It wasn’t the farm, but it was ours. The yard was fenced so I didn’t have to worry about Mocha and there were woods at the back of the property for Furball to go off and do his cat things. He was a weary outside cat, so I didn’t have to worry about him getting near the road. Jazzy was too young and active to go out there so much to her dismay, she had to stay in.
Furball wasn’t happy about having to stay inside until he got used to his new home. I would have liked him to stay in longer, but he absolutely insisted he had to go out. I couldn’t stand the howling, pacing and scratching at the door any longer so I let him out the back door. He was cautious and happy to be out. He and Mocha hung out in the yard for a while. He jumped the fence and Mocha came in with me.
Now I had the other one to contend with. Jazzie couldn’t understand why Furball could go out and she couldn’t. She played with Mocha and “helped” me work during the day then bugged Furball at night when he came in. She wasn’t happy, but she dealt with her new-found situation.
Mocha seemed to have found a new friend. There was a yellow Lab that lived across the street. She’d go to the fence when she went out to look for her friend and they liked to bark at each other.
I guess between Greg’s guitars and Mocha’s barking, we were going to be the noisy neighbors …. Again.
The farm was owned by an older couple. They bought it when they were first married and work it all of their lives. When they retired from farming, they built a house up the street on a different part of the farm. The rented out the original house. The land was farmed by someone else. He was very nice, she was a witch. We didn’t know what she was like until after we moved in and the guys next door told us.
It was summer and our neighbors had picnics. They always had friends over. We put signs at the barn to try to keep people away. Apparently they couldn’t read. We constantly found people messing with our horses. We talked to our neighbors about it, but that didn’t work and better than the signs. Having the horses with us was getting to be a problem.
We were there about 7 or 8 months. The owner had been coming down more and more to do things. His visits were during the day when everybody was at work. This would have been fine, but he found reasons to knock on the door and talk. I had work to do and really couldn’t deal with the interruptions. The more he came down, the bitchier she got. Then she started knocking at the door to yell at me. To this day I have no idea what she was yelling about. It was getting to be too much. We could see where this was probably going and we decided to move the horses to a near by boarding stable.
The horses were moved to their new home. It was a relief not to have to worry about people being around them. The fence came down and was stored in the barn with the rest of our horse things. We were still paying the extra for the barn so there was no hurry to get our belongings out. One night we came home from dinner out. I don’t remember why we went to the barn. We found the doors screwed shut and a no trespassing sign on the door. We weren’t sure what was going on. We didn’t do anything wrong. Nobody said a word to us. The following day we removed everything from the barn.
It was time to start looking for a new place to live. Life was getting more and more uncomfortable and I wasn’t happy about being home alone all day. The cats were no longer allowed out and my trips outside with Mocha were limited until Greg got home from work. In the midst of all of this we lost electric one day. The neighbors didn’t have any either so I called to report it. They said they never received our payment so they shut it off. I told them I’d give them payment over the phone but they needed to turn it back on because we had no water. Try to explain to an electric company employee from the city what a well was and how a well pump worked. I also told them they shut our neighbor’s electric off too. Within a few hours someone from the electric company was knocking at the door. We’d have electric back! They came to investigate why the neighbors had no electric and why none of us had water. It turned out there was one meter for both houses. The boys had no idea because their electric was included in their rent. Greg and I had been paying for both sides of the house since we moved in. The electric company gave us a refund of everything we paid them since we’d been there and sent the owner a bill. The bill would stay in his name until he installed a separate meter. To add insult to injury, he got a hefty fine for not having separate electric for each unit.
This s**t really hit the fan after that. Fortunately we bought a house, gave our written notice and just had to wait for settlement and moving day. It couldn’t come soon enough! Koko and Wrangler moved to a boarding barn. Mocha, Furball and Jasmine, Greg and I moved to our new house.
Life at the farm was good. It was on a quiet back road so we didn’t have to worry about traffic. There was a covered front porch to lay on, a back deck to sun himself on, a huge yard to play in, fields and woods to hunt. He didn’t have to worry about getting into fights with other cats. I left the back door open so the cats could come and go as they pleased. From my office window I could watch them play in the yard. When it was time for serious hunting, Furball would give Jazzie a smack for following him and send her back home.
Furball turned into a “puppy cat”. He’d follow us all over the farm. If we went to the barn, he was there. Me yelling let’s go for a walk brought both cats running. Farm life suited him …. until the horses arrived. Along with the horses came new hazards. He just wasn’t sure about those huge things that smelled funny and insisted on sniffing him. If he wasn’t careful, they’d give him a little shove. Suddenly the area that used to be open had this fence around it. Now he had to duck under. And one day he wasn’t paying attention. As he walked under the electric fence, he put his tail up. The fence zapped his tail, he yelled and took off like a grey and white rocket. We didn’t see him for 3 days. When he finally came home, it took him awhile to go to the barn again. He was more careful about the fence.
