Technical difficulties have reached this blog in readers might remember I have been busy with carpentry and husbandry in making dwelling quarters for some goats which I have been moved to acquire.Being the good Yankee, although I dislike New Englanders for being liberal bone heads and my kin vacated that area after birthing this fine United States, I always think if one of something is good, the two should be great.
So I built a second hutch for my new residents for future use, and more near future use in deciding some rare poultry I had would benefit from a nice spot to brood a flock this coming summer.
Being a bit behind in work, I had not gotten the birds moved, but upon looking outside 2 days ago, I saw one of my cats coming toward the house with something I deemed was a vole she had caught.
I'm not a cat person, but cats do love me when not biting me.
My cats are from a kitten named Jumper which my nephews found and of course they decided years ago that I would make a wonderful home for her.
Jumper would travel the world and leave behind a rather angora kitten which for lack of better names I called Puss.
Puss will always be my sentimental cat as she was furry, not that pretty and was a killer. That cat seemed to be able to kill anything much to my displeasure as she proudly brought home one day a teal hen for her kittens.
Fittingly and much to my sorrow, Puss was killed on my doorstep by a great horned owl, leaving only a blood trail. Thank you to the Federal wildlife agencies which signed treaties and put all that murderous wildfowl on the protected list so it murders hosts of little innocent pets and creatures yearly.
Puss would have a Sparky which growled at me constantly, but loved me. She lived for an incredible age, and the cats running about my hacienda now are her family.
I have many colors and two which I call demon cats, as they are furry, a sick soot grey and these yellow eyes which are quite spooky.
One happens to be the above moral of this story in a rather non descript angora, whose vole turned out to be a kitten by other reports I received from knowledgeable sources.
Yesterday I noted the kitten was under a pile of literal junk mewing constantly, but I learned long ago not to mother kittens or they either die after you get attached or you end up with piles of more cats.
So this evening I was told to look in my new goat chicken hutch, and here curled up in the back, under my chicken nests was this one little black cat, eyes not opened, and content as the Queen in her palace in the nicest little nest.
I guess like my bunnies of last season in my garden and my wild turkeys, that I will be taking the back space again in plans as the new residents take command of my bunker. I guess a cat now has me in being one of the youngest homeowners in America with more space than Ted Turner.
I will presume like all things in life, I'm being delayed for a better future. One would think that a cold blooded, rootin' tootin', whatever like me from Unforgiven would not be making room in a world for a creature that is off the books, but yet the palace cat at least had a palace for as long as it stays.
Just a thought, it would be nice if Birdie Obama had 1 millionth the compassion on those tens of thousands of his deluded voters at Chrysler who are being booted out of their small businesses, fixing and selling cars.
Difference of character when technical difficulties arise.
agtG
