On our farm, for as long as I can remember we always had a dog and several cats. They were never pampered but the family dog was always allowed to sleep in the house because she was easily trained to stay on the big soft floor mat just inside the kitchen door. Even if her feet were wet she could “stay on the mat.”
The only exception was when she tangled with a skunk and then she was banned from both the house and the barn for several days.
There was a difference, however, in the attitude of a dog and a cat. Dogs could be easily trained to stay on the mat and always went to the bathroom somewhere outside, the whereabouts no one knew of.
A cat seemed to think that it owned you and the entire house. As a result, very few cats were ever allowed in the house. Any cat that did get a house passport was on probation for a short time and if it didn’t learn to do its business outside within the first week, it would spend the rest of its life outside the house.
The dog was often allowed to travel in the farm truck but the cat could not be trusted to get back in the truck when it was time to go home. No pet was ever tied or put on a leash because my parents had a rule: if a pet doesn’t know enough to come home, it isn’t smart enough to live here. One dog never even got the truck cab dirty because he rode on the roof of our old 1956 green Dodge one ton.
Barn cats were treated much differently on our farm. The barn cats were respected for their hard work keeping mice, rat, bird, and squirrel population to a minimum around our buildings on the farm. Barn cats were always lean, observant, and agile, not like some house cats that were often ten pounds overweight and only moved quickly when they heard the vacuum cleaner turn on.
Barn cats always got a little milk twice a day when the milking was finished. The amount given was in proportion to the condition of those at the dish twice a day. Barn cats were also not allowed to dirty the barn and if anyone noticed a cat doing his business in the barn, it was unceremoniously ushered outside. After a few of these fast, rough trips cats were seldom seen going to the bathroom anywhere.
Barn cats were always respected and kids were never allowed to play with or even touch kittens until their eyes were open. Some tom cats were mean and would kill any kittens that they found. If my grandpa or my dad caught a tom doing this, he also received the death penalty.
Barn cats got a little milk twice daily but were raised on mice and rats caught by the mother cat. Occasionally when the mother cat had too many rats or birds to feed her family, she would leave a nice plump rat or bird on our doorstep as gratitude for allowing her to live at our farm. My grandmother never got used to receiving these gifts.
Barn cats very seldom received medical attention unless there was an outbreak of rabies in our county. In that case, the next visit that the vet made to our dairy herd he was asked if he had time to vaccinate the dog and whatever cats could be caught for rabies. Maybe it was unneeded prevention but we never had an animal die from rabies on our farm. After that visit and for several visits thereafter, as soon as the vet’s car entered our yard most cats became invisible.
I can only remember one cat surgery being performed on our farm. Club Foot Charlie was one of the few tom cats that both worked for a living hunting mice and also respected kittens. Charlie developed a tumor growing on a toe on his right front foot. Every time that Dr. Armitage visited our farm we could see him watching the growth on Charlie’s toe to see if it was growing or affecting his health. After half the winter was passed, the growth of the tumor had grown the size of a marble and was affecting Charlie’s ability to hunt and even walk around.
One morning, my dad asked Roly, “What do you think about the tumor on the cat’s foot?”
Dr. Armitage replied, “He looks healthy and maybe I could remove the tumor if you bring him to the office, all my tools and anesthetic is back in the office.”
Charlie wasn’t that well- trained in traveling and my dad said my jackknife is sharp and I can hold Charlie for you.
Dad used his knife for everything from cutting a chew of a plug of tobacco to castrating tom cats and it was always sharp enough to do either. He had a pair of leather gauntlets that came up to his elbows and only used for driving the team.
Roly disinfected the jackknife with creolin (a disinfectant commonly used on the farm) and dad held down on a board used as a shelf along the south wall of the stable. There was a bit of screaming from the cat and a bit of urine flying but within seconds, Dr. Armitage amputated Charlie’s toe that the tumor was attached to, disinfected it with creolin and they released the patient.
Charlie wasn’t seen for several days but eventually came back to the barn and continued to live a healthy and much happier and agile life.
Every fall about Labour Day weekend we observed an increase in the cat population in our barn. We assumed that summer vacationers couldn’t bring the summer pet back to the apartment in the city and hence, dropped it off on our road while going home from the holidays.
Some of these cats survived and added new blood to our herd of cats. Many of these drop-offs lacked street sense and either got killed because they failed to look before crossing the road or got crushed by a cow who failed to warn a sleeping cat before lying down. We never turned away any animal in need of shelter as long as it obeyed the rules. Enjoy and be good to your pet, but get it spayed/neutered.
Chris Judd is a farmer in Clarendon on land that has been in his family for generations. gladcrest@gmail.com
