Morning Ritual

Clyde is excited about the wildland fire industry's off-season. Most of us won't hold Uncle Clyde because of his unnecessary roughness. He's downright dangerous with his claws and his teeth. He likes to rub his head on us, drooling from happiness, and sucking on fingers.
Now that Big Dan is home, Clyde gets his morning nap on a lap every day.
It takes a man to snuggle with Clyde.

Mouse Trauma

Bonnie is teaching her little family the ins and outs of rodent killing.
Yesterday Furby played what we thought were unrealistic games with his mouse carcass by throwing it up against the tree and leaping onto it as though it were climbing away.
Then today we saw this little mouseling run from the shed where Bonnie was holding a hunting session and scuttle up the oak tree.
Looks like Furby knew more about mice behavior than we did!

So Many Rough and Tumble Boys

Momma Bonnie, sister Polly, Gooseberry, and Blizzard are missing from this photo shoot because they were wisely hanging out on the cool front porch doing dainty lady cat stuff while the baby brothers Jase and Furby romped in the heat with Uncle Clyde.

In case you haven't gotten the idea, it's hot here today.

Come at me, Bro!

It's on like Donkey Kong!

Uncle Clyde. Babysitter and fellow playmate.

Plastic Bags as Baby Toys

You can see from the pics of Furby (orange) and Jase that the the responsible adult of the household is out of town.
Kittens love plastic bags.
Especially at night when the house is otherwise quiet.

Introducing "Jamie" (with a cameo apperance by Gooseberry)

Tragically, after my last post in which we were still deciding between "Casanova" and "Jamie" for the new Gloucestershire Old Spot breeding hog's moniker, the local tv station called to ask questions about the pigs. Being on the spot to tell on live tv what the pig's name is, I blurted out "Jamie" and now he's named.
It was only later that I read Laura's (from Good Enough Farm) comment that she wanted "Casanova."
You can't please all of the people...
Why was the tv station asking me about our pigs, you may be wondering?
Last month, Garcia walked off of the farm and has never been seen again. The news had a story about him being missing and lots of people wanted to know if he'd ever been found. No, he hasn't, but Katie decided to keep breeding rare, heritage breed pigs. Hence the follow up story on Jamie and Halvah for closure on Garcia for the community.

I took this picture of Gooseberry on my way up the back stairs from getting a portrait of Jamie and I like it.

A Watched Pot Never... Has Kittens

Bonnie is due to deliver her kittens any time.
I'm obsessed with following her around hoping that now will be the moment.
Luckily for me she's extra friendly with all the hormones, otherwise I'd be driving her crazy.

Let's Play A Game

It's called: "Where do you think Bonnie Moppet will have her kittens?"

Big Dan thinks that she prefers the ambiance of the kitchen drawer.

We didn't get the Bon cat spayed because we thought that the dogs would kill any toms who came a courtin.' (They normally kill all stray kitties, and possibly even their own cat once.)

We were mistaken.

The blessed event is coming soon but we don't know for sure when.

Nobody Better Mess With My Mower

Blizzard, a junkyard cat.

My, What Big Ears You Have!

I Tawt I Taw a Puddy Tat

Bonnie-cat is wondering why nobody on the farm tries to eat this particular varmint.

Laura and Clyde

Miss Moppet, in a Basket

Here's a cute kitty for you to look at today.

New Kittens. Again.

These sad looking little kittens were given to Dan and me while the girls were out of town.

They're new barn cats for Becky, so her barn rat problem can be eliminated when these little cuties grow up.

The girl, on the left, is clever and sociable.
The boy is on the right.

Chicken Run

Laura's egg business had been booming. Sales were fantastic and overhead was low when she had her 16 Golden Comet hens.
Then the neighbors' dog systematically picked off 11 of the newly laying ladies.

Laura had seen that the Red Mule in Phenix had chicks, so she asked if we could make a chicken run.
Yep, we can do that.

Gooseberry thinks they'll taste like chicken.

Rest in Peace, Tom Kitten

Tragedy has struck Providence Farm.
Yesterday Tom the Kitten wanted to go outside. I let him.
When we came back from Katie's doctor's appointment and soccer practice, Tom didn't greet us. He didn't come home last night or this morning.
Laura found his body this morning down in the woods.
Dog or dogs had killed him, quickly, at least, with no marks, just a quick shake.
I'm almost certain it was my own dogs.
Debbie, the kitten hating cat, was out when we let Tom out, so we think that he ran away from her, triggering his own friend dogs to chase him.
If it had been the neighbor's dog, he would have climbed a tree in time.
I'm very angry at the two guilty seeming dogs.

These pictures of Tom are from yesterday. He loved looking up at birds above his head. Recently he'd hunted an army helicopter in the hope of bringing it down. Tom had big dreams.
He'd been enjoying practicing hunting on the weird bee/flies that frequent the cow patties in the yard.

He was Becky's special friend. He slept with her every night. I've never seen her so enamored with a pet.
That it was he who died makes me angrier and sadder than I would have imagined.

Lately the words of C.S. Lewis from The Silver Chair have been occurring to me often: "Which just goes to show how little anyone knows what is going to happen to them next."
Once again, that is true.

Morning Light

Two gray kitties are checking this morning's egg collection for rodents. As there were no mice, just eggs, Tom contented himself with eating the hay.

My tulips in the light make me feel happy.

Got Cats?

So many cats at Providence Farm!

They are worth their weight in gold because of their rat killing and their entertainment value.

Here, Gooseberry keeps toasty on top of Sirius and Blizzard.

Kitten Slings

"Somebody wrapped you up and ditched you." Becky said to Gooseberry, a small sleeping lump in a bathrobe on the couch.
"Hmm, three guesses about whom that somebody may have been." I grinned.

Katie wears kitten in slings, like attachment parents or African tribal ladies.
Then when she's distracted, she sets the whole "kitten caboodle" down wherever she happens to be.
Providence Farm is littered with encapsulated baby cats.

Blizzard Preparation

We're under a winter weather advisory already for Snowmaggedon, which is slated to hit us on Wednesday.
Knowing that the power could go out, leaving us without t.v. or other electrical entertainment, we stocked up on kittens.

Actually the kitty's owners had called the dog warden to come pick her up and euthanize her because their older cat had been cornering her and beating her up, resulting in abscesses all over the sweet little kitty.
The dog warden asked the vet to try to find a home for her since she truly is a sweetheart.
As Providence had ordained, I had taken a goat fecal sample to our vet to have it tested this morning, and Katie and I came home with "Blizzard."

The whole thing was supposed to be hilarious because I had hidden her in my jacket and plopped her into Laura's room without saying anything to the big girls. Laura went soon afterward to get a school book but thought the black cat on her bed was Sirius with shaved patches on his arms somehow.

The incident turned out to be more confusing than surprising in the end.

I realize that to the untrained eye both black cats look alike in the photos. I will describe them:
Sirius and Tom politely lined up to meet the new girl
Blizzard in Kate's arms.
Blizzard.
Blizzard being followed and sniffed for the first of many times over the next week.

Second Day Blues

This morning two sleepyheads are sore and cozy in their beds.
Three, counting Tom.

One more game in the Richmond tournament and we can rest.