One thing I learned while growing up on the dairy farm: barn cats come in as many character types as can be imagined. Just because of location, I guess, our farm was often the dumping spot for unwanted kittens.
Sitting fairly close to the high school by the way the crow flies, our road often was the cut-through route. People assume if it’s a dairy farm, what’s wrong with adding a few kittens to the mix, right?
Some of those kittens grew into friendly, easy-going cats, others on the wild side of crazy, wanting to fend for themselves and be left alone.
Some were awesome hunters, others terrible mothers, leaving kittens alone for far too long. A few of those barn cats reached stand-out status and are remembered forevermore.
Today, we have one of those on our farm. Barn cat Betty White is pretty sure we could never run this place without her. Her mother, a sweet calico, was a gift from my sister after we rebuilt from our tragic barn fire.
She said Grandpa always said every farm should have a calico, as they bring good luck. We named her Lola, and she brought more than luck.
A litter of 5 kittens arrived shortly after, and they all grew into lovely cats. I grew attached to a gray and white male and named him Sonny. He was born friendly and grew into one impressive cat. One day he simply vanished.
A littermate, a very regal-looking gray, began making up to me, and I named him Mumford. He would greet us when we arrived home, lying on the bottom step, the tip of his long tail flicking in a wave.
I grew to simply adore this large, lovely, friendly cat. He came up missing one day and broke my heart. My reasoning has stood the test of time.
Take the males to be neutered, provide them with a great barn and cat food, fresh water and the freedom to explore the farm.
Do not grow attached after taking that trip for a snip to the veterinarian’s office, thinking that this will keep them at home. Aloof is the stance a person must take to keep a barn cat around. This is where Betty White comes in.
A littermate to Sonny and Mumford, I named her because her hair color matches the iconic Betty White, and she is everywhere, effortlessly. There is just no stopping this dame.
During lambing season, barn cat Betty would walk the skinny plank of barn pens right along with the human checking on ewes and lambs. She would peer down into the pen as if she knew exactly what she was seeking to ascertain, then follow carefully on to the next.
One cold day, after checking on lambs along with the diligent Betty, I closed up the barn and fought a stiff wind walking toward the house, feeling like I was being blown backward.
When I got all the way to the porch, Betty White sat nearby, cleaning her paws and watching my every move. How in the heck did that happen?
She seems to keep tabs on us as though we need her constant management skills. My hubby finds her bossy presence as annoying as a mosquito in a sleeping tent.
“Can’t we find somebody who wants a nosy cat?” he asks.
I quizzed him on what bothers him the most. She has started reaching out and tapping him when he is working with the lambs, apparently telling him he isn’t doing something quite right, or not fast enough.
I jokingly asked what the price would be, and he said, “You mean what we would have to pay somebody to take her? I’m willing to dip into savings…”
