A lot of animals have come and gone in my long life, most of them cats. Many of the cats in my life have been orphan kittens, who only stuck around until they found a new home. My Pixel, the tuxedo and most senior of the cats came to live with me when I snatched her from her owner who was taking her to be put down because “we just have too many cats” (they had two more, Pixel's mother and brother). At the time we had also Dog, Horse and Chook. The four of them got along nicely, with many adventures to tell. But along the way Horse, Chook and then Dog went to play along the Rainbow Bridge, and there was a new Dog (White Cloud, now living in Queensland with the grandkids) and Houdini, our white (former) Tom. Houdini came to stay after he had been found abandoned and wandering the streets at about 3 weeks of age and raised with two rottie-pit bull cross dogs. He was then called Rawhide, because he was a voluntary pup chew toy.Houdini can hold his own with any dog. When he crosses yards, rotties go to their kennels. He is also the biggest smoozer in town. He is an on your lap and up your nose smoozer, who leaves you covered in white hair. He is basically an out door cat, but can be counted on to make an appearance if there are guests. Especially if that guest is wearing black.
Since those two came into my life, there has been a procession of orphans. Ruby, our joey who thought she was a cat and even used the litter box, was a joy. Watching her play football with the kittens brought innumerable smiles to my face. But eventually she had to move on to a wild life refuge, and her playmate kittens, Tigger and Rascal, found new homes with people who love them very much.
The latest additions to the zoo are Gizmo and Kiwi, sisters born just after their mother was dumped in the bush. The mother, though in labour, found her way to a friend’s plantation and was rescued and given a home in a shed. I took them at age 6 weeks. They are part of the sunshine in my life.
It took a while for Houdini and Pixel to accept the kittens, and spent most of their indoor time next door at their “other home”, but finally the ice was broken with a large bowl of kitty milk and things began to purr along. Pixel began to teach the natural hunter of the two, Kiwi (named so because she is All Black), how to catch mice. She has so far not had the opportunity to teach her how to kill deadly snakes, but after observing little miss Kiwi in action with the 3 inch flying cockroaches, I have no doubt that she will prove to be part Mongoose.
The newest addition to the family has so far proved to be something of a character. Although an orphan, this one will not be going to a refuge or a new owner as a pet. There is no call for his kind except for meat, milk and leather, and being male, the milk is out. His fate is sealed. But while he is still young, he is a delight!
Ramacus is a Dalmah sheep, or to be more specific, a lamb. He is a sheep with hair rather than wool, and when found next to his road kill mum with the cord still moist on his little belly, everyone thought he was a feral goat. However, two days after he arrived, four real goats arrived to clean the yards, and they would have nothing to do with him, nor he with them. Being a serious herd animal, however, he needed a herd of his very own.
So he learned to herd cats.
Where ever you see Ramacus, you will see cats. Never less than one, never more than four, as that is all there are in his herd. But they are always nearby, often lolling in the shade of the nearest bush or tree or fence to where Ramacus is busily keeping the weeds under control. More often you will find them beneath his belly, wandering in and out between his legs and play fighting with each other, or tackling the ever-growing job of washing the fellows face or cleaning out his ears. This last part is often done in spite of his objection.
Just as often they will be running the length of the east paddock, otherwise known as the back yard next door, which is about 27 metres long and 7 metres wide and has a nice hill in one back corner built of slowly composting yard cuttings. Here they will play king of the mountain, with the little ram usually the winner, having head butted any and all down the hill in quick order. There is also an obstacle course of sorts consisting of an old brick barbecue upon which is stacked lengthwise a number of 8-10cm by 3 metre tree trunks and a small quantity of lumber topped by a coil of intertwined passion fruit “trunks”, an old dilapidated shade cloth shed with no doors at either end, a dead washing machine and a hills hoist. The herd will tear through this course, first cats in pursuit of lamb and then back the other way lamb galloping after cats in the manner in which lambs “gallop”, all four feet tucked up between bounces, until one or more of the cats will jump up on the before mentioned barbecue and scramble into the coil of passion fruit trunks where Ramacus can no longer see them.
He will screech to a halt and gaze around him, searching for them, and then will spot the one who remains on the ground, as there is always at least one. He will then look around himself one more time for the others. The cat remaining on the ground, most often Pixel as she is a bit to fat to fit into the coil, becomes the opposition in a bit of head butting. This is not really Pixel's idea of fun, so she will usually take it reluctantly 2 or 3 times, but rather quickly the paw will go up, the teeth are shown, and a loud hiss is heard. This, of course, does nothing more than make Ramacus look at her like she is a bit off. At this point Pixel will turn and stroll off, tail high in air as if to say, “I have much to much dignity to give this nonsense any more of my time.” And will wander off to the front yard, where she usually plants herself on top of the fence. Here she will sit, surveying the world outside and wait for some unsuspecting passer by to notice and pay her homage, until she becomes bored.
In the meantime, Ramacus will begin to call for the others. Quietly at first, but each bleat a bit louder as the cats take a cat nap until they are forced to show themselves by leaping to the ground and running like a 4th leg marathoner to beat him to the top of the hill. While they often beat him to the top, their heads are just not up to the task of retaining their positions, so they run back towards the front of the yard and the whole thing begins again.
In the late afternoon, when the sun has moved to the west and the front yard is in shade, Ramacus is usually moved there where he can continue his job of weed control and grass clipping. Because of low fencing and rose bushes, he must be kept on a lead. The length of the lead and the location of the tie down is adjusted to keep him from becoming tangled around and to keep him just nose away from said roses. Roses are his 3rd favourite snack, just behind frangipani and pumpkin blossom. This fact was learned the hard way, unfortunately.
When Ramacus is thus tied, it limits how much running he can do with Kiwi and Gizmo, they being the only 2 of the cats who will be seen as an active and participatory in these games with a sheep in public. Houdini will plant himself under a bush and watch the show, while Pixel stands guard on her fence, keeping an eye out for passers by who might see catdom as somehow diminished by a public display of such intimacy between species. I also suspects she is hoping to convince one of those same passers by to adopt a kitten. She has, on occasion, tried to lure one or both kittens towards the open ground between the fence and the street. I am yet not sure if she hopes to encourage then to go walkabout or to get hit by a car. Either is well within her capabilities, I think.
Back to the rope. The one with which Ramacus is constrained in the yard outside of his paddock. Over the past week it has had to be replaced 4 times. This is a 6mm nylon rope, new. Each time it was found to have been bitten through. The 3rd time he was found just finishing off a snack of pumpkin blossoms, the new ones that had grown, finally, to replace the ones he ate the last time he was found in the pumpkin patch. How it had come to break was a mystery. It was the forth rope that exposed the truth of the matter.
On this day Ramacus was staked where he could be seen him from the office window. As usual, Kiwi and Gizmo were in attendance. Ramacus was too busy with offerings in the lawn to want to play, and it was a rather warm day, so the kittens retired to the porch and had a catnap in the camp chair. Ramacus went on grazing without noticing they had gone for about half an hour, until he needed a drink of water. He took a few sips and then looked around for his herd. He soon spotted them on the porch, and went bouncing over the join them, but they were a bit outside the limit of his rope. He pulled a couple of times just to be sure before he began to call them.
They didn’t even look up, although their ears twitched a tiny bit. He continued to call, waiting as much as 30 seconds between bleats to see if they would respond. Each bleat got a little more insistent, and he pulled at the rope with each one until finally both cats raised their head to look. The tone of the bleating now changed. It was loud! It was determined! The two cats looked at each other, and then Kiwi shrugged, stretched, and hopped down off the chair. The bleating got louder. Kiwi strolled over to Ramacus and began washing his face. Ramacus settled down and went back to grazing. Kiwi continued to wash his face for a minute or two more, then he laid down in the grass and went back to sleep. Or tried to. Ramacus decided that the grass where Kiwi was now quite comfortable settled was the best in the yard, and he butted Kiwi off. Kiwi promptly returned to the porch, setting off another wave of bleats and rope pulling.
It was at this point that Gizmo joined the party. They both went to wash lamb face and ears until he settled down to grazing again, and then they moved about one-third of the way down the rope and began chewing through it. They chewed with determination until at last they jumped up and ran full gallop towards the porch, prompting the lamb to bound after them. This time when he reached the end of his rope he kept going. The cats, both now safely back in their chair, turned and looked towards the open window with quite smug looks on their faces and then proceeded to wash the lamb head now resting on the chair with them, the rest of the lamb standing nicely in the shade of the porch, where he promptly peed.
Ramacus has trained his Catherd very well. He is also the proud, but frustrated owner of a brand new 3-metre chain.
PS: Ramacus will NOT end up in the freezer. He is now a full on pet.
Copyright © Katherine Juestel
January 28, 2006
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