Barnies in the House…

After five months of barn dwelling our two working Kitty-Witties began to catch rodents and leave them in corners and under tools to rot, smell and provide succulent food for maggots.

They also used the dirt and gravel surrounding their home to relieve themselves (of course) and every now and again, if there was sawdust on the concrete slab inside, they’d scratch a little, perform a few complete turns and squat unceremoniously.

The barn began to smell unwholesome.

They were also guilty of:

Walking on cars leaving cute, dusty, paw prints on the black paintwork,

Chasing down birds…

Climbing trees…

Hanging out on the neighboring properties when they weren’t lounging in the furniture on our front porch,

And visiting with our spoiled indoor cat, Callie-Coe, through the screened in porch.


They were becoming a nuisance.

I’d always felt a little guilty about leaving them exposed to the elements while our indoor cat reclined in the coolth and comfort of carpet and couches that was our home.

Hubs and I visited them a couple of times a day to feed and water them and, with heavy hearts, close them up in the barn when night fell.

But they were part of the farmyard staff and a job’s a job…

Or so I told myself.

I imagined them trembling at the howls of the coyote, curling up on the metal shelves with the drills and saws-alls and each other, for company.

Our tenants in the Barndominium finally decided that having Barn Cats wasn’t all it was cracked up to be and asked permission to post the two adorables on-line,

“Free to a good home, must go together,” they wrote.

“I suppose we’ll take them,” said a reluctant Hubs when he saw the advertisement.  “Ask them to pack them up for re-locating across the driveway.”

They’d already spent some time with us re-cuperating after surgery and during our recent wedding preparations when they were into everything hay, lace and rustic, we knew they were house trained, at least when they were twelve weeks old.

They settled right in,


after their baths and the house rang to the sound of happy purring and the pattering of toe-nails as they scampered and chased each other over the furniture, across the beds and up the walls, Callie in hot pursuit attempting to pin them down to wash behind their ears.

We used spray bottles of water to deter them from using their barn manners inside

and they remember that it’s impolite to:

swarm me on the kitchen counter at meal times,

climb the screen on the patio,

run out of the back door when we open it,

join us for dinner at the dining room table,

empty the waste bins in search of edibles,

stretch their claws on our new leather chairs,

climb my legs when on a quest for hugs…

But one of them has yet to learn that leaving his calling card in Hub’s closet is not politically correct for an ex-Barnie on probation.

We think it’s Shadow, the grey one, now nicknamed “The Masked Dumpster” because of the size and stealth of the packages, but aren’t sure.

Lucky for him he is adorable rolling over on his back to show off his white belly that begs to be rubbed,

flopping on our laps when we sit down to read,

nudging any hand that is idle to scratch his head,

Lying innocently with his brother on the back of the love-seat,


bringing his toy mouse to enjoy a game of fetch (yes this kitten will bring back his mouse to be thrown again and again),

growling when his brother threatens to steal his toy from him,

diving into his food with such gusto he’s always the first to finish,

and purring gustily when we enter the room and call his name.

We’ve yet to catch either of them red pawed but are keeping an eye on the litter box traffic…

His days are numbered unless we can break his dirty little habit.

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2016-11-15 15:50:50 Reply

Hmmm. 3 Cats! And one with a definite lack of respect for a mans private closet.

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