20. Oh Henry…or, Never a Dull Moment

August 21, 2012October 20, 2014 / Apple Hill Cottage / Leave a comment

As I was throwing the shovelful of dead mouse into the weeds at the side of the cottage, I heard neighbor Betty calling from her front porch. We had left her in charge of a healing kitty, and we had gone off jaunting around the countryside. We’d been gone for ten days and didn’t really expect to find Kitty waiting for us on the front porch (or the back porch either…)

I leaned the shovel against the tree and walked across the road to get the news. There was kitty on his blanket behind her chair; and there was Betty saying “Oh come in — Have I got a story for you!” (Names have been deleted to protect the innocent…)

Chapter 1: The Disappearing Act, in which Good Neighbor to the Left Responds

Kitty stayed around for two days before disappearing. The night before he disappeared, there was a huge ruckus in the backyard — coyotes have been sighted in our neighborhood by several neighbors. Positive that Kitty had been carried off by a coyote, she worried all day and finally, that evening called the neighbor further up the hill. “Now you just calm down, Betty,” Good Neighbor to the Left told her. “They’ve been haying up here all day, and I’ve seen that cat up here following the tractor and catching mice. And besides, I’ve been shooting at those coyotes, and I think they’ve moved on.” Sure enough, he came back a day or so later (not very hungry and not much worse for the wear).

Chapter 2: The Disappearing Act, in which Good Neighbor to the Right Responds

Kitty stayed around for two days before disappearing again. This time there were no clues. On Sunday, Betty told Good Neighbor to the Right about Kitty’s Disappearance. Good Neighbor to the Right went to work as usual the next day. That morning her co-worker came in to work complaining about the five cats on her doorstep who wanted feeding — a mother cat, three kittens, and Henry. “What does Henry look like?” Good Neighbor to the Right wondered. After she listened to the co-worker describe Kitty, she called Betty. “You can probably go get him right now,” she told Betty. They just fed him and he’s likely still on the porch.

Chapter 3 : The Rescue, in which the Poor, Hungry, Homeless Cat is Saved from Certain Starvation

Betty drove over to get Kitty (down two roads, across the main highway, and about two miles away) and talked to the people who had just fed him. “Oh yes,” they said. “We call him Henry. We’ve been feeding him for about a year and a half, but he never stays around very long.” Henry was stretched out on their porch, being his own loving self. Betty told them about his latest adventure at the animal hospital, packed him in the car, and drove him home. “Henry is his name,” she mused to herself. “I always just called him Kitty…”

(Yes, so did we … as well as Phineas, Elmo, George, and Moe. It’s no wonder none of those names stuck!)

“Before a cat will condescend / To treat you as a trusted friend, / Some little token of esteem / Is needed, like a dish of cream; / … A Cat’s entitled to expect / These evidences of respect. / And so in time you reach your aim, / And finally call him by his NAME.” —T.S. Eliot (from The Ad-Dressing of Cats)

Chapter 4 : The Disappearance, in which Henry’s Fourth Home is Never Discovered

Yes, he left again. There were no more neighbors to call, so Betty just waited. And sure enough, he came back on Friday morning, the day we came home. Sitting together on her front porch, we wondered where he had been this time. Perhaps somewhere in between our houses and the house two miles down the road? Was it his fourth home? Did he just go from house to house, sharing his love, and acting the part of the starved, homeless cat? Henry isn’t telling.

The cat goes out, / the cat comes in, / and never will tell us / where he has been… *

Chapter 5 : The Trip, in which Henry Rides to the City in a Truck

On Sunday evening we loaded the truck, as we do every weekend–suitcases, food, tools–while Henry watched. We had already conferred with Betty, and she approved. The people who named him and fed him for a year and a half have also approved. (Next weekend, I think we will go introduce ourselves.) I climbed into the truck, put his blanket on my knees, and Michael handed me Henry. He was solidly in my lap, with the door shut, before Michael started the engine. The lap cat watched out the window with interest, especially as we rode along the interstate. He did curl up a few times but never fully relaxed. The two tunnels caused him the most distress. I’m not sure who was most relieved when we pulled into our city driveway–Michael the driver, Carol the wrangler, or Henry, the big-time traveler cat.

Chapter Six: The New Life, in which Henry Becomes a City Cat

There aren’t any mice to chase, but there aren’t any coyotes in the backyard either. The first two days he followed us from room to room, but now he disappears and when we go searching, he is just sleeping on the couch in the library. There is always food in his bowl, and he no longer devours it as if he were starving. He’s putting on a belly. He sleeps on his blanket at the foot of the bed and snores. The real test will be when we return to Apple Hill this weekend. Then we will see if Henry the Traveling Cat has really been domesticated, and if one home will be enough for a former four-family feline.

