Pierre grubbing on kitty chow.

Several days ago, I heard meowing coming from my backyard. My first thought was that one of the cats had gotten out and was crying for it’s mama (me). I went and looked, but no, it was a beefy grey cat. Yay! I’ve been wanting a yard cat for a while now. Why, you might wonder? Yard cats serve one main purpose (besides being awesome) they chase mice, rats, and voles away. Funny, we have all of those things.

Living in the forest, as we do, our yard is the perfect breeding ground for pests of all kinds. Over the last year, we’ve had issues with mice in the walls and attic. Matilda was good enough to kill one that set foot inside. We’d called an exterminator over the Summer; they set traps for a month, caught one, and were gone. Ever since then, we still hear the faint scratching of tiny claws in the walls. We recently found mouse poop in the TV room – which subsequently caused me to go on a cleaning frenzy. It wasn’t until one DIED somewhere in the walls (causing a horrific smell which overcomes the North side of the house) that we’ve gotten serious. AJB has stepped into his manly role as man of the house, setting traps, and disposing of (so far) one jumbo sized sewer rat. I love him so hard for that. However, I want nothing to do with it. I don’t even want to see the traps. The whole things grosses me out. I hate killing them, even though I know it has to be done. You really can’t trap and release them into the wild. Turns out, it’s illegal. So die they must, as sad as that is. I’ve come to accept that the health of my family and I is more important than “live and let live”.

Which leads me into the yard cat; the most eco-friendly way to deter rats in our immediate surroundings. In particular, our beefy little fellow, who I have named Pierre. I mean, seriously, you have to see the muscles on this cat; very impressive. Pierre started coming by a few days ago. Meowing and grubbing on any food I’d give him. He’s very sweet and let’s me pet him profusely. He also has a pair of fairly large testicles to further validate his machismo. He’s tough, but he’s also an adorable pussycat.

So now I’ve got this buff male cat prowling around my yard. It didn’t really occur to me that the indoor cats would be affected very much. Sure, they might get annoyed, but they’d quickly realize he’s out there and they’re in here. After all, we have critters coming up to the house all the time. Turns out, I should have worried a bit more. Pierre has set off Eva in a way I’ve never seen – except in those “when animals attack” shows. Whenever he’s around she hisses, spits, and yowls this unholy siren which escalates to violence aimed at whatever (or whomever) is nearest. She’s attacked both Matilda and Oatmeal and even blitzed the window screen. I mean, she’s really upset.

Eva, new to our home, has had a hard time acclimating to her new surroundings. She feels abandoned by her previous owner, scared of the world, is attempting to gain dominance, and has a tendency to lash out; even though she’s also very pleasant. This is a whole new world for her and she’s doing what cats do; reacting the only way she knows how. Except, we can’t tolerate violence. We’re working with her to keep her calm, show her we love her, but also make her aware that her actions are not acceptable. It’s going to take a long time. Cats don’t like change. In fact, they fight it.

Eva’s bad mood causes the other cats, who are happy to ignore Pierre, to become tense. We end up spending a good deal of time reassuring everyone that everything is fine. As for Pierre, he wants in the house. He sits at the back door meowing this pathetic little orphan meow, hoping I’ll open the door. I admit, I’m tempted because it’s Winter. I know, however, that he just can’t come in. I made him a bed and shelter; although I believe he’s sleeping under my car. I’m putting food and water out for him. I hope he’ll figure out that my old Nightmare Before Christmas throw is warm and comfy; the plastic bin will provide a better shelter. If he sticks around, I might invest in cat igloo.

I like that he comes by. He’s very agreeable, isn’t at all bothered by the indoor cats, and rather mellow. He’s taken to me and I’ve taken to him. He’s come to me for help and I’m going to give it to him. It’s what I do. JCS suggests that Pierre is more like The Tramp from “Lady and The Tramp”. On Tuesdays he’s Pierre at my house. On Wednesdays he’s Tony at the neighbor’s house. On Thursday, he’s Mittens down the street. Who knows? He came here for a reason and I won’t turn him away. There is a way to get all the cats to live harmoniously. I just have to find it. Meanwhile, more research and lots of and lots of belly rubs.

Merry Christmas.

You'd never guess she was a fearless mouse killer.

Last night as I lay sleeping, I hear the familiar cat cry of, “Mommy, I’m stuck somewhere, come get me out” from Matilda – which is generally a meek sounding mew that is more akin to a whimper. Or at least that’s what I thought I heard.

