Feeding The Family
Boots the Cat (or possibly Wild Thing, but we really suspect Boots) is trying once again to contribute to the family larder. And I truly wish he’s stop. For several mornings now, we’ve found bunny parts waiting on our front porch. This is quite an unwelcome surprise. Sometimes we step out in sock feet to don a pair of muddy boots (so we can go out and get muddy all over again). Lately, we almost step in something too gross and gory to describe in detail. Sometimes it’s a leg or maybe a head. Sometimes it’s half a carcass.
(not for the queasy or faint of heart)
Boots the Cat (or possibly Wild Thing, but we really suspect Boots) is trying once again to contribute to the family larder. And I truly wish he’s stop. For several mornings now, we’ve found bunny parts waiting on our front porch. This is quite an unwelcome surprise. Sometimes we step out in sock feet to don a pair of muddy boots (so we can go out and get muddy all over again). Lately, we almost step in something too gross and gory to describe in detail. Sometimes it’s a leg or maybe a head. Sometimes it’s half a carcass.
Many cat owners have had the same experience. Our older cat, Tiger, now retired to the house for his own safety, previously held the position of resident rabbit and rodent hunter in the feline pecking order. His late brother, Smokey, often brought us the bounty. But we discovered after a time that Tiger was the true hunter and Smokey, being both lazier and larger, stole his brother’s treasures to “play with them” for a while, then present them as his own. Once, long ago, Smokey dashed into the house with a squealing, still-live baby bunny. He scurried with it under a bed, assuming he couldn’t be reached. He seemed quite proud of himself. In that instance, through human intervention, the bunny got lucky.
The cats always seem to leave the evidence where we will readily find it (an “AHA momen,t, if there ever was one! “Aha” here is a euphemism, folks). One of the Vet’s assistants put forth the explanation that the animal wants to help feed the family, proving his worth. I suppose Tiger before — and now Boots— figure if they bring us fresh meat now and then, we’ll continue doling out Meow Mix and other delicacies when hunting season is over. And after all, one hopes a farm or ranch cat will keep down the rodent population. We can’t exactly instruct Bootsy on the anatomical differences between bunnies and mice. If it’s smaller than he is and it moves, he will go after it. The few times we’ve caught Boots early enough, “playing” with a bunny, we’ve intervened (hopefully in time), and relocated the unfortunate, intended prey.
I’ve unfortunately witnessed the result when Stinky the Dog (and others of his kind) discover a rabbit nest. The result is horrifying to me, and it happens so quickly, there’s no time for intervention of any kind. In one gulp, down goes the prey, hair, bones, and all. (And here we’ve been so careful not to allow him any bones that might hurt him). As disgusting as this rabbit eating practice is to me, I understand it’s a natural instinct for creatures whose ancestors were noble hunters. I notice that, with the dogs, there’s absolutely no thought of returning to “the pack” with some of the bounty. I suppose, with canines, it’s every man for himself.
Gene Ellis, Ed.D is a Bosque County resident who returned to the family farm after years of living in New Orleans, New York, and Florida. She’s an artist who holds a doctoral degree from New York University and is writing a book about the minor catastrophes of life. Check out Genie’s blog at http://rusticramblings.wordpress.com/
