Doomsday

This morning as I was sitting in the chair by the woodstove with Charlie, letting him (and me) wake up a little more before facing the preparation of breakfast, I caught sight of Belle the Devil Cat slinking around the dining room. I just had time to think, "It looks like there's something in her mouth," when she flung her head and a dead mouse soared in a graceful arc halfway across the dining room and landed next to the woodstove.

The best part of waking up is a dead rodent at your feet.

But it doesn't end there! Oh no!

This evening after Charlie was in bed, the rest of us were once again all in the dining room--because of the woodstove, which is the only heat we have going at the moment--when we heard a thump and a squeak from the kitchen. Cubby, ever alert, demanded to know what that noise was. His query was answered visually by Belle running into the dining room with another mouse in her mouth.

She retired with it under one of the chairs, where it lay pathetically and she stared fixedly at it. Cubby also stared fixedly at it. He is not, as you may remember from the bunny episode, a squeamish child.

I managed to tear him away from the riveting scene to pick up his toys in the other room in preparation for bed, but only by promising he could look at the mouse again when he was done picking up. He was duly rewarded for his diligence by another look at the grisly tableau, and then we went into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Upon exiting the bathroom, he requested that he be allowed to pay his last respects to the mouse before bed.

Except it had disappeared.

DAMMIT.

As I write this, Belle is stalking around the living room, presumably in pursuit of the injured mouse. It will probably hide in there somewhere, no doubt expiring in its hiding place, only to be discovered by Charlie or Cubby who will probably do something horrifyingly disgusting with it.

Because this, my lovelies, is Blackrock, and this is just the way we live.

Gross.

Update: Just when you thought it couldn't get grosser . . . I heard a squeak from the living room, so I went in there to see if I could take the damned mouse away from Belle and make sure it wasn't lurking in the house anymore. It was hiding in a cardboard box on the floor. I caught a glimpse of it before it scuttled farther into the box. A. came into the living room, I informed him of the mouse's whereabouts, and he promptly stomped heavily on the box with his booted foot and then dumped the finally-dead mouse in the trash. Well. That takes care of that.

Another Animal Update

A sad one this time: Pitty Pet is no longer with us.

Pitty Pet was our old cat.  Very old.  He was adopted at a shelter and his exact age was unknown, but the MiL was guessing around 18 years.  He had been slowly failing for some time and then he just stopped eating.  So he has been sent to his reward and suitably interred in the burial grounds in the ram pasture.

So good-bye to Pitty Pet.  It was a long, good road for Pitty, but he had most definitely reached its end.

The Present Moment

About five minutes ago, I had just gotten my coffee and was sitting down to waste some time online before the little dictator awakened and began dictating when the cats started going nuts. Well, the Devil Cat did, anyway, racing around the downstairs and generally behaving like an irritating pain in the ass. Not that this is unusual for her, but the old cat was being kind of weird. I could hear him sort of growling at her, which he doesn't usually bother with.

Then I heard the squeaking. Right at my feet, which were under the dining room table. The cats were under the table, and apparently, so was a mouse. When I leaned under the table, I could see the Devil Cat was holding a mouse in her mouth. A very much alive mouse that I very much wanted to get out of the house. But when I opened the door to try to get her and the mouse outside, not only did she not go out, but the dogs wanted to come in.

I could imagine the scene if I allowed them inside, so I closed the door.

Then the cat let the mouse go. Then she caught it again. And let it go again. It was pretty clear by now that she was not going to kill the damned thing for me--thereby definitely confirming that she is a totally useless cat and not worth the kibble we feed her--so I got a dog bowl to try to trap the mouse myself. Except it had wedged itself among the shoes by the door, so I couldn't get the bowl down flat and it wiggled out.

So. At this very moment I am sitting in my dining room with two completely useless cats and a no-doubt terrified mouse cowering behind the enormous crock in the corner. That's just swell.

What's happening right now where you are, duckies?

P.S. It occurred to me that if I were on Twitter I could have posted some pithy little Tweet like, "Cat has mouse cornered in dining room. What now?" and you would have all been spared several paragraphs about essentially nothing. But I feel Twitter really doesn't have the scope to capture life at Blackrock. And anyway, I don't have an account.

