[Loch-ruadh] speaking of cats....

[Jane Sitton]

Well, actually, Logan is the cat wrangler.  Many of them think he is their
mommy, as he raised 5 kittens (who still had their eyes closed) after their
mama got hit by a car.

He has been wondering if he could rent the cats out to Miller Brewery across
the highway from us, as they have a huge problem with grackles.  From time
to time, they shoot off an air cannon, which is not a good idea around
Logan.  Let's just say it unnerves him.  We, of course, rarely have birds of
any kind enter our yard, and hardly any even light in the trees, except to
scold the cats.  We also have few junebugs, grasshoppers, moths, garter
snakes, lizards, or field mice.  The cats even catch any squirrels that
wander too closely to the huge pecan trees in my backyard.

Our home is next door to an apartment complex which is on a small bluff
overlooking Sycamore Creek.  Behind our house is a large field which runs
all the way down to the creek, which is near a set of train tracks.  These
tracks eventually cross Sycamore School Road, near Laird Caerell's home.  On
the other side of the train tracks, the field picks up again, and runs along
Alta Mesa all the way to Crowley Road (well, it used to go all the way,
until recently, when a new post office and a convenience store were built).
So the cats have a huge range, and most of the outdoor cats are semi-feral,
if not completely so.

I don't know what it is about Logan, unless fellow carnivores recognize a
friend in him, but some of the feral cats will let him pet them and even
hold them, but they run at the sight of me.  Perhaps because I often have
two loud bairns following me.

Madelina, who often considers her home a "cathouse", cat orphanage, and
insane asylum for cats.