Barn cat 0, Pheasant 1

Today I saw a pheasant running pell-mell to pasture from the barn. I looked and saw one very diminutive cat preening and grooming...I think she caught it but didn't kill it "enough" and it got away when she got it back to the barn. Imagine a cat, not as big as your two hands, pulling down a full-sized pheasant...it must have carried HER to the barn.

Our first barn kitties, Olive (the mouth) and her sister Minnie, were brought here by our friend Tiff when they were days old. Their mother Tigger was never particularly possessive of them and those kittens rode in the hood of my sweatshirt even before their eyes were open. They were born the same day Casey was, and I was very maternal about them. Three years ago Minnie walked away on her final hunt. Olive developed a tilty-head that year -- inner ear, probably. She did well, following me from pasture to barn and often rode in my lap on the tractor. She talked incessantly and was my constant companion. It nearly killed me to have to put her down after a hard winter this year. She lived in the lap of luxury the last few months but she was down to bones and had lost her vive. I miss her terribly.

About 18 months ago, we picked out new barn kitties from a hoarder. They were tiny little things but already 8 months old. We let them live in the house for the first winter as they WERE so little, and because we wanted them to love us and not leave. Punky, the little black and white, has a weird eye and she mostly just keeps it closed. It functions and is healthy, she just apparently likes to look like Popeye. Her sister Bella is a grey and peach calico type cat. She's a hump-back -- she has scoliosis or something because she walks more like a bunny hops. Despite their physical imperfections, they are deceptively quick and strong. While Olive and Minnie were Mohammed Ali and George Forman, Bella and Punky are Bruce Lee and Sugar Ray. They love to show me how many mice, moles and other rodent-type animals, as well as birds, they can bring down in a day. They, like their predecessors, are very careful to leave them right where you will be sure to step in them as you walk through a darkened barn doorway or as you descend the back deck steps.

Ever slip on fetal mice?

Punky has taken over the role of "The Mouth" and she sat atop a stall tonight and talked to me. She was telling me PLENTY and it made me miss My Sweet Olive a whole lot.

Rest in peace, wonderful kitty. Know that your pawprints will never been filled, but your territory is being well tended to.