Country Cat: A Job Description

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Country cats earn their keep by keeping the rodent population under control. While town cats pretend to attack squeak toys, yarn balls and human feet, country cats possess the same predatory skills as an African lion. They spend hours stalking and killing mice, rats, moles, gophers, snakes, rabbits and other assorted varmints.

Danger around every corner

The life of a