They are my willing slaves : / I have them by the fur. / When He’s off duty, I / just call for Her. / And yet, I sometimes feel / A vague unease. / It is dangerous to dwell / with such as These. — Jan Struther from “Cat”.

Henry the city cat

*This is a verse of a little poem that I’m thinking belongs to someone who wrote small poems for kids, but I can’t find it in any of my poetry books. I was thinking David McCord, or Valerie Worth… but I can’t find it. I’m picturing pen and ink drawings that go with the poem…Does anyone know it?

Favorite Cat Books:

Three Stories you Can Read to Your Cat by Sara Swan Miller

Catwings series by Ursula K. LeGuin

Henry the Sailor Cat by Mary Calhoun

Mr. Putter and Tabby Bake the Cake by Cynthia Rylant

The Cats in Krasinsky Square by Karen Hesse

Hate that Cat by Sharon Creech

Millions of Cats by Wanda Gag

Socks by Beverly Cleary

Three Terrible Trins by Dick King-Smith, and of course,

Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats by T.S. Eliot.

17. Meanderings at Apple Hill

August 6, 2012January 20, 2016 / Apple Hill Cottage / Leave a comment

The birds have flown, the kitty is skittish, and the lazy days of summer are almost gone. Work on the cottage will continue, I know, but probably not with the same freedom of coming here each weekend, working, dreaming, and sitting on the porch.

One of our favorite things to do in the mornings and evenings is to sit on the porch watching and listening to the birds. Our identification skills have improved greatly, thanks to my well-thumbed bird book, Birds of North America . We have seen bluebirds, orioles, finches, wrens, woodpeckers, thrushes — we have watched a mockingbird do a song and dance routine on the nearest telephone pole — we watched baby robins get pushed out of their nest one morning and soon they were hopping around the yard looking for their own worms — and we’ve watched the barn swallows soar and dip, eating insects at dusk. Learning to identify their songs has been such a pleasure. This weekend the bird songs have been replaced by the constant hum of cicadas, and the birds are missing. Not a single robin in the grass; no flash of cardinal red; no wood thrush calling its haunting song from deep in the woods; not even any mournful dove songs. All weekend the only birds we saw were two fat crows walking on the grass, and three unidentifiable birds sitting on the wire. I hope they are all just enjoying a week at the beach…

Friend Beth came to visit on Saturday evening and brought another suggestion for a kitty name — Moe. We’ll have to see if this one sticks… He seems very skittish, especially in the dark. Last night we were looking at the stars, and the shadow of a fox ran across the yard beyond the apple trees. “Look, there’s the fox!” I said excitedly to Michael, and the very same second the kitty took off running for the safety of the porch. There was fear in his eyes. He stays very close to us when we are outside, and he won’t go out on the back porch after dark by himself. He sleeps on the bed all night and snores! All this is most unusual behavior for an independent (ex)tomcat! The wounds on his face have almost healed, but he doesn’t seem to have forgotten. Now we are feeling very responsible for him, and it no longer feels okay to just enjoy him when we’re here. We are thinking he will be our indoor house cat in Pittsburgh this winter…

A face only a mother could love…

We picked and ate our first apples this weekend:

The red ones are Red Delicious — which is disappointing as they are no one’s favorite! The green one is as yet unknown; it wasn’t quite ripe and was a bit sour, but definitely edible. We’re thinking a yellow cooking apple — maybe Grimes Golden.

We went out later today and picked a few more.

They don’t look or taste too bad for an old, unpruned tree.

We aren’t the only ones who think they aren’t too bad…These are two twin fawns we’ve been watching for a month or so; they’ve only recently started losing their spots. There is a groundhog who comes around also, but he’s too fast for my unskilled photography. As long as they don’t start climbing the trees…

Sorry for the blurry shot–I guess National Geographic won’t be calling me for a wildlife photo shoot anytime soon!

We also have about a dozen pears on the young trees we planted this spring. Yes, this is gratification!!!

There were just small projects done this weekend. (It was just too hot for Michael to work in the attic!) I sanded and painted the back porch steps:

I kept thinking of my grandfather’s phrase — like trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Oh well…the entry to the back porch isn’t high on the priority list; I was just trying to keep the steps from decomposing over the winter. (Notice that I only showed you a picture of the nicely painted steps — the rest of the entry is just too horrible to photograph.)

And we now have numbers on our mailbox post — can’t have the pizza guy passing us by!

Michael sanded and hung the door we found at the ReStore for ten dollars. This is the door that goes down four steps into the pantry/laundry room. (Clara’s pantry sign will hang at the top of it–see 10. Clara’s Kitsch.) I primed it, and now it will have to wait for its color until we choose red or green. I’m seeing this door as Red Delicious red. Somehow, I just can’t picture this door in Lime Twist… Anyone have thoughts?

