By Julie Carter
County folks have different crises than city folk. We don't fret much over ballet recitals, front row seats at the symphony, or trying to keep track of opera glasses.
Fine wine in crystal glasses rarely breaches the barriers of the beer and burp set.
With fair regularity, one of the crises dealt with in rural America is the lazy cat/fat rat problem.
There is something wrong when the weekly trip to the grocery store includes another round of cat food and additional rat bait for the barn.
Two recent stories from two different states tell me this is not a problem unique to any one region.
Her morning started quite peaceful. Just as she was about to pour her first cup of coffee, the pound cat -- called such because of his origin -- came through the open patio door with a prize for her.
Completely indoctrinated to the plan that food comes in a can, but country cat enough to be self-sufficient, he seemed to be supplementing his breakfast with a rat.
The pound cat also seemed to think he needed to eat this rat in the kitchen where everyone else eats. The mega-rat was in the walking-wounded category having survived the play-torture phase common to cats who catch rats.
When the cat put the rat down, the little woman grabbed a dish towel and made a mad dash for the rat, surprising even herself with her circumstantial speed.
About the time she had the rat captured in the towel, her resident cowboy appeared and said he needed to talk to her. She was already in rapid motion toward the door and didn't slow down at the sound of his voice.
This caused a loud "STOP!" command from the cowboy and she froze instantly in place while the dog ran to hide under the bed.
Calmly the cowboy told her his earthshaking can't-wait-another-second message, "Don't put the roping cattle out today. I want to look at them."
She showed him her rat which was actively objecting to being wrapped in a dish towel. He was unimpressed and left to start his day. Shrugging she thought, "This day has nowhere to go but up."
Throwing the rat out, she gave the dish towel a decent burial, washed her hands a dozen times, mopped the floor and hoped the coffee Juan Valdez was promising would make things look a little brighter. Maybe the dog would even come out from under the bed soon.
The other story involves five fat lazy cats living on the porch, two more with babies in the store room and four "even stupider dogs."
Much to this gal's surprise, she sees a fat healthy rat on the outside window sill. Looking around, she sees all the resident cats are asleep on the porch. She gathers up an armload of them and takes them to the rat. They look, stretch and purr. She even holds one up to the rat with the only response a swish of the cat's tail and a purr.
So with broom in hand, she swats the rat off the sill and he runs behind a big flower pot. The cats seem amused but never move. The rat runs up the wall and under the eaves. One more broom bat and it's down again. The cats don't move.
However, the "ranch security" dogs arrive to save the day. They run the cats back to their perches and a huge cat and dog fight ensues. This makes the broom again a handy item to swat cats and beat the dogs off the cats.
The rat is still on the eaves. Another broom swish brings it down and it makes yet another dash to the flower pot. The dogs chase after it and the flower pot goes flying sending potting soil everywhere.
The dogs chase, toss and play with the rat until someone takes pity on it. The dogs have had a grand time while the cats continued to sun themselves, lick their fur and give an occasional glance at the dogs.
And then there is the serial killer ranch cat. He kills not for food but for attention as he stacks his kill at the door for his mistress's approval.
Both heroines agree their cat food bill is about to take a serious drop.
© Julie Carter 2006
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