Edited to add: Stop the presses! The first lambs of the year have been born, as I discovered a few minutes ago when I went outside to check on the Merino that A. was pretty sure was ready to lamb last night. When I got up to the pasture, I saw that she had two lambs, already on their feet and apparently nursing. Since the Merinos are pretty wild and skittish, I left her alone and came inside to call the shepherd. I'm sure the rest of the lambs will follow in quick succession. Along with hand milking for the ones having trouble nursing and tail docking and all the other fun that comes with lambs.

Let's Change the Subject

Because God knows it's bad enough wallowing in my child's bathroom habits all day; I really shouldn't spend my non-bathroom moments talking about them, right? Right.

So the other day, like a week ago, an egg went missing from the flower pot in the house. This flower pot is in the windowsill just inside the dining room door. This is where I put eggs I want to get into the house so the dogs don't eat them, but I don't want to have to go all the way in to the kitchen to actually put them in the refrigerator. I just set the egg in the soil at the base of this plant and retrieve it when I come inside.

Except when I went to retrieve this particular egg from the pot, it was gone. A. and the MiL denied any knowledge of the egg's whereabouts. I figured Otty had been inside at some point and had eaten it, gave a mental shrug, and forgot about it.

Then a few days later it got really cold. When Cubby and I were preparing to go outside that frosty morning, I grabbed my winter boots that had been sitting unused for a couple of weeks. Sitting under the window just inside the dining room door.

Yeah. The very same window in which the missing egg had gone . . . missing. Except it hadn't gone missing. It had gone into the bottom of my boot, presumably after a nudge from the Devil Cat. Where it broke. And sat for three days.

I will not attempt to describe to you what a broken egg in the bottom of a boot smells like after three days. Instead I will just tell you that I threw those boots right out. No cleaning product in the world could have cleansed that footwear.

It's okay, though. I was kind of thinking of getting some new boots anyway, as the egg boots had lost their waterproofiness, and non-waterproof winter boots are a useless item at Blackrock. The egg gave me the excuse I needed to chuck 'em and find some new ones. So I guess I should thank the Devil Cat for her devilish ways.

Just as long as she doesn't drop an egg into my ladybug clogs. That would be unacceptable.

Stupified

That's the only word I can use to describe A. and I last night after we completed our cross-country odyssey. We just sat in the living room staring mutely at each other. And this, mind you, is after a trip with no complications whatsoever. There is just no way to get from my parents' house to Blackrock without physical exhaustion.

But make it we did! Cubby was his usual stellar self on the planes, although he had some hysterics when I put him to bed at home. I think he was just really confused. Poor kid has been through a lot of upheaval in the last two weeks. After a brief comforting session to calm him down, though, he settled down to sleep and is still sleeping now, eleven hours later.

A. and I might also still be sleeping, if it wasn't for the goddamn cat yowling in the upstairs hall at 6:30 this morning, presumably for food. Had I had a gun handy, Pitty Pet might have gone to his eternal reward today. Luckily for him, the MiL got up instead and fed him. She's a much nicer person than I am.

That's okay, though, because A. had to get up anyway for court. Life resumes. The family Blackrock is all home at last.

Hidden

When Belle the Devil Cat is really trying to avoid Cubby (which is much of the time, due to his desire to "feep!"--flip--her*), she scuttles under the Awesome Subaru.

I know you're under there, Belle . . .

He tried a couple of times to crawl under there with her. Then he got stuck and didn't enjoy the process of being hauled out. Also, I have taken great pains to point out the pipes ("pup!) under the car and explain how they can be hot after the car has been driven ("ha?"). So he doesn't crawl under the car anymore and Belle is safe.

But only as long as he gets distracted by something else before she decides to come out. But if he's still there monitoring her movements when she tries to escape? Then the chase is on.

Don't worry; Belle always wins.

* I must admit, however, that even the times when Cubby has eluded me and caught up with her and grabbed handfuls of her fur or done something else to cause her pain and him a no-doubt deserved clawing, she's done nothing more than meow loudly and run away at the first opportunity. It turns out that, to everyone's surprise, the Devil Cat is good with children. Okay. I guess we'll keep her.

