New Cats on the Farm

Whenever there was a pregnant cat, I would keep an eye on her to see when she would have her litter. After she had her kittens, I would go look for them. When the litter was born, I would ask my brother if he would help me find them. So after our chores were done, we would search for them. They loved the hay loft, so that was always the first place we checked. Sometimes they chose a different area of the barn, but not often. When we found the litter, I would greet the mother and tell her she did a great job. We never touched the kittens until they were at least a week old, but I would sit with the mother and her kittens to reassure her. Occasionally, the mother cat would move her kittens if she felt they might be in danger. Then the next day, we would search again. When they were moved to the loft, there was a staircase that was like a ladder. How the cat managed to carry her kittens up those stairs, I’ll never know.

Since the cats were familiar with me, they weren’t threatened by my presence when the kittens were born. Sometimes if the mother had her litter before reaching her preferred spot, she would move them to a safer location. I would then have to find them again, though they were never moved because of me. When the kittens were a few days old, I would handle them, one by one, to ensure they would be tame. I remembered litters from previous years that I couldn’t find when I was younger. When those kittens emerged without having been held, I would catch them and work with them until they became tame. Sometimes, especially with litters of more than five, it was challenging to tame them all. The ones I couldn’t tame would come down for their food but maintain a distance from me. That’s why I made it a point to find each litter early on after a few such experiences.

We always had about fifty cats at any given time, but the number dwindled significantly during my high school years. The male cats we had were aging. Pop mentioned that we needed a new bloodline since it had been a while since he had acquired a male cat. I then told him about a school friend, John, who lived in an area called Hay Beach, and had mentioned he had a male cat needing a new home. John said they were moving and couldn’t take the cat with them. - After our discussion, he proposed, “Well, let’s try it and see if they accept him. I’ll bring him over after school.”

After school, I went home to say hi to my mom and told her I had to go right up to the farm because a friend was bringing over his cat to see if he would fit in. My mom was okay with this. Most of the time, as long as I didn’t have homework, I would be able to go up to the farm. Only a few times when I had a lot of homework and wasn’t able to finish it in my study halls would I have homework to bring home. So I went up the lane to wait for John to arrive. I saw Pop and told him that we were going to see how my friend’s cat would fit into our family. Just then I saw a car coming up the lane, and it was John. I called out to Pop, “Here they come!” John pulled up into the circle, opened the door, and got out. I introduced John to my grandfather. They shook hands, and John told us that the cat’s name was Rusty.

With that, we went to the back of the car and opened the hatch. There was a cat carrier in the car, and I could hear the cat crying to get out. John opened the latch and took him out. I said hi to Rusty, and when I reached over to pet him, he climbed right into my arms. I was pleased that he was so friendly and wasn’t afraid of me. “Let’s go see how he is with my crew,” I said. I asked John if I could carry Rusty so that my cats would see me holding him. He replied, “Sure, sounds good to me.” So we started toward the farmhouse. My cats were already heading for the car because they saw Rusty. There wasn’t any hissing, which was a good sign. Rusty seemed eager to meet them, and John suggested I let him down.

I put Rusty down, and the cats approached one another, sniffing every part of one another without any signs of aggression. John and I went over to the picnic table in the yard and sat, watching as more and more cats came to greet the newcomer. I only had about twenty-five cats left, so it didn’t take long for all of them to meet Rusty. He walked over to me and rubbed against my leg, accompanied by five of my cats. Their name was Twinkles—yes, all of them were named Twinkles. They were tabby in color and looked identical. It was the mother and her kittens from three litters. With her first litter, since one looked just like her, he became Twinkles Number Two. The next litter produced two with her markings, and they were girls. Then from Twinkles Sr., we got two more. This was to be her last litter. Within that year, she passed away. When I called “Twinkles,” I knew at least five cats would come running. They were the only ones with unique names; the rest answered to “kitty-kitty.” There were just too many to name individually. Now I had Rusty to add to the group.

John remarked, “Okay, I guess you have a new cat.” He stood, and I thanked him for letting us have Rusty. Not long after, John left the island, and I never saw him again. Before we knew it, Rusty became a father many times over. Our farm was rid of too many mice and rats, and in a few years, we had over fifty cats again. Pop was delighted that Rusty came to live with him on the farm. Rusty was a wonderful addition. He loved his new home and seemed very happy.