Jazzie was growing like a weed, but certainly not settling down. The bigger she got, the more things she could get into. Climbing up the screen was easy if you used the window to push against. When a window was closed, she’d sit on the top frame of the bottom window. I still don’t know how she didn’t fall off!
It was time to be spayed. The surgery went well. We were to keep her quiet for at least a week. You’ve got to be kidding! That was going to be an impossible task unless she stayed in a crate for a week. She was still a little groggy when she got home. I opened the carrier door and she immediately jumped up on the (chest) freezer and smacked Furball. This was going to be a long week! We finally got the ok for her to resume her normal, hell raising activities.
Furball decided she was old enough to go hunting with him. Every morning I’d let them out and she followed him across the back yard to the hedgerow. My daytime company left me and if was certainly quiet! They’d pop in during the day for a snack and off they went again, showing up in time for dinner. After dinner they stayed around.
On nice evenings both of them would go for a walk with us. There was a small stream on the property that only had water after it rained. Jazzy was fascinated by the water. One evening we walked to the bottom of the property where there was a larger creek. The silly cat started playing in it. The next thing we knew she was on a rock in the middle. Whoever said cats don’t like water didn’t know her! On the way back to the house I lost sight of Jazzy. I found her swimming in a small pool in the stream.
Summer or winter, rain or snow Jazzy was out, enjoying all the things that life brought. The horses got used to her blasting thru the pasture and into the barn. At night she’d crash on somebody’s lap or curl up with Furball.
There was no more hiding the cat. Furball got permanent dishes, a litter box and toys. He was still an indoor/outdoor cat, but he was spending more and more time in. He’d sleep in the office while I was working. If he was in a night he’d sleep at my feet. It was nice to have the company.
Greg was afraid Furball would be discovered and I’d be kicked out. I kept telling him to relax. How would they find out? They never come around. And then the toilet broke. I had to call maintenance. This was going to be a problem. I could hide bowls, litter box and toys, but I couldn’t hide the cat. Some crazy in the area was catching cats and killing them. There was no way I was letting Furball out until they caught him. I greeted the maintenance man with “Hi, come on in. I have a cat and he’s not going out until they catch that loon that’s killing cats”. He said it was fine. Quite a few tenants had cats. That was a relief. Furball could stay and I wasn’t getting kicked out.
It was late October and Greg moved in. Furball wasn’t sure he liked that arrangement, but tolerated it. My office moved to the living room and the spare room became the guitar room. Furball claimed the sofa for his. When Greg had his surgery and was home for 6 weeks he spent days laying on Furball’s sofa, watching TV. This just wouldn’t do. Furball started going out during the day. Apparently the spoiled house cat didn’t like spending that much time outside anymore. The only way Furball was getting “his” sofa back was to curl up with Greg, so he did. To his surprise Greg was ok. He was getting pets and scratches that he usually didn’t get during the day since I was busy working. This became a daily routine and Greg became Furball’s buddy.
We stumbled across a farm for rent. It would be cheaper since we could have the horses with us and would have to pay board. It was half of a huge farmhouse, the downstairs of the barn and about 17 acres. We could fence as much as we wanted. Animals were welcome and I could get a dog if I wanted. It was closer to my Mom and Greg’s kids. It seemed like a very good move. I gave my notice and started packing to move. Furball was definitely ours and he was going with us.
Right before we moved I thought about getting a kitten for company for Furball. He was used to having outside cat friends. When Greg’s daughter was visiting for the weekend we went to a local shelter and let he pick out a kitten. Jasmine came home with us. We were a two cat family still living in a place where we weren’t supposed to have any cats. Furball immediately “adopted” Jasmine and they were buddies.
One morning I heard meowing and looked out the back door. There he was, asking to come in for breakfast. He ate, stayed for a bit and left. His after work visits continued, but leaving after he ate stopped. He started staying longer and longer, following me around as I’d do what needed to be done. He’d lie on the bed as I changed out of my work clothes, sit in the kitchen while I cooked dinner. He eventually meowed to go back out. If he was going to come every day, several times a day he needed a name. Anyone that knows me can tell you I’m very bad at naming pets. For lack of anything creative and because of what he was leaving all over the house, it became Furball.
My manager at work asked me several times if I wanted to work from home. After the third time I started to feel it was no longer a request so I said yes. It took Furball no time to figure out I wasn’t leaving anymore in the mornings. He’d come in for breakfast and stay almost all day. The complex had a no pet policy and it looks live I’ve been adopted.