Sometimes the cats just mew because they’re looking for us. I called to her and she didn’t come. I kept calling and she didn’t come. I got up to look for her because I figured she must have (somehow) gotten into my closet and was now trapped. As I passed the bathroom, I hear the tiniest meow from the darkness. I look in, surprised to just see her sitting her, a toy mouse at her feet. Oh, she’d just been playing and was getting a little excited…at 3′oclock in the morning. No, wait, what? No. What’s that? ACK! Fake mouse, no. Real mouse, yes. *Dead as a door nail.

According to AJB’s recounting, I made barfy/blurgle sounds and called him up. I don’t think I did…make the blurgle sounds. I did call him up. I had to leave the room. I tweeted, “Holy crap! Matilda just killed a MOUSE in the bathroom!!! Matilda trumps your cat. Bonus: We now apparently have mice in the house.” AJB started to scold Matilda, but I shouted back that he should praise her. After all, it’s what we want them to do, right? We have mice? Cats are the cheap, eco-friendly way to get rid of them. I’m surprised, in fact. I’ve always wondered what the cats would do it a mouse got in the house. Would they play with them? Eat them? Ignore them? Well, tonight we found out.

Gross as it was, I really was proud of Matilda. I mean, it’s her first real kill. Being a vegetarian, you’d think I’d be sad about the mouse. I kind of am, but actually, I’m happier she got it before it chewed through my cheeks. Besides, hunting is natural for cats and far be it from me to take that away from her. And the truth is, mice are vermin and they carry diseases. As cute as they are, they don’t belong in the house and we can’t allow them to be. You HAVE to get rid of them and Matilda just saved us several hundred dollars in exterminator fees. Good girl!

After her kill, she roamed the house on patrol, sniffing in corners, checking behind furniture, looking for another one. She momentarily became sidetracked with a fake toy mouse, but quickly realized the live ones are better. Problem with the live ones, they stop moving after a while. I mean, come on, you bite them a few times and they go limp. What’s the deal? Anthropomorphizing my cats, as I do, I can only imagine that Matilda must have been so excited when she discovered the mouse. It’s like the fake ones, but it moves on it’s own!! OMG!! Finally! My years of training have all lead up to this moment!

A bit later, I gave Matilda a spoonful of tuna as a heroe’s treat. The other cats joined in the celebration too. It was indeed a red letter day. After that, I cleaned the kitchen REAL GOOD. Now that mice have found their way into the house, it’s imperative that we keep the house clean, don’t leave food out, and keep an eye on the cat food. I mean, we do a pretty good job already, but now it’s go-time.

Before we drifted off to sleep, AJB said that I was a good mommy because I praised the kitties…even when it’s horrifying. lol. I suppose so. Naturally, I cannot go without praising my man for scooping up the corpse and taking it out of the house. He also cleaned up a small pool of blood. I couldn’t have done it. I probably would have screamed, called my brother, and when he refused to come over, I would have slept in the car. Not sure how the next morning would play out. I am, sadly, overcome with girlie fears when it comes to dead animals or flying bugs. I become utterly useless. Aside from all the usual benefits of having AJB and the cats around, they also do the dirty work. I love them for that.

*Quite on accident, I discovered this phrase originates from Shakespeare. It’s fascinating that we still use phrases that were coined 400 years ago. Neat.

Eva enjoys sitting in the sink.

I’ll never forget the scene in Logan’s Run where Peter Ustinov tells Logan that cats have more than one name. He does, in fact, quote T.S. Eliot:

You know, they’ve each got three names. Yes. The naming of cats is a difficult matter, It’s just not one of your holiday games; You may think at first that I am mad as a hatter, When I tell you that each cat’s got three different names. See, they got their ordinary name and then they got their fancy name. And that makes two names, doesn’t it? And now it’s got a third name. Can either of you two guess what that third name is? Come on! Above and beyond, there’s one name that’s left over, and this is the name you never will guess. The name that no human research can discover, but the cat itself knows, and never will confess.

I think about the various names my cats have and how they choose the name they respond to. Matilda knows her name is Matilda, but she responds more frequently to “The Baby”. Oatmeal, same circumstance. He responds to his first name, but also comes when I call him “Oatsie” or “Oats”. For our amusement, we also call Oatmeal “Flambo” or “Sir Fluffbottom” and Matilda “Tillypants” or “Tilly”. They haven’t necessarily expressed fondness for any of those.

Eva, our recent addition to the family, at 3.5 years old, came to us with a name her previous owner had chosen. We didn’t think it was a good idea to give her a new name, but we noticed that she doesn’t respond to “Eva.” Her ears don’t perk up when we say it so it’s obvious she isn’t ignoring us. The other cats (as cats do) will ignore us, but their ears will (at the very least) twinge when any of their names are spoken. Not with Eva. Not even a twitch.

When she first came to us, we immediately started thinking of funny nicknames. Just ’cause it’s funny. As an added bonus, she makes the most adorable sounds that aren’t your every day cat sounds. They’re more like beeps, squeaks, or the sound a bicycle horn makes. One day, she came into the room and I said, “There’s Beeps!” and she ran up to me. It caught on. I noticed that when I called her “Beeps”, she was more likely to come to me or make her whereabouts known, even if she was hiding.

It’s not like we consciously chose the name “Beeps”. I said the word and she liked it. She decided she likes the name “Beeps”. I honestly don’t know why. It’s the strangest thing, the words or names cats latch onto. I’m so fascinated by it. They really do decide what they want to be called. I mean, if I were to change her name, I wouldn’t necessarily choose Beeps. It’s a cute name, but it’s not my first choice. I might have gone with something more formal, but that’s just me. She will always officially (and on record) be named “Eva”, but her nickname is Beeps and she likes it just fine. I guess I do too.

Photo: AJB

We now had 3 cats: Oatmeal, Matilda, and Eva. We knew it would be difficult integrating older cats. At first, we did everything we could to make sure the cats got used to each other without actually seeing each other. We followed steps and took our time. After a few months of taking our time, we let them sort it out on their own. We figured out that they might not ever become best friends, but we hoped they would tolerate one another. Weeks passed. Oatmeal and Matilda avoided Eva as best they could. Eva spent a lot of time on the other side of the house. Slowly, however, she started coming down stairs, spending time with AJB, the kids, and I. More and more, she was visible and becoming a part of the family. As this happened, Oatmeal and Matilda also came to accept that she wasn’t leaving any time soon.

Because Eva has the spirit of adventure, she quickly realized that the Master bedroom must be conquered. It’s where Matilda and Oatmeal spend most of their time and has the most comfortable bed. It’s also where Mommy and Daddy sleep. Eva would sit at the bottom of the stairs looking up. Matilda would sit at the top of the stairs looking down. They’d frequently have [what we called] Mexican Stand Offs. If Eva attempted to climb the stairs, Matilda would chase her off – this was her turf. No Evas allowed. Over time, Eva got closer and closer to the top of the stairs. Eventually, she was in the hallway. And then the doorway to the master bedroom. She would be chased off time and time again. Matilda would literally stand guard at the doorway. Eva wouldn’t get into the master bedroom, not on her watch! No matter how AJB and I tried to tell the cats that we loved them all, that it was OK for Eva to be in the room, they had to sort it out on their own. That’s just how it works in the animal kingdom. Human logic does not apply.

Soon enough, Eva figured out that if Matilda was occupied downstairs, she could sneak in and nap as though she’d been there the whole time. At first she started sleeping in the closet, out of sight. After a few days, she moved to the window sill, obscured by our junk; again there, but not there. Suddenly, one night she was on the bed at our feet. Matilda chased her off. Eva always made sure to walk on top of the furniture, knowing full well that being on the floor left her open for attack. Ever careful, ever vigilant.

Last night Eva slept on the bed almost the entire night. AJB woke me and told me that Matilda was on the bed too. What? Wow! They were on the bed at the same time. There were a few growls, groans, and one chase off, but they both came back and slept on the bed. Together, but apart. It seems they’ve concluded that they might not like the other cat, but if they want to sleep on the bed, they have to get used to one another.

This has taught me an amazing lesson in perseverance. Eva wanted something and she got it. It took some time, patience, and clever thinking, but she finally got what she wanted. Where there is a will, there is a way. On the Matilda side of the lesson, I see that when you let your guard down, someone is always waiting to get passed you. You can’t watch the door all the time and if you learn to share, everyone is happy. I do feel a bit bad for Matilda. She got beat and outsmarted. As much as she’d like to think she’s the alpha cat, Eva is bigger, stronger, and faster. After 3 years of being the baby, Matilda is now forced to share everything with another cat. It can’t be fun. She and Oatmeal always got along, but Oatmeal is essentially Eeyore. He accepts things whether he likes it or not. He lives the words of my late Grandma Lena: Things will get better and if they don’t, we’ll get used to it. He goes with the flow and as long as he’s getting skull rubs and food, he’s happy. Eva and Matilda, however, have been vying for alpha cat. They both can’t be Highlander. There can be only one.

Matilda, sweet and tiny, put up a good fight defending her turf, but in the end, she accepted defeat. And here’s another lesson: Defeat isn’t the end of the world. They both get the bed and there’s plenty of Mommy and Daddy love to go around. Of course, the real losers are my feet. I just lost a few more inches of foot space at the end of my bed.