked up and asked for a pet which I happily gave her. She quickly climbed into my lap and started purring, asking for more and more affection. I fell in love with her, which Phil immediately saw. I named her Miss Addler and asked if I could keep her. Phil laughed and said of course, but he wanted to keep the tuxedo male kitten with the white dot on his face. He named him Cosmo. Cosmo had taken to Phil rather quickly and had the loudest purr of all the kittens.

                That left the other two – a black and white male and the runt tuxedo female. We would get them fixed and find them good homes, I said. Right….we named them. Domino and Tink. They have never left our home. They are all still very skittish, Tink most of all, and Barnaby’s assaults on Addler were so severe, we put her in our bedroom to protect her until we can finish building my office to secure Barnaby. Addler is the most affectionate cat in the house aside from Chuck. Chuck has recently joined her in the bedroom. Being the old man of the house, he dislikes being pounced on by the other kittens and would rather just nap on our bed or sit in the window and watch birds. He and Addler play occasionally still and I have caught them snuggling together while napping.

                Domino, Cosmo, and Mycroft run around the house each night and early morning playing and tumbling about. Mycroft, having been the first and extremely socialized, has taught his brothers that the humans are not so bad. Cosmo prefers Phil to this day and they have a morning “appointment” every day in Phil’s office – the appointment consists of Cosmo coming in and meowing at Phil, then jumping into his lap and purring loudly while he gets his morning loves and snuggles. Domino has started asking for pets and affection, though he still dislikes being picked up and he is still rather skittish. All of the kittens disappear into hiding when they hear a voice they don’t recognize and I have several friends who are not certain I truly have these cats because they have never seen them.

                Tink is another story. Still very feral and terrified of people, I had to trap her for her spay appointment and then again recently for her booster shots. She yowls in terror when I do this and it breaks my heart. She doesn’t like us and doesn’t trust us, but she has put her total trust in Ilta, our dog, who she rubs on and scent marks to the degree Ilta will tolerate. After her booster shot appointment, I put her in our bedroom hoping she would bond again with Addler and Addler could show her that we aren’t so bad. Also, having her in close quarters with us would force some level of socialization, but there are still plenty of places to hide in our bedroom, so she would feel somewhat safe.

                We have had these kittens for almost two years now. Tink has been in the bedroom for the last two months and Phil informed me just this week (I am on business travel again) that Tink allowed him to pet her. She had stopped running from us when we brought in food before I left, but he said she didn’t run away when he came in the room and found her laying on the bed. She liked the petting, but took off as soon as Addler interjected and demanded his attention. Its slow, but its progress.

                In these two years since Addler brought her kittens to us, our neighbor has never asked about them. He never looked for them or talked about them when we did see him. He has moved away and we have inherited his ducks as a result.

                So, that is how we came to have seven cats in the house. They have their quirks and we continue to work with them. We love them all and we give them the best care possible. Yes, people think we are crazy and we get some commentary on the subject, but I wouldn’t trade it. They are safe, loved, and in good health. Oh…and it is an added bonus that no self respecting mouse sets foot in our house. Any that have dared, have been brought to us as a gift or been seen in the jaws of the proud cat flaunting his/her accomplishment to us and the other cats. The house is big enough for all of them and while we have to make special concessions for some of them, it’s the price we happily pay for their company, their affection, and the joy they bring us – just like all of our furry babies at Crow’s Croft Farm. 

Top left to right: Tink, Cosmo, Domino and Addler

 

Miss Addler (formerly "Get Out of Here")

Domino and Cosmo