After Jasmine died I didn’t want another cat. My heart was broken and I really had no interest. Thanksgiving weekend in 2007 Greg convinced me to go to the shelter and just look. What I saw was a tiny, mouse grey kitten all alone in a cage. They took her out an handed her to me. She was brought in as a stray and they estimated her to be about 7 weeks old. Although a little timid and frightened, she seemed to be a nice kitten.
Furball was good with kittens and he seemed to like having company again. Watching her play she looked like a little field mouse. That little kitten turned out to be hell on four little paws. She was always beating on Furball until he smacked her hard enough to send her tumbling across the floor. She was put in her place and was much more mellow with him. We’d try to play with her and she’d viciously attack us with biting, clawing and growling. After only two days she’d worn out her welcome. If the shelter was still open the miserable kitten would have gone back that night. I don’t remember what Greg was doing, but it has nothing to do with Mouse. She ran over and tore into his arm. As as reaction he pulled back and smacked her (probably harder than he should have). She got up, shook her head and suddenly became a very nice kitten. Attacking people stopped. She got very cuddly and lovable. She’d sit in you lap and sleep. She was still hell on paws. We’d catch her sitting on top of the living room curtain rods and walking across clothes on hangers in the closet. Mouse was going to be an interesting kitten to have around.
Jazzy was like a brilliant shooting star that burned out all too quickly. She went 100 mph all day and crashed hard at night. She loved all life had to offer.
It was getting a little expensive to pay rent on the townhouse and board for my horse. My boyfriend and I were moving to a farm where we could have our horses. Furball had been mine for quite some time and I certainly wasn’t going to leave him behind when I moved. We decided he might like company so we went to the Humane Society to look at kittens. Greg’s daughter picked out a kitten and named her Jasmine. By the time we were ready to move Jazzy was litter trained and she and Furball were buddies.
They both loved the farm. A larger house to fun around, steps to race up and down. Furball could be out all day and not have to be on the lookout for other cats or traffic. When Jazzy was old enough to start going out, Furball stayed in the yard with her. They’d lay on the deck or in the grass. He never went far.
Jazzy was my puppy cat and loved to go for walks with us. On our after dinner walks, she followed us thru the fields, down to the creek and in the creek. I guess nobody every told her cats don’t like water. It was only a few inches deep so I didn’t worry about her being in it. She’d chase bugs and look for minnows. On our way home one day she lagged behind. I looked around and caught her taking a swim in a deeper pool she discovered. Every day after that it became a regular stop for her. We’d wait until she was done her swim and continue our walk.
In the house she was a terror. Racing around like a maniac, walking on the top of the window where they both meet, climbing up the screens. She’d finally crash and cuddle with us while we watched TV.
As long as the weather was nice, I left the back door open so Jazzy and Furball could come and go. I could see them on the back deck from my office. One day I heard a noise and looked to discover Jazzy bringing a 2′ snake into the house. I quickly ran into the laundry room and shut the door to prevent the snake from getting into the house. We didn’t need another episode like the time somebody brought a live mouse into the house, dropped it and both refused to catch it again. I separated kitten and snake, shuffled snake out the door and closed it with both cats inside.
All of us loved being at the farm. Jasmine would help us with outside chores, barn work and fencing. If we were outside she was always around us while Furball went off and did his own thing. Greg and I were on the back deck and Furball was in the middle of the yard. Jazzy came running thru the yard form the hedgerow. She caught her first bird and was bringing it to us. Furball ran up to her, snatched it right out of her mouth and took off towards the hedgerow. Poor Jazzy came up to us looking very disappointed. I told her it was a very nice bird and it was ok that she didn’t get to give it to us.
After 20 years of marriage I found myself on my own. This is the first time in my life I didn’t have a critter. Pets weren’t permitted in the townhouse I was renting and I really missed my cats I had to leave behind.
Furball showed up just when I needed him most. The grey and white cat that kept showing up at my back door every evening when I got home from work. He’d howl to get in and I told him to go away – I couldn’t have pets. Keeping the slider closed and closing the curtains didn’t discourage him. He’d be there every day, asking to come in. I couldn’t take it anymore. I opened the door to go out to introduce myself and he bolted in. Now I had a large, strange cat in my kitchen looking for food. I dig around in the refrigerator for leftovers to give him. I gave him some water. I sat on the floor as he ate his fill. When he was finished he came over, rubbed against my leg and played on the floor like he owned the place. We visited for awhile. He was a very nice cat. He had to belong to someone, but he was very thin like he’d been a stray for quite some time. He went to the door and meowed. I opened the door and he left. The following day on my way home from work I stopped and bought some cat food and bowls in case he came back. He was there when I got home. I opened the slider and he ran in like he belonged there. I filled his bowls and gave them a home in the kitchen. He ate, visited and left. And so our relationship began.