This Post Brought to You By a Photo Dump

Let's see what random images have been languishing on my camera for a week now because I'm too lazy to plug the thing into my computer and upload them . . .

Ah. The mighty raccoon hunters, here awaiting the possibility that a baby squirrel will fall out of this tree and into their waiting mouths. Which it did, later in the day. Sucks for the squirrel, but one less rodent to scratch around in the attic directly over our bed.

A boy and his cat. Cubby is an equal opportunity pet lover.

Big boys get to drink their own tea out of their own mug like the big people do. Sitting on their own chair. It was pretty exciting. Also, as you can see, pretty cute.

Also on my camera but not posted here is a picture that A. took of his homemade knife--what I insist on referring to as his shiv, much to his displeasure--on top of the rabbit he skinned with it. (The rabbit wasn't skinned yet, though. That would have been too gross.) I figured you didn't really need to see a dead bunny and its skinning implement first thing on a Monday. You're welcome.

No Reason

Just because the photos were hanging out in my computer, and who doesn't love photos of a happy kid?

Animal Planet--Live

Who needs cable when you've got a live dog, cat, and sheep show right outside your door?

Better than TV any day.

Stuff

The kitchen is still total chaos and the woodstove cooking continues apace: Italian sausage, peppers, onions, tomatoes, and broken-up spaghetti simmering at this very moment.

Yesterday I walked out the front door, stepped on a chipmunk head, and then saw that whatever cat had eaten the chipmunk had thrown up the rest of it on the arm of the Adirondack chair outside the door. Nice. Thanks a lot, cat, you disgusting animal.

The hammock has been put away for the season, the leaves have been raked off the front porch, and various other battening-down-the-hatches-for-winter chores have been done.

A. finally put a new toilet seat on the toilet. The old one had been cracked for about five months. The fact that we put up with that for so long is a testament to our ability to bear mild discomfort. Also a testament to the fact that we have about a million other things to do that take precedence over replacing a cracked toilet seat.

Like eating lunch, which I still have not done and am now going to go do. Better-organized post (marginally, anyway) coming tomorrow . . .

Trippy

So. The other day I spied Belle the Devil Cat reclining nonchalantly on the top of Big Red. And I was all, "HA! Cat on a hot tin roof! Is funny!"

It was funny in my head, anyway.

The camera just happened to be sitting conveniently downstairs on the dining room table, so, uncharacteristically, I actually got a picture. But it came out like this:

Say huh?

I have no idea why there appears to be a misty green film overlaying everything. Maybe it was humid enough that day that the camera fogged up when I went outside with it. That happens sometimes. Or maybe it's the Devil Cat's evil aura visible only through the camera.

I'm going with option B.

Being Civilized Is Exhausting

I don't know how you people do it.

We were anticipating a visit from a Somewhat Important Person yesterday, a person we had never met and who was therefore unaware of our true woodchuck lifestyle. Because this Somewhat Important Person was visiting in a professional capacity, we felt it behooved us to not frighten him off with a shotgun in the parlor and four lunging dogs. So, we had to pick up the house a little. And shut the dogs away.

Our house is pretty impressive when it's all cleaned up. Thank God for inherited antique splendor. So we did the whirlwind clean-up that always occurs when you hear someone is coming in ten minutes (don't pretend you don't do this--I know you do). But in our case, our whirlwind clean-up required the removal of a couple of tackle boxes and fishing poles from the front porch; the remains of a vole on the patio; the aforementioned shotgun from the parlor (what? it's hunting season!); about three dozen books from a table in the dining room (literacy is nothing to be ashamed of, but it is awfully cluttery); and a bright orange jacket (hunting season again). THEN, just when I was about to get a cup of coffee and escape upstairs, I spied the cat vomit on the rug in the dining room.

Nice, cats. Thanks so much for your assistance.

I did manage to get that cleaned up before Mr. Somewhat Important Person arrived. He exclaimed appropriately about our elegant home. I suspect the elegant impression would have been somewhat compromised had he stepped in cat vomit.

I won't tell if you won't.

