Murray, is also known as my i/o (indoor/outdoor) cat. He appeared walking through the fields of the farmette on fall day. I caught sight of this light orange spot, meandering through the tall grass. As the autumn days turned colder, Murray became less shy. Soon, he was eating and drinking from the bowls I set out near the springhouse for him. By winter, Murray was part of the farmette, hanging around daily and even letting me pick him up.
Which meant, he was destined for a visit to the vet. My extraordinary luck continued as the vet visit revealed the Murray, like Slick, was an already neutered male. Another low cost vet visit, and another boy cat. WooHoo!
That first winter, Murray spent his time either outside or in the partially heated mudroom. I bought a small space heater for the really cold nights, but he was just happy for the limitless food and enclosed shelter. By spring, Murray was tested as a part-time house cat. He seemed to use the litter box when necessary but like most outdoor cats, preferred to be let outside regularly. His only annoying habit was rinsing his paws in the water dish. For the first year or so, the floor surrounding the water bowl was the cleanest in the house.
Being the youngest outdoor cat, Murray has the fulltime job of mouser. There is no lack of chipmonks, mice and moles close to the farmhouse so Murray easily earns his keep. At times, he will bring home a trophy for the older outdoor cats to enjoy. Thoughtful cat, isn’t he?
Thursday October 15, 2009
With a sad heart, I report that Murray passed away this morning. Poor Murray had not eaten or taken any fluids for 3 days, ever since the appetite increase medicine wore off. We will never know if he had a tumor or got into poison, but regardless, his suffering ended peacefully. As I have done with all of my animals who reached this sad stage, I held him in my arms until the end.
I suspected this day was coming, so spent the last two evenings holding Murray on my lap for hours, keeping him comfortable, warm and in friendly company. The other cats all came to say goodbye to him last night, as if they knew his time was short.
Murray’s nickname was Mur-sicle or sometimes, McMurray. We often referred to him as the Beige cat, as his coloring was more beige than yellow. He greeted me every time I came home, emerging from a hidden sleeping spot, meowing, purring and plopping down at my feet for a pat on the head.
His skill at catching rodents around the Farmette was unmatched. And his fear of thunder storms great.
Murray was a well loved and already, deeply missed member of the Farmette.
Baldy Wearing her Hen-Helmet
Baldy's Saga
Tuesday, September 7 2009
Serious chicken trauma yesterday. All was going well with the flock merger until late Monday afternoon. I discovered two of the new chickens badly injured, and in fact one had already died. Their heads had been pecked to the bone, from eyebrow to the base of their necks. I put the surviving hen back into the doghouse pen and watched the others for awhile. Seemed like the old rooster, Romeo, was the culprit.
Nothing I had read or heard ever lead me to believe the rooster would attack new hens. I thought he would be pleased to have more girls. Obviously not the case. After a couple of hours, I made a closer inspection of the inured chicken’s head. She was in bad shape and I did not expect her to survive the night. I put antibiotic cream on the worst part of her wounds, covered it with a bandage and put her in the doghouse with food and water.
Baldy With a Bandage
Amazingly, she was still alive this morning. I was shocked! I remover the old bandage, put a lot of antibiotic cream on her wounds and covered her head with two new bandages. This was my weak attempt at chicken triage for the poor chicken now known as Baldy. Honestly, her chances of survival are minimal at best, but one never knows.
Baldy is doing very well! She was out of her coop today, eating grass and walking around happily. I put antibiotic ointment on her wound every evening, not letting the area dry out. I think she has turned the corner and might actually survive!
Baldy is doing well. She is eating and behaving like a normal chicken. I noticed over the last couple of days that she has been sticking her head through the fence, to get closer to the other hens. But in doing that, Baldy has been re-opening the wounds around her skull. So today, I added the deer netting that I removed from the garden around the lower half of her fence. This will prevent her from hurting herself on the fence. I have started to ponder making her a helmet to cover her skinless, featherless skull so she can rejoin her flock. I will spend some time considering if this would be a realistic option or not.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Here is the good news. I successfully crafted a Hen-Helmet for Baldy. I used soft black vinyl, with a black snap. The I sewed a few barred-rock feather to make it look authentic.
Within 30 secs of having the Hen-Helmet on her head, Baldy scratched it right off.
Sigh. She better get used to being alone, or get very aggressive!
Sunday October 18, 2009
Baldy has been happily accepted into the flock. The first several days, a few of the other hens inspected her bald head as hens do, tilting their head sideways and staring with the closest eye. All decided she was within the normal curve, so there is peace in the coop.
Thursday, January 21 2010
Baldy is still hanging in there. A month or so ago, the other hens had begun pecking at her head, drawing blood around her skull. But that behavior seems to have stopped, her head has mostly healed and Baldy continues to be a normal hen. Well, normal except for her looks.
