Sunday, July 27, 2008
When we first moved to the farm, we knew there were a number of cat spies that would stealth around at night, seeking warmth and food at the inn. One was the calico that later we named Mama Kitty, who I was unable to trap for two years, so great was her survival mechanism. Within those two years she had three litters, one of which totally disappeared. But the first litter consisted of Sweet Pea, Hazel, Mr. Plum and Mr. Quince, and Angustifolia aka 'Gus'.
My introduction to Gus was charming. I was in the sheep barn and out of nowhere, a tiny orange fuzzball popped out of the hay bales. He looked like something out of a cartoon, and was no more than a week or two old I assumed. Gus was always the chunky one, very brave, very independent, but always willing to be around. He has since grown into a civil little mouser, eating the entire body, which is helpful to the barn master.
Gus is not the cuddly type, but he does allow me to pet him. He has the kind of cheeks you want to squeeze and say things only humans conjure up, "Smooshy wooo-wooo moopsey". Gus prefers polite, but to the point and move on conversations, such as "Mornin', Gus." What else needs to be said?