P.S. Well. I appear to be featured on a tiny, obscure little site called I Am Bossy today. This is roughly equivalent to a band with a YouTube video being featured on MTV. And OF COURSE today's post involves cat vomit. Welcome to my life, Bossy readers! Bossy posted a photo that went along with this post back in March. Interestingly enough, I have been wearing that exact same sweater for the past three days. Perhaps I could use some new clothes . . .

Another Day in the Life . . .

There I was in the kitchen this morning, looking around blearily for Mia's food dish on the floor of the breakfast nook, when I spied a foreign object on the floor. Foreign objects on the floor are always cause for concern at Blackrock. So I warily moved a little closer, studied it for a minute, and finally recognized it: It was a chewed-off mouse's head.

Good morning to you, too, cats!

Look! Rain!

And that's pretty much all I have to say about that. Or about anything, apparently. There seems to be an empty space in my brain where I normally come up with my brilliant and entertaining posts (what? they ARE SO brilliant and entertaining!). So, um . . . it rained last night? But, um, luckily I had covered the woodpile with a tarp? And, uh, the dead vole that the cat left on the patio is now waterlogged and will probably start melting into a disgusting mess anytime?

Yeah, I got nothin'. Try me again tomorrow. Maybe by then I'll have had a flash of inspiration. Or maybe I'll just give you a status update on the melting vole. Tune in to find out!

Since You Asked . . .

Jean asked yesterday how the other animals are doing. I figured I should address that, because they all deserve some time on this site, don't they? They deserve some recognition! They deserve some respect!

Also, I didn't really have anything particular to write about this morning, so, you know, animals work as well as anything.

The Sheep: We spent yesterday morning fixing some fence so the sheep could go into a pasture where the Bamboo Forest is beginning to take over. The sheep love bamboo shoots. This makes me love the sheep. But only a little bit. The lambs are growing quickly, especially one of the boy lambs, who is enormous already. He obviously understands HIS purpose in life.

The Chickens: The Three Musketeers are still doing their chicken thing. The remaining rooster is a benevolent dictator and the hens seem much calmer. They're still laying eggs. One is very regular and lays her egg every day in the nesting box we provided. The other is incredibly stupid, even for a chicken, and can't seem to figure out where to lay her egg. Sometimes it's on the floor, sometimes in the nesting box. Once I even found it on top of the nesting box. She also sometimes will go a few days without laying an egg, which cuts into my supply. A clearly deficient chicken.

The Big Dogs: They're happy it's spring. They spend a lot of time dozing in the sun and hunting rabbits and chipmunks in the flower gardens. It's a good life. They're also all blowing their coats (meaning shedding large chunks of the underlayer they grow for winter), which makes it kind of gross to pet them.

The Puppies: The three remaining puppies no longer look anything like guinea pigs. Instead, they look like miniature and adorable dogs. They're still incarcerated in The Puppy Penitentiary, except for their daily walks with the MiL. All three of them have buyers, and will probably all be gone by the end of the month. I promise pictures before they go.

The Cats: Both cats are going outside more now that it's warm. Belle brought a vole to the doorstep the other day and ate it on the doormat while I sat in the chair nearby. Tasty. We were informed by my sister the veterinarian that Pitty Pet has ear mites, so he's been getting goo squirted into his ears every couple of days. He is surprisingly calm about this.

The Fish: Alfie and Buttercup are still in their tank upstairs. The feeder fish have been moved to the rain barrels to eat the mosquito larvae. That's pretty much all I can say about the fish.

I guess that's everything. All animals present and accounted for, and all glad it's spring.

Update--The Birds: Whoopsy--totally forgot about the lovebirds. Indicative of how I feel about them, I suppose. They are still in the MiL's bathroom, but will soon be moved to their summer home on the front porch when it's warm enough.

Anti-climax

I was all set to eat The Final Tomato yesterday. I was also all set to report back to you on whether I felt invincible or ready for last rites.

But the irritating, spastic barn cat known as Belle got to it first. I found her batting it around on the kitchen floor. It was all dirty and perforated from her claws. So I decided not to eat it. And now we'll NEVER KNOW whether the ever-lasting tomato was a force for good or evil. I hope Belle is proud of what she's done. Stupid cat.

Can you tell I'm not a cat fancier?