Enjoy the last few weeks of summer everyone. I hope the birds get back safely from their vacations, and everyone gets to enjoy a sunset like this one in these last precious days of August…

12. On Kitties and Raccoons

July 18, 2012October 20, 2014 / Apple Hill Cottage / 2 Comments

After I spent 9 days here over the two weeks around the 4th of July, the kitty and I had settled right in. So before leaving last weekend, we went to one of those big box pet stores and got a timed cat feeder. The battery operated electronic model with bells and whistles is $100. We didn’t get that one. We bought a perfectly serviceable gravity model for $19.95. We filled it (almost a whole bag of food) and the kitty was happily trying it out on the back porch as we left.

We anxiously wondered if he had eaten all the food when we arrived next Saturday morning. A quick look at the scene left us wondering some more. The feeder was broken apart, on its side in two pieces, and licked clean.

We waited for the kitty to return and explain. Somehow it didn’t seem like our sweetheart of a kitty would do violence to his food bowl.

He never showed up, so we had to make do with our neighbor, Betty, who has joint custody of the kitty. She knew right away. “Raccoons,” she said ominously. “They’re mean! Clara always had trouble with them. She had one in the house once.” We nodded; we’d heard that story. They would come right in her kitty door. Betty’s husband, Chuck, once brought a ball bat over to rid the house of a raccoon. “Don’t kill it,” Clara told him, “It will get blood all over the carpet.” He got it safely out with no blood spilled.

So that evening we baited the feeder and put it right outside the sliding glass door that goes out to the back deck — just feet from our bed. Around 4 AM we were awakened by a raccoon rolling the feeder all around the porch. I’m sorry to say it was too dark for pictures; however, we did get this picture as evidence the next day.

Mr. Kitty, George, Elmo, Phineas, or whatever his name is, didn’t show up until late Monday morning as we were packing up to leave. His face was swollen on the left side, as if he had been in a cat fight and lost. Change of plans… We found a vet who could see him later that day.

It’s always an adventure to take a kitty in the car. The last two times we’ve tried taking him it has been a smelly Disaster (notice the capital D!). Both times we were good, responsible parents and put him in the kitty carrier. Both times he thought it was his litter box. THIS time we were wary. Michael insisted we not use the carrier and just hold him. It was tough getting a volunteer for this job; memories of the last two times were still fresh. It was pretty quiet while we waited for someone to raise their hand. Michael finally volunteered for the dirty job — he always does!

Michael was armed and prepared though. He covered the seats in blankets and tarps; he had a roll of paper towels, wet wipes, a pillow, three towels, Spray’n’Wash, 409, Windex, latex gloves, and air freshener. All unnecessary — Mr. Kitty was Mr. Perfectly Behaved in Michael’s arms. He was so well-behaved we left him overnight for his neuter job. We’re hoping this will keep him from carousing around and fighting. And prevent any more needless trips to the vet…
Note: Michael objects to the previous paragraph on the grounds that I exaggerated and made him look like a nerd. I confess to stretching the truth for a good story — he didn’t have any 409. (He says he didn’t use any tarps either…)

When we picked the kitty up this afternoon, his face looked like raw hamburger. Everyone there agreed that it was another cat who had won, and they had probably been fighting over a girl. Hah! No more of that; he is now a catstrato! But we wonder if he tangled with a raccoon over food…

We brought him home catastrophe-free, gave him some food, petted him, and we all took a nap.

It was the hood of shame that did him in. The vet told us not to let him lick his wounds, and, of course, he did. So Michael put the hoodie around his neck (I told you he always does the dirty jobs.) Mr. Kitty was appalled. He escaped with it still on his neck and streaked across the road faster than white lightning, a speeding bullet, or a bat out of you know where… with Michael running after. It wasn’t funny.

Michael came home soon with the hoodie and no kitty. We sat glumly around outside in the heat thinking of a lost, sick kitty in the woods and $300 down the tubes.

We alerted Betty to keep a watchful eye out. She was upbeat. “Oh, he’ll come here when he gets hungry,” she said confidently. A few hours later we heard her shouting and waving. Sure enough, he was lying on her top step. She fed him and loved him up, and I brought him back over here to cottage confinement. We promised to throw away the hood of shame, and he has been sleeping comfortably for the last few hours.

Michael looked at him a few minutes ago and said, “Poor little fella. He’s had a rough couple of days.” Yes. So have we.

Addendum — Next day : Kitty woke me up at 4 am staring out the sliding glass doors and growling like a dog! There were two raccoons on the porch, a mama and a young’un. Now we’re even more convinced that is who he tangled with. Glad he was on the inside looking out.