Poor Baldy had a setback this past weekend. Her head was nearly covered with new skin, and she looked great and was doing well. And then, for some reason that I will never understand, the other hens attacked her, re-opening the wound and undoing all of the healing. She hung out alone inside the coop for two days. Last night I put first aid crème on her head and today she made an appearance outside. I caught one of the hens going after her again, but she stopped as soon as I yelled. I could separate Baldy from the flock but she will not be happy being alone. Hens can be very mean to each other.
Tuesday June 1
Sad news from the hen house. Baldy did not live through the weekend. She was getting terribly pecked on her head by the other hens, and twice I found her hiding, squeezed behind the water bowl. Since we were going to VA for the holiday weekend, I did not wanted to leave her closed up in the coop with the other hens for three days. Anytime she would try to eat or drink, her head would be pecked. So on Friday afternoon, just before leaving, I decided to set her up in the pen next to the chicken coop. hb and I put the dog house in there along with food and water. On Sunday when we came home, she was gone. Sadly, some critter got her during the night. But at least she had a chance. Staying in with the other hens, she would have been helpless.
Junior
Junior was the one rooster that came with my last set of hen chicks. He was a barred rock rooster with splayed toes. But his toe problem did not prevent him from getting around. He was an active and happy rooster. But the hens did not want to put up with a rooster so Junior lived with Puff in the orchard.
Every morning about 5am, Junior would start to crow. Waking up to the sound of Junior's happy "Good Morning's" was always a pleasure. In addition, he kept Puff company, following him around the orchard like a shadow.
One night in July 2010, the raccoons came into the orchard and got Junior. Puff misses Junior very much. So do we.
Frodo
On May 24, 2011, Frodo lost his life to a raccoon. I miss that pheasant every single day. He was a part of my life for nearly 8 years. Every time I walked out of the house or pulled into the driveway, Frodo greeted me with a couple of squawks.
Hi last year of life was one of his happiest. His coop was next to Puff's, and the two male birds got along very well.
Frodo had an amazing story describing his first weeks of life. One spring a few years ago while back, I decided to stock 30 pheasants, hoping a population would take hold and thrive. Around the first week of August, I heard a flock of crows flying and diving in a spot in a field. I ran up, thinking a pheasant had been killed. What I found was a pheasant nest with one egg still intact. I could tell from the broken eggs that the chicks were more mature than not, so I gathered up the remaining egg.
I constructed a makeshift incubator of a Kleenex box, towels and a heating pad. Really, I had low expectations. Not fours days later, I heard that egg make noises. Within an hour, out popped a pheasant chick. I was overwhelmed, speechless with shock, and quickly realizing I had nothing for the poor thing to eat. I made a quick run to the local farm store, and returned home with chick food, a watering dish and much needed advice from the owner of the store. Soon, the chick had a name, Frodo, as in the hobbit.
Frodo grew very quickly, he was jumping out of his box within a week and taking short flights by 3 weeks. Watching him grow was too much fun. Soon he outgrew his box in the tub, so I built him a larger coop in the extra bedroom. When he began outgrowing that coop, I attempted to house him in the chicken coop. Three days later, I came home to discover my pheasant had been nearly scalped by the chickens. He recovered but the feathers on his head were never the right color again.
Within 3 months, he was living alone in a large coop outdoors and was grown enough to consider setting free to join his own kind. On the chosen day, I set him out of the coop, encouraging him to fly. He just sat there. Then the barn cats started closing in, the larger ones licking their cat lips. Frodo started to RUN. Not a smart pheasant. So Frodo was returned to his coop to enjoy life as a pet. He was an amazing bird, as loud as a guinea, making a fine guard bird.
KC is the only female house cat on the farmette. She is also the newest, youngest and feistiest cat, indoors or out.
One day, I received another email from the friend of a friend of my sister’s, containing the tale of a sad-case kitten, currently in foster care. Quickly, I closed the email determined not to look at the attached picture.
Two week later, another email. The same sad-case kitten was still looking for a home. Foolishly, this time I opened the attachment, read the whole story and was hooked. KC joined the farmette herd a week later.
From the emails, I learned of KC’s rough start to life. Someone had abandoned her in a field, still wearing a flea collar. She somehow caught her front paw in the collar and became stuck, probably for weeks. By the time she was rescued, KC was near death. Two months later, at only 7-8 months old, she was living with me on the farmette.
Unlike my other rescued cats, KC struggled to adapt. There were several reasons for this, first she was the only female and she was still a kitten. The resident boys routinely teased and harrased her. And though time has helped the other cats warm up to her, KC and Murray have never reached a truce. Slick, ever the diplomat mostly plays nicely with her, while Spooky mostly ignores her.
Litter box training was a challenge, as the boys tended to pounce at her whenever she was trying to use the box. Not the positive reinforcement I was looking for. KC also eats her breakfast of wet food while sitting on top of the wooded grain bin in the kitchen, about 3ft above the boys on the the floor. The added height gives her a sense of safety where she can keep an eye on the others.