But for those of you who are thinking, "Thank GOD we don't have to hear any more about these ridiculous tomatoes until summer," your relief will be short-lived. The MiL and I are planning to sit down and put together our seed order next weekend, so before you know it, there will be tomato seeds sprouting in the bathroom (warmest room in the house, ya know) and the tomato craziness will begin anew. Wheee!

And with THAT pleasant thought, I wish you all a happy Friday and a fantastic weekend.

Peace on Earth, Goodwill Toward Men?

More like "Peace at Blackrock, Goodwill Toward All Animals Around the Woodstove."

Season's greetings from Pitty Pet, Belle, and Leda the Headless Dog.

The Guru

Are you feeling frantic? Frazzled? Overwhelmed by the decorating, baking, cooking, purchasing, wrapping, partying, OH GOD MAKE IT ALL STOP.

Pitty Pet is here for you.

Today, Pitty would like to show you all the proper way to relax and rejuvenate your spirit. When he's worn out from his rigorous eating and pooping schedule, he indulges in the following stress-relief techniques.

First, it's important to find the correct spot for your meditation. Pitty Pet recommends a place as close to the woodstove as possible, because warmth is essential to happiness.

Second, you must assume the proper position. Curling up in a ball is optimal. Pitty understands some humans feel the need to suck their thumbs when curled up. This is optional.

Third, and most important, once the position is assumed, you must stay there and remain immobile for AT LEAST three hours, preferably five. You may feel the need to extend your session for as long as seven hours. This may be a challenge, particularly if you are likely to be disturbed by pesky dogs wishing to lick your face or pesky humans who demand possession of your chair. The dogs can be taken care of with a swipe of the paw. The humans may force you to relocate. In which case, you must begin from the beginning.

Perhaps you require a visual?

The Master Relaxer at work.

Pitty Pet hopes he has been of assistance to you today. He accepts any and all tributes in the form of kibble and adoration. Just as soon as he wakes up.

Meet the Family--The New Cat In Town

In the distant, misty past when I started this random mess of a blog, I decided to introduce you to our "family." Meaning the pets. Because there are a lot of them and I talk about them a lot, I figured it would be helpful for you to know their names, at least. And their names are Mia, Leda, Otty, Pitty Pet, Ella, Benny, Alfie, and Buttercup. The last four you haven't met yet, because they're birds and fish, and, well, I just don't get that worked up about birds and fish. James the cat has since gone on to the Happy Hunting Grounds (sad).

As of Wednesday, we have a new cat. Her name is Belle. And despite the following photo, I'm pretty sure she's not possessed.

On second thought . . .

She was being all cute on the windowsill, but of course, as soon as I pointed the camera at her, she got up and made her herself look all freaky. Cats are like that.

Anyway, Belle is young, maybe two years old. She came from the MiL's mother's (henceforth known as Grandma, because it's shorter) house. Grandma lived on a farm, where there were many barn cats that she fed on her porch. A couple of them managed to finagle their way into the house. Belle was one of them. Then Grandma moved to a place where she couldn't take pets, and most of the cats went back to the barn. Except Belle. She really, really wanted to be a house cat. The MiL felt sorry for her and just brought her home one day.

Our house is a bit of an adjustment for Belle. It's not quite as quiet as Grandma's. Pitty Pet is not taken with his new little lady friend. He stalks her until he gets her in a corner, then he pounces on her, hissing and growling. What a crotchety old fart. She mostly tries to stay away from him. The dogs she will have nothing to do with. Mia saw her yesterday and tried to make friends, but she just ran under the bed. Can't say I blame her, since Mia's preferred method of playing with cats is gnawing gently on their heads.

Belle is a nice cat, with a constant, kind of manic, purr, but she does have that bad barn-cat habit of leaping on counters and eating things. Like the butter. Which I caught her licking yesterday. Ew.

So, there's Belle. She has some settling in to do yet, and we hope Pitty Pet will eventually befriend her, or at least stop attacking her with no provocation. Small steps.

Sadness

James the cat was killed by a car on the road last night. He started his life as a barn cat, and was always more barn cat than house cat. He liked to roam, but I guess this time, he roamed too far.

Goodbye, James--you'll be missed.