Butch

Page three          11-19-08     Tenants of the lower (old) house down below me about five years or more ago, had had twenty-three cats! And when they moved away about a half year later did not take all their felines with them. At first, I trapped a few in my Havvahart live animal trap because they were decimating the turkey chick population, and, as these former tenants had originally moved over to Mike Davis' on Eckley Road just a few miles away, I transported them over to near there in hopes that they would rejoin their peers. But then I found out that these cat-abandoners had moved farther away from our valley and this led to me just killing those few more that got caught in my trap.     A few years passed with them (the years) populated with the disenheartening fact of a she mountain lion grabbing all but one of my mature turkey hens three summers ago; leaving her with fifty little turkey chicks in tow . . . The loggers west of here that year told me that the lion had two young, which explained the serious level of depredation that had been occurring that summer.     Those fifty chicks survived to maturity, freaking me out about the hundred and twenty-five dollars a month I was spending on wild bird seed at the time. This motivated me to give away almost three dozen of them over the course of the next year; whittling the flock down to a surviving dozen or fourteen as last spring began. With the advent of their mating and then egg-laying and then setting periods, all of them went to nesting out in the wild away from her and most of them emigrating further away to never again put in an appearance here, except for the white one. When she brought her first batch of hatchlings in here, I noted that with each day's passing, one or two less chicks, I knew that some predator was again raiding close by. It was my cat who never uttered one sound except when another cat or raccoon came through here, uttered that growl one night that spurred me to again haul the trap out of storage and set it outside my front door that night. In the morning was a large black and white long-tailed exceedingly healthy female ferel cat inside. I avoided just killing the beast because I thought that it may have actually been one of my neighbor's cats, so I put it in the cage I have rigged in a part of my front porch; and set about going from one neighbor to another—which took me a day and a half to connect with them all—before realizing that this cat was, in fact, a ferel one. Coming home about midday the next day to kill it, I discovered to my dismay—and astonishment—that the cat had clawed its way through the two layers of plywood that was the floor of this cage and escaped. By then, I knew that the one remaining white hen had begun a second batch of eggs to set on and was somewhat agonized to think that she seemed destined to lose her second go-round of egg-laying and then setting for the three dozen days of this work to this blankety-blank ferel cat. But, I guess that said cat had gotten some sort of 'message' about me and my threat to her freedom and appears to have split for less-dangerous climes; which (apparently) allowed Ms. White turkey hen to actually succeed in bringing her second round of hatchlings to fruition; only losing three-quarters of them to whatever—a seeming fairly normal rate-of-survival. as I have experienced it over the decade of having had turkeys around.     Just last week, I spotted what I believe to be that same darn cat sneaking off Dement Creek Road down close to where the pavement starts, as I was driving home—five miles (and seven months) away. I thought to myself: I'd better set that trap again next spring . . .and this time I'll kill that no good, if I get the chance. I know: A rather negatively-toned story for you, which I did not really want to lapse into, but a story, nonetheless. for whatever it may or may not be 'worth.' I must admit to being very very glad and relieved to not be a turkey husband anymore, and not be spending such an exorbitant amount of my limited funds on birdseed; nor feel chained to here anymore. The freedom is palpable, though lonely by compare. And it is also a relief to not be sidestepping the dozens and dozens of turkey turds I had to tiptoe my way through to go in and out of my house for so many years. And also: Not having to kill live wild critters anymore, either. I would never make a butcher, and only did a few turkeys over the years; and sure regretted having to kill the few dozen predators that I did over those same years of my turkey-husbandry times. Raccoons, skunks, & ferel cats.