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| Raven, the barn cat, with her headless mole. |
Black Cats and Spiders
It isn’t the season to write of black cats and spiders, but
their presence isn’t confined to Halloween. Both feline and arachnid seemed to arrive at
our place around the same time. If I
were superstitious, I might say that the ominous, black cat had something to do
with the bit of bad luck I had with the spider.
On several occasions, we witnessed a cat making its way
through our yard toward the barn. Any
small animal that decides to take an obvious path through our dog’s domain is
putting its life in danger. Fortunately for the furry, feline our cat-hating
dogs were sound asleep at the time. When
we didn’t see the cat for a while after that, we assumed she was just passing
through. Two weeks ago, Mike mentioned
that he had seen her slip through a hole in the barn floor as he entered and it
seemed like she had taken up residence.
Around this same time, I woke up one morning and mentioned
that a mosquito must have bitten me during the night. There was a tiny, red bump on my arm and
while it looked a bit different than a mosquito bite, it itched. I made a mental note not to scratch it and
went on with my day. For several days
the bite was mildly annoying but not a big deal. Then things began to change and the place on
my arm begin to spread out; the whole section of my arm on the underside
between the elbow and wrist began to swell considerably. I developed a red ring around the swollen
area, and I had a distinct “bull’s eye” that took up a large portion of the
underside of my arm. This portion of my
arm began to experience a painful and radiating itching and burning that made
me want to rip my skin off. Fortunately,
it wasn’t a constant sensation, but when it happened, I would run hot water
over my arm. I would make the water so
hot that it would have been uncomfortable to any other portion of my body. I could barely feel the hot water in the
center of the bite, but it was the only thing that would reduce the itching
sensation. I considered the possibility
of a tick bite and called my doctor who prescribed antibiotics over the phone. The wound, however, continued to fester and
irritate. Eventually, I did see the
doctor who examined the bite and said there was no doubt that the area in
question was the result of a spider. The
symptoms point to the venomous brown recluse spider as the culprit of my injury. So, with that bit of “bad luck”, it would be
easy to believe that the black cat that moved undetected by the dogs through
our yard was a sign and the precursor to this unfortunate incident. The good
news is that after a round of antibiotics, the infection is gone, and the
swelling has all but vanished. Now, I am
left with a deep sore, an ugly, large scar, and a scab that may take a while to
heal.
Here is where the story returns to the cat.
I hate to admit it, but I don’t “like” cats; in fact, they
kind of freak me out. (Not to mention
that I am allergic to them.) When I see
a cat, I telepathically send vibes to the creatures: “Stay away, stay away, stay away……” This only seems to make them more determined and
attracted to me, and I don’t necessarily mean attracted to me in a good way.
I could tell stories.
There was an incident in Alaska when a friend somehow convinced me to
spend the night with her where she was housesitting. What she didn’t tell me was the house
belonged to the proverbial cat lady. I
ended up sleeping in the bathroom with the door locked while every single one
of the dozens of cats threw themselves against the door all night long trying
to get to me! It’s true! They screeched
and they banged, and I thought I was in the house of horrors! I left early the following morning and my
aversion to cats intensified after that incident.
When I visit my longtime friend, who loves cats, I load up
on antihistamines. I don’t care what she says, her cats are evil. They insist on rubbing against me and one
even tried to bite my toes! As a good friend, I mourn with her when she loses a
beloved pet, but I might have been just a bit happy when the toe-biting feline
could no longer terrorize me anymore! I could share additional stories that prove
there is no lost love between myself and the felines, but my best friend is
probably the only person who will forgive me for not liking cats (and I never actually
met the Alaskan cat lady, so I think my story can be safely told with offending
her). As far as my other cat-loving
friends are concerned, to share my dislike for their precious babies would most
likely cause serious damage to our friendship, so for the sake of peace, I will
refrain from telling stories about their cats.
No more thought was given to the cat, thanks
to the fact that my mind was consumed with the itching, burning, and swelling
in my arm. I was trying to push down the
fear that my entire appendage might just rot away. In this frame of mind, I found myself sitting on
a stool in the milking parlor with my sore arm gently and strategically placed on the stanchion bar, while I watched the milking machine extract milk from my cow, Ginger. I talk to my cows, my dogs, the chickens,
wild birds, frogs, toads, deer, and even salamanders, but when I heard a cat
meow, I was sure she was not talking to me.
“That cannot be a cat,” I said to myself. Again, I heard a cat meow and this time it
was clear that she WAS talking to me. I
sighed, I turned, and I observed her sitting behind me far enough away that she
felt safe. She talked sweetly and since
I really try to show gentleness and care toward all creatures, I answered. “Ok, I will give you some milk but you have
to be patient.” She continued to meow
until I gave her something to eat. The
next day, she did not come out to look for milk but assuming she was close by
I poured some milk into a bowl and called to her, using her language. “Meow.
Meow. Meow.” (I can do a pretty, darn good imitation of a
cat if I do say so myself.) She answered
me but didn’t come out. I tried
again. “Meow. Meow.
Meow.” This time she came out and
began to drink the milk.
The cat is very small and thin. I remarked to Mike that she must be very
young. I was encouraged by the fact she
had initially reached out to me and then that she had responded to my calls for
her. I began to think that I might just
call her Lucky and if we were lucky enough, she would take up residence in the barn
where she could help us keep the mouse population under control. We needed a cat for that. My plan was that I would feed her every day,
she would soon come to adore me in the manner my dogs always have, and while we
couldn’t cuddle up together due to my allergies, we would become good
friends. Once I could touch her, I would
take my antihistamines, put her in a carrier and take her to the clinic so that
she could be vaccinated and spayed. I
was feeling warm and fuzzy about it all.
On day three, Mike discovers that this lucky cat has three
kittens, old enough to run about, all black just like their momma. Lucky me.
Now I have four felines under my care.
Trying to be optimistic (kittens are adorable after all), I kept a
positive attitude. Immediately I began
to try to find homes for at least two of the kittens even though we had not put
our hands on them yet. Once they were
weaned, I would simply adopt them out to good homes, and I would make sure the
kitten population was kept in check. I happily
went to the barn with my camera to get photos of the adorable balls of fluff
but when I opened the barn door, I was met halfway across the floor by an angry
momma cat. She aggressively hissed,
lunged toward me, and made it very clear that I was not welcome. So much for being lucky! She had a mole under the steps, and she went
back to it. The mole was already headless,
and she was crunching on its neck.
Gross. She continued to growl and hiss at me while eating the mole. It was obvious her babies had been told to
hide and I wouldn’t get lucky enough to see them, at least not that day. “Whatever,” I thought “I don’t care about dumb
cats anyway.”
This morning Mike reminded me that we needed to give “our
cats” some milk. Feeling generous I told
him instead of sharing the older milk, I would give them some fresh from the
cow. With visions of tiny kittens
lapping up warm milk from a bowl, I took my camera along as well. When I opened the door to the barn, those
sweet images disappeared as I heard a thump and saw the butt of a tiny kitten scampering
under the floor. Momma cat advanced
toward me snarling and hissing.
“Good morning to you too,” I remarked.
Hiss.
“This is MY barn you know.”
Growl
“I’m in charge here, not you!”
Hiss. Snarl. Growl.
(While advancing towards me.)
“Ok, you win. It’s
your barn.”
I sighed and went dutifully to get the cow so that I could
get the momma cat some warm milk.
No, Lucky simple won’t work as a name for this black cat
that showed up in our barn. I’m thinking a name derived from a dark Edgar Allen
Poe poem would be more appropriate.
Raven is a good name for a nemesis.