Murray spends most summer days outside, as well as a good number of nights. This separation from KC has helped her adjustment. Time has also helped as KC has grown, put on some weight and is finally showing more signs of normal cat behavior. Her weeks caught in the collar seemed to have stunted her development but she is catching up. KC has truly been a rescued cat.
Over the two years that KC has lived here, she has had a difficult time dealing with the male cats at the farmette. Last winter, I came home to find a scared and injured KC behind the dryer. Her injured shoulder took months to heal, including at least 6 weeks in solitary away from the boys. So in spring 2009, I began looking for a new, safer home or KC. In June, I adopted her out to a family friend in Eastern PA. There, KC will be an only cat in a household with just adults. Her new owners immediately fell in love with her, renaming her Banchee. KC is the first pet I have ever given away, but this is a perfect solution for everyone. I miss her, but knew she is so much happier and content with her new family.
Tuesday October 27, 2009
Remember KC, the little girl cat that I adopted a couple of years ago? She was a little devil of a cat, cute as anything but was always getting into trouble, teasing the boy cats, walking on the counters and clawing the furniture. But she had her good points and became friends with hb. Each evening, KC would saunter into the living room, slink around for a few minutes and then jump up to sit on hb’s lap. He was the only one who KC would show affection to. KC and Murray had a particularly thorny relationship. Each would take turns spraying on the doors, trying to leave their scent on top. Nice. But since there were 3 large male cats against one, small female cat, KC would often lose the quarrels. Peace did not reign among the felines at the Farmette.
So last June, I found a new home for KC in eastern PA with family friends. They loved her and she was doing well in an only cat household. Yet ever since Murray died, hb and I somewhat regretted giving KC away. Without Murray, she would have had a better chance and Hb missed her nightly company. Sadly, on Sunday I learned that KC escaped her new home and was fatally run over in the road. We were so sad, as were her adopted family. KC had a habit of trying to escape to the outdoors at the Farmette, so I understand this was caused by poor judgement on KC’s part.
As I pondered the loss of both cats, the thought occurred to me that maybe KC and Murray not really enemies but were in love with each other. Their teasing and fighting was the result of friendly play, not animosity. Maybe Murray missed KC in cat heaven so he figured a way to have her to join him. Murray probably sprayed the kitty door to cat heaven, enticing KC into heaven to spray on top of his spot. Right now, they might be chasing and wrestling with each other, having a good time, together as eternal friends.
Then I thought, instead of being in cat heaven, maybe Murray was reincarnated . . . . and had been driving the car!
Blacky
Blacky was a very elderly cat, well past his mouse-catching, bird-chasing prime of life. He lived with me as a barn cat before I moved to the farmette and was already mature when I first began caring for him.
Blacky was possible neutered by the old farmer who lived on the farm before me . . . let’s hope that is just hear say.
Blacky was at least as old as Mama, maybe older. Honestly, he always like he was stoned . . . with squinting, watery eyes that never quite focused. Just looking at him made me smile. One the other hand, or should I say, at the other end, Blacky had perpetual digestive issues. His appetite was great but nothing solid ever came out of him. Sigh . . . I guess that getting old sucks.
Blacky died in the fall of 2008. His hearing was failing and apparently, he stepped out in front of a car on the road. I found him on a Friday, late one afternoon in the middle of the road. I cried for an hour as I dug his grave in the pet burial grounds. He was such a special cat, I still miss him terribly.
Hilda
Hilda was Puff's friend for almost a year. She was the sweetest turkey. Every time I pulled into the driveway, Hilda would greet me with clucks and pucks. I would buy her earthworms from the bait store as a treat.
When she was about a year old, Hilda started to lay an egg every couple of days for a month or two. Puff wasnot mature enoughto fertilize them, so I collected many of Hilda's eggs. I blew out the insides and have a nice collection of turkey egg shells.
Sadly, Hilda died Labor Day weekend 2008. She showed no signs of illness or trauma. hb and I came home that Saturday and she had died. I still miss her happy turkey greetings.
Josie
Josie was one of my first hens. She was a bantam hen, meaning she was a small sized Barred Rock hen. Josie was so sweet and cute. One winter day, the other hens attacked her and damaged both of her feet. Immediately I separated Josie from the other hens, putting her in her own coop to recover. Every day, I put antibiotic cream on her wounded feet. After a month or so, one foot looked better but the other was still black in color. Then, one morning a few weeks later, when I checked in Josie to my astonishment, her whole foot had fallen off! The leg above her foot had healed into a stump and her foot was lying in the straw! So Josie became my one-footed hen.
Josie loved to be fed treats. When I was gardening and would find a nice worm or cricket, I ran to Josie to give her a snack. She clucked happily every time. Another thing that Josie wanted so much was to be a Mama. Every couple of months, she would get broody, sitting on the nest waiting for her infertile eggs to hatch. Watching her almost broke my heart.
Sadly, the winter before my new rooster would have given her some fertile eggs to hatch, Josie passed away. She was almost four years old which is a decent age for a hen.
