When One Plus Zero Equals Four

Sitting at the farm one evening (in the days when I didn't like cats - or at least I thought I didn't), Geri and I noticed quite a bit of activity around the grain wagon that sat in the aisle of one of the barns. Closer inspection revealed something that we should have always known: mice and grain go together like bread and butter. Scurrying up and down the wagon by the dozens were tiny, grey mice, basically making gluttons of themselves on the endless supply of grain. "What we need is a barn cat," Geri observed. I could find no reason to disagree with that, so while I stayed behind and watched the feeding frenzy continue, Geri headed to the animal shelter to pick out a barn cat. She had reasoned before she left that a barn cat was self-sufficient, you didn't need to feed them, they would hunt their food and water was always nearby. Sounded like a pretty good deal for me - and the barn cat. I glanced in the direction of all the fat mice and thought, "Just you wait...."

Eventually, Geri returned and as I watched the red pickup enter the yard, I was intrigued by what looked like four cat carriers in the bed. Hmmm...wonder what that's all about. I went to investigate and found that "a" barn cat had become barn "cats" to the tune of four. All black, all meowing in harmony, and all wanted out of their little enclosures. I looked at Geri and all she could do was lift her hands and say, "They kept shoving cats at me. Take this one...you'll love this one...if you don't take this one it will have to be put to sleep tomorrow. You're not going to leave this one behind are you? It's best friends with the other one you have there." Indeed, we came to find out that we- or should I say Geri-had saved four black adult cats from death row...there would have been no tomorrow for them.

Not being cat people, and having just recently re-entered the dog person world, we still had enough sense not just not open the carriers and let them out. We understood that they would scatter like buckshot and who knows when and where they would resurface. So I starting cleaning out an old shed that had once been a henhouse and, within thirty minutes or so, we took the carriers into the shed, shut the door, and one at a time opened the carriers. Four black cats scattered at once, but fortunately the real estate around which they could scatter was limited to about 100 square feet, four secure walls, and a door that could be latched. I left food (hey, they didn't even know where the mice were yet so I couldn't let them go hungry) and water, and we shut them in for the night. And, oh yeah, a litter box.

For the next four days, we returned, unlatched the shed door, eased in, and refueled and re-watered the four refugees, along with cleaning out the litter box. One or two were actually friendly, but one squeezed itself into a tiny space between the wall header and the roofline and another made it a point to be on the side of the room I wasn't.

The day arrived for the great release. Finally, we'd have four cats who could gorge themselves on mice for days on end and would require absolutely no maintenance from us. Yep, four great barn cats...independent...self-reliant...no trouble at all!

Right...

On the fifth morning, we opened the shed door to the bright summer sunlight and four blurs of black scattered in all different directions. Geri and I looked at each other, pretty clueless, just knowing that we'd probably need to leave some food out if they decided to return anytime soon. I mean, you couldn't expect a cat to just take right to mouse-catching, could you? Everybody deserved a little time to get acclimated to a new life, didn't they?

So into town for an automatic feeder, some good dry cat food, and back to the farm to set it up. Before we left we wandered around the barns and the fields calling, "Kitty, kitty" but Kitty times four was nowhere to be found.

Big lesson: you can't leave an automatic feeder full of cat food abandoned at a farm. Nope. Because the raccoons and possums have no idea that what you've left isn't raccoon and possum food. And, let me tell you, once the word gets out that there's a cat food buffet available, every critter from six square miles finds its way to the dinner table. Next morning all that was left was an automatic feeder that had been beaten and clawed to death in every way possible. And no barn cats. The mice were sunbathing, munching on grain, and giggling under their breath.

Over the next couple of days, when we came with the cats' breakfast, three of the four black cats showed up for their chow. I could hear number four hiding somewhere in the depths of one of the barns - a very hungry meow - but he wouldn't show his face. He instantly became Casper. In a couple of days, however, his hunger overcame his desire to lay low, and Casper joined the other three (Ringo, George, and Jelly Belly) and we had all four barn cats ready to start catching mice at the first opportunity.

Right...

Lesson two: Cats who have lived domesticated indoor lives don't know a great deal about mousing, especially not for their food, and especially not when it's so much easier to just show up at the shed every morning for the best canned food on the market. And, every evening, because Geri and I were certain that cats needed to be fed two times a day.

So here we are with four cats, four different personalities, and a deepening attachment to each one. I started feeling really bad about all the jokes I'd made over the years about cats and guitar strings. And we had no idea what an impact on our lives Casper, Jelly Belly, George, and Ringo would make. (To be continued...)

Old man George

Casper - one cool dude