For whom the bell tolls...

Oh my stars, it has been a rough morning here at Honey Creek.  The girls had a camp out in their room last night with their play tent and had a great time.  Bug was right on top of things this morning and was very prompt about taking the tent down and taking it back out to the garage.  However when she went outside, things took a turn.

She came in and found me getting Biggin' dressed, and very quietly said, "Mama, I think something is wrong with Beaners.  She's laying in front of your truck and not moving.  I think she might be dead."  (Sigh.)

Beaners was our trusty barn cat.  She was born at the farm that we rented before we moved to Honey Creek.  I found her and her litter the day before their eyes opened and I made sure to hold them every day so that they would imprint with humans.  Their mother was feral and I was tired of barn cats that I couldn't catch and spay/neuter.  She had three other littermates that didn't survive kittenhood on the farm.  Since Beaners was the last surviving kitten and we were moving to Honey Creek, she lived at the vet clinic I worked at for a month until she was big enough to be a barn cat at the new farm.

We've had a hard time keeping barn cats here, but Beaners always stuck around and kept herself out of trouble.  She was always curious and checking out all of the farm and wild life on the farm:

She was always getting in the middle of something, if you were trying to fix something in the barn lot, or trying to, say, capture a photo on Halloween:

Heck, a few years ago I thought we had lost her.  I heard a commotion in the back yard, the dogs barking and carrying on.  When I went out to investigate I discovered they had gotten a hold of the cat and had really beat her up bad.  She was hanging on by a thread.  I called my mom to come out and stay with MiMe while I took the cat to the vet.  I was a sobbing mess. 

By the time Mom arrived, the cat had passed away.  I held her and wept.  MiMe was napping, so I picked a spot along the field where Beaners loved to hunt her prey and I buried her while I waited for Mom to arrive.  My mom pulled up just as I finished with the last shovel of soil.  Mom gave me a hug and consoled me. 

That evening as I passed the back door to feed the dogs, I heard a noise out on the porch.  A meow.  I stopped in my tracks (and to be honest, damn near pissed my pants).  I turned on the porch light and looked outside.  There sat Beaners.  How I didn't scream, I don't know!

I flung open the door and checked her out.  She was fine and fit as a fiddle.  I grabbed a flashlight and ran out to inspect my freshly dug grave on the fence line.  Still there.  Okay, so no "Pet Cemetery" stuff going on.  I had buried someone else's cat!  I cried and laughed so hard!  Of course, I had to call my mom right away to tell her...

This morning, we were not that lucky.  It really was my Beaners curled up in the snow in front of my truck.  She had died in her sleep, the snow was melted beneath her and there were no signs of trauma or illness.  MiMe and I said goodbye to her and we will bury her (again) once the ground thaws.

As if that wasn't bad enough, not fifteen minutes after I came in from dealing with the deceased cat, I hear Bug cry out, "Moooooommmmmmmm!" from her bedroom.  I go running and when I get there, she's crying. 

"My fish is dead!  It got caught in his new pot and he DIED!"

At this point, I didn't know if I should laugh or cry.  Instead, I just hugged Bug and let her do the crying.  Sure enough, the new tank decoration that Bug had put in her betta fish tank had proved too tempting for the little blue fish and he got stuck in the opening.  So this afternoon we'll be heading to the pet store for a new Betta fish.  And I'm sure this spring we'll start the search for some new barn kitties.

And so it goes...