My Shadow.

I would be remiss to discuss my life on the farm without mentioning the cat.

Though the Dairy Man long ago dubbed this black ball of fur “Shadow” because he followed me around like a bedraggled puppy, I am just as likely to call him by his original name: “Cat.”

Cat came into our lives when we moved into our first house after getting married. The previous owners mentioned that there was a black cat that occasionally lived in the barn. For the first several weeks, we didn’t see a hair of him. But the Dairy Man saw signs of life near the barn, so he started leaving food out to see if he could coax the feline out of hiding.

To make a long story short, the cat showed up. He started eating our food. And, much to my chagrin, the Dairy Man kept moving his bowl closer and closer to our house. It’s not that I don’t like cats, but once this cat was our friend, he was our friend. He was waiting outside the door to terrify/trip me at 6:30 a.m. when I left for work. He came bounding from the trees whenever my car pulled into the driveway and would follow/trip me up the steps to the house and try to sneak in the door behind me. If I didn’t get out of my car quickly enough, he would sit directly outside the door and meow incessantly. Once he even climbed on to the hood of my car and put his paws on the windshield as if to say, “GET OUT AND FEED ME.” He was constantly annoying me, tripping me, terrifying me, meowing at me, or staring at me. People would tell me, “It’s not a big deal, he’s just being friendly.” But I knew he was evil. Those beady eyes followed my every move. I was a prisoner in my own house. Dairy Man affectionately called him Shadow. I indignantly called him “Dangitcat!”

Then, for no reason other than to distract him from my legs, I started feeding him. I discovered that if there was food in his bowl, he would leave me alone and I could walk to the house in peace. This discovery brought a level of begrudging tolerance to our relationship. I even started making him earn his supper—no food would be poured until he rubbed against my legs to acknowledge his subordinate role and gratitude.

Thus was my fatal mistake. Cat started to like me. I started to like Cat. I vehemently denied this fact to family and friends, but Cat had started to weasel his way into my heart.

A few months after I married the Dairy Man, we moved to a new (our current) house ON the dairy farm. We faced a dilemma: to take the cat or not to take the cat? On one hand, he was 100 percent an outside cat. People saw him all over the neighborhood. This was his turf, his home. We fed him, but he was perfectly able to fend for himself. Would he be happy on the new farm?

We feared he would try to run away from the new house, exposing his furry self to cars, cougars, and getting lost, so we left him. But out of guilt, I kept going back to the old house to feed him. I couldn’t leave him alone. So, one dark night, the Dairy Man catnapped our feline and brought him clawing and squawking to the dairy.

Since then, Cat has adjusted well. He appears to be the leader of a small group of wayward barn kitties and is seen all over the farm, as evidenced below:

Cat by the sliding door (watching us eat dinner):

Cat looking in the kitchen window:

Cat in the barn:

Cat has been here (poor car):

All of his creepiness aside, I’m glad that Shadow and I have worked out our differences. I might even like him just a little bit. But shhh, don’t tell.

6 thoughts on “My Shadow.

  1. I love your cat story. I am a dairy farmer’s wife but my story is different from yours as I grew up on a dairy farm and left when I was 19 for a small city and it was 14 years later when I met my dairy farmer. We’ve been married 17 years now and very thankful to be back on a dairy farm. I love cats, but my husband has a (cat)phobia so he had no cats on the farm when I moved here. But my husband is a softy and soon cats were part of the farm scene.

    My husband also has a rule “no animals in the house” which this year I have broken the rule twice. As I said, he is a softy. The first time I broke the rule this year is when I brought a new born calf in the house that was on the brink of death to warm him up. He was found that way when we went out to do morning chores on March 13 and at the beginning of evening chores that same day the calf was finally thawed out and we moved him out of the house. He is still living well on the farm.

    The eve of Easter my favorite barn cat, CeCe was jumping up on me and meowing at me and I couldn’t figure out at first what she wanted. When she turned around I seen a sack sticking out of her so knew she was having her kittens. I asked our 15 year old son to go get a towel box from the milk house which he did and put CeCe in it and took her to the house. When I asked our son what did she do when he did that he said she purred. She was put inside his bathroom, where she is still residing with the four kittens she had by 2 am on Easter morning. All five of them are so quite you would not know they are even in the house. They have their eyes open now and each time I open up the bathroom door CeCe is purring.

    On the farm there is always something to write about!

  2. Glad the cat story has a happy ending. The cat must have wanted to be with you two over where he was as I have two cat stories that didn’t turn out like that. The first one a stray feline moved in under our single wide trailer our first home) and depended on us to feed her. When we moved I figured she would come with us but she had other ideas. I brought her twice down to where we lived and each time she went back and so I had to let it be. The second we had a great rat hunter and one of our farming neighbors was looking for a cat that would hunt rats so let him take her. It was only 2 miles away cross country but it also met even the shortest route she had to cross 3 roads, several streams and swamps. When she came home I figured she deserved to stay here.

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