Every morning, I walk out to the Little Barn between 6 and 6:30, just to check on everyone, to say good morning to the day, and to give hungry friends some breakfast. The cats know the routine. The first face I see is Tiger’s as she stands on the porch steps with her paws on the glass of the screen door, one paw on either side of her head. She just stares in the window at me. Apparently, I’m always late. As I carry her down to the barn, Steve will dash across the way from the big barn and jump through the cat door into the Little Barn. He’ll be waiting for me as I open the door, making sure I pet him before I can step over him to get inside.  Echo ~ well, Echo has no set pattern, but he always finds me and informs me, rather loudly, that he’s hungry. As I walk inside, the first voice I hear is Miracle’s.  At least it was. Today was her Freedom Day, and now, I’m not sure how she will greet the day and me. 

Miracle

The Day Before Freedom Day: As I walk into the Little Barn, I hear the most plaintive “meoww…” one could imagine. The tone is soft, the vowels are drawn out, and the pitch is high. With the next “meow,” the pitch lowers a bit, the vowels become sharper, and the tone is, well, rather insistent. By the time I reach the crate where this little kitten is staying, her MEOW comes out in capital letters ~ demanding and clipped. And loud. I kneel by the crate door, say good morning softly, and reach my arm inside to root around in the straw for the buried food dish. Before I know it, I have four cat arms wrapped tightly around my forearm, cat teeth trying to get through my barn gloves, and a cat hanging upside down from my coat. Apparently, Miracle is really done being in her crate!

Freedom Day: John and I walked into the Little Barn later than usual this morning, and Miracle’s “meow” was already at the insistent stage. As I knelt down by the crate door, John reached over to unlatch it. The door swung open…and one hesitant paw reached out of the opening. Then another hesitant paw reached out … and then she was off, running immediately into the little crate I used for her when I cleaned her larger crate. Then she was off again, back arched, tail held high and puffed out to twice its normal diameter. Over the bales of straw, into a corner; around the bales of straw, into a hole in the wall; between the bales of straw, and headlong into…Tiger. Tiger hissed, Miracle jumped back, and then with her back still arched and all the fur along her spine sticking straight up, Miracle started hopping. Sideways. She hopped away from Tiger and back between the hay bales. Out she came and hopped sideways down the center of the room. Tiger just watched, and John and I laughed. 

For the next hour, Miracle hopped all over two of the three rooms of the Little Barn. Echo watched, Tiger hissed, and the sheep had no idea what to make of this new little kitten, although Bella tried to touch noses and was met with a firm swat of a paw. Several hours later, though, Miracle has calmed down, and her hopping has turned into dashing from here to there and back again. I know all will be well, though, because as I tried to leave the Little Barn after checking on her, she grabbed onto my leg with all four arms and tried to bite through my jeans. 

Tiger

Tiger is a circus trapeze artist in feline form. She will walk on the metal roof of the Little Barn, she will stroll across beams that hold up the roof, and she will scale walls, trees, and posts without seeming to give it a second thought. She is forever slipping over, under, around and through doors to get inside anywhere, and she’s learned to balance on my shoulder when I set her there. She loves to be held ~ when she wants to be held. She takes her time deciding exactly which food dish to eat out of on any given day, then she hisses to guard her time there. She is feisty and confident and agile. She also seems tremendously opposed to the very idea of Miracle. The next few days could be harrowing! 

Echo

Echo’s the chill cat, reminding me of Garfield in so many ways. In Echo’s universe, afternoons are perfect for naps in the straw with Wilma and Betsie.  The water in the bucket in Bella, Cricket, and Mary’s stall tastes the best, and he’ll eat sheep grain wherever it may be. Swatting at things, though, that’s clearly fun and worth the energy output. He’ll climb up the stall fencing, sit on the rail and swat at my head as I clean the stall.  As Steve dashes inside the cat door, Echo’s white paw reaches out from wherever he’s waiting and swats at Steve’s chest as he runs past.  And if Tiger gets that much annoying, out will come Echo’s paw and swat at her nose. His claws are always retracted, and he rarely moves afterwards. He’s not too happy with human arms holding him, but he purrs a bit, very quietly, before squirming away.  I’m not worried about Echo and Miracle. When I just left them, Miracle had done a somersault over Echo’s back, landing upside down under his belly. Echo just stood there, looking at her. 

Steve

Steve is our panther cat ~ sleek, even with his winter fur, slinky, quiet. Steve does not want trouble, but if trouble comes to him, he’s ready. I’ve watched him take down a 13-lined ground squirrel with no problems, and he loves playing with small mice as they try to get away. They never get away.  He has the poise of a hunter, yet when I call for him, he comes running ~  through the pastures, out of the barn ~ and when he reaches me, he rolls on his back for belly rubs.   When the three storms of this past December hit, I was so worried for him for he hadn’t become comfortable with Echo and Tiger at that point. By the time the wind howled and the snow drifted everything closed during the storm before Christmas, though, I found Steve curling up in the Little Barn, side-stepping Echo’s swats, and hissing Tiger out of his food. He seems very curious about Miracle, and I think I’m glad for this. When I had changed Miracle’s straw, or put fresh water in her crate, Steve sat on a bale of hay and just stared at us, watching, watching, watching. I would walk away wondering if I had seen the hunter or the kindred spirit. 

Life

Dave’s disappearance taught me that a barn cat’s life is joy and terror mixed into a cocktail that swirls differently every day. I don’t know if they think about the terror part. I know I do.  I worry about Tiger because she’s so small; I worry about Echo because he moves so slowly; I worry about Steve because he hunts fearlessly. I know I’ll worry about Miracle, but I wouldn’t change a thing for any of them. I watch them everyday being themselves, and I know I see their joy. Tiger scales walls and looks down at me with such satisfaction. Echo’s eyes go to slits as he relaxes into the straw for a nap. Steve’s back arches just a bit as he stares down at his paw, under which squirms his latest victim. I’m looking forward to seeing what brings Miracle joy. Hopefully, it will be something besides hanging from my arms and legs.