My OperaCats. Rats. The Usual.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008 7:54:33 PM
Cat psychology is interesting.
We have a mostly enclosed back yard. That is to say thet the back is a chain link fence (25 years old and begging for replacement, but it may be "historical" and need permits <g>), and brick, and wooden pickets are on either side. The feral cats can climb in and out, but our cats haven't really tried to get out. Probably could if they wanted, but the pounds per square inch of chain link in a 23 pound Maine Coon's paw are different from an eight pound alley cat.
Small possums and racoons have visited. And left, sometimes urged by a screaming homeowner waving a Weber grill lid. As an aside, the editor recalls standing on the porch looking (in fairly low light) down at the grill 20 feet away and thinking that the large Main Coon
looked a little funny standing stright up and investigating a still hot grill, and finally deciding that the cat was lying doggo (sorry!) and that the Maine Coon cat imposter was a real Raccoon. Hence the grill lid thing. But that raccoon's Maine Coon Cat imitiation was Ed Sullivan quallity.
The Rat.
Neither the older cat, nor Keiran, the younger,
have well developed rat or mouse catching skills, what with being breeder cats.
So, two nights ago the small cat (12 pounds) comes in with what looks like a large hunk of loose hair hanging from his ruff. And acting strangely. Stops on one of the rugs. Mosby comes over. Sniffs. Editor's (former Peace Corps) wife goes over, checks. It's a mostly dead not fully grown rat. Not too bloody. Editor hands her paper towel. She picks it up, hands to editor. Editor stops thinking "rat burrito" and goes outside and accelerates the teenage rat's demise. Then puts in trash. With treats for cats, of course.
The Interesting Part
For the next two days, the small cat occupied all of the big cats favorite spots, on the sofa, in the window, around the kitchen. The big cat sulked. And the big cat is used to batting the small cat around whenever in the mood.
That's changed back now, but the alpha/beta exchange, even if temporary, was fascinating.
More.
It should probably be added that this is the first evidence of "rats" that we've seen in several years. Not that we don't think they aren't around to some degree, but we'd normally see evidence, such as holes in the flower beds, runover rats in the alley or on M Street, whatever. Usually, flareups of rat evidence occur when there's a construction job going on and uneaten sandwich parts are left out. (The editor has done construction. He understands.) The SOME truck, which used to feed the homeless and the drug dealers on the 1200 block of Ninth Street used to be a great boon to the rat population. But that's gone. Moved to L and Fourth Streets. Sic Transit Gentrification Mundi.
We have a mostly enclosed back yard. That is to say thet the back is a chain link fence (25 years old and begging for replacement, but it may be "historical" and need permits <g>), and brick, and wooden pickets are on either side. The feral cats can climb in and out, but our cats haven't really tried to get out. Probably could if they wanted, but the pounds per square inch of chain link in a 23 pound Maine Coon's paw are different from an eight pound alley cat.
Small possums and racoons have visited. And left, sometimes urged by a screaming homeowner waving a Weber grill lid. As an aside, the editor recalls standing on the porch looking (in fairly low light) down at the grill 20 feet away and thinking that the large Main Coon
looked a little funny standing stright up and investigating a still hot grill, and finally deciding that the cat was lying doggo (sorry!) and that the Maine Coon cat imposter was a real Raccoon. Hence the grill lid thing. But that raccoon's Maine Coon Cat imitiation was Ed Sullivan quallity.
The Rat.
Neither the older cat, nor Keiran, the younger,
have well developed rat or mouse catching skills, what with being breeder cats.
So, two nights ago the small cat (12 pounds) comes in with what looks like a large hunk of loose hair hanging from his ruff. And acting strangely. Stops on one of the rugs. Mosby comes over. Sniffs. Editor's (former Peace Corps) wife goes over, checks. It's a mostly dead not fully grown rat. Not too bloody. Editor hands her paper towel. She picks it up, hands to editor. Editor stops thinking "rat burrito" and goes outside and accelerates the teenage rat's demise. Then puts in trash. With treats for cats, of course.
The Interesting Part
For the next two days, the small cat occupied all of the big cats favorite spots, on the sofa, in the window, around the kitchen. The big cat sulked. And the big cat is used to batting the small cat around whenever in the mood.
That's changed back now, but the alpha/beta exchange, even if temporary, was fascinating.
More.
It should probably be added that this is the first evidence of "rats" that we've seen in several years. Not that we don't think they aren't around to some degree, but we'd normally see evidence, such as holes in the flower beds, runover rats in the alley or on M Street, whatever. Usually, flareups of rat evidence occur when there's a construction job going on and uneaten sandwich parts are left out. (The editor has done construction. He understands.) The SOME truck, which used to feed the homeless and the drug dealers on the 1200 block of Ninth Street used to be a great boon to the rat population. But that's gone. Moved to L and Fourth Streets. Sic Transit Gentrification Mundi.
