I am going to tell you a gruesome tale. But not quite yet. Nice story first.
Your Kitty has been named. Her name is Mary’s Cat. We know a little more of her story now after talking to the neighbours. So a few days ago this fellow and his wife were working on their house over a mile away as the crow flies, and this wee bundle of misty fur wobbled up their drive and presented itself at their feet. They were leaving for Texas in a few hours (they will be away for two weeks) so they gave it a bit of their lunch and then went back to shutting everything up and could not find it again. So they left.
This was the afternoon of the hottest day this year. To get from their house to ours Mary’s Cat must have walked down this road, then turned the corner and walked half a mile down another road and then all the way down our lane. (A total of well over a mile) Or it walked through two 40 acre corn fields. Which ever way you look at it this tiny cat who sleeps stretched out on my hand walked a terribly long way in one night on those tiny little paws. Its legs are about four inches long. In the middle of a heatwave. Do you think cats have angels?
So I guess it is no wonder that it has ruined feet, messy lungs, no voice left and just sleeps all day long. But today it walked with only a little limp, actually walked across the verandah and sat like a proper cat, without laying its head flat on the ground. It is a strange silent watchful cat, Mary’s Cat. So as soon as it is quicker on its feet we will let it join the barnyard. Yes, I will keep it.
Now for the breaking news. Do not read this to your children.
Last night I was in the chook house gathering the eggs. I croon a lot in the chook house to the chickens because often I have to lift them gently off the eggs, and set them on the ground so that I can steal all the eggs they are sat upon. We have to be calm during this exercise because they do not want me to have their eggs at all. And mishandling a layer can cause problems internally so I am gentle. All the other chickens were puddling about, looking sweet and fat, and clucking around scratching in the dirt. Doing what they do. So I am leaning over this fat chook in the nesting box lifting it out with two hands telling it gently, now no pecking me, it’s OK. When I hear this absolute ruckus behind me. This terrible escalating whirlwind of sound.
I turn and see all the hens in the chook house in a tight circle attacking something they have on the ground, hens all pecking and ripping and shrieking at something I cannot see for the hysteria. Dust was flying, feathers and claws flying. The noise and frenzy was straight from a horror movie. I can only describe it as hackling and reeking and shrawking. And loud!. They had caught a pigeon stealing their food – the pigeon did not have a chance, it was killed very fast and very bloodily with no hesitation, by a gang of sweet fat chickens! Who I treat so GENTLY!
I have to say that I got such a fright that I dropped the wriggling chicken I was holding, grabbed my bowl of eggs and RAN out of the henhouse at top speed. Slammed the door and latched it firmly. Then rushed back to the house.
Now I know that I am developing a wee barnyard thing here. And I have to be OK with a little survival of the fittest. But THAT was just NOT NICE BEHAVIOUR!
Here is a nice picture of a weed to take our minds off it. The only thing I can find this afternoon is a weed! Everything else is sleeping in some shady hollow.
Hope you don’t get nightmares!. We will be fencing this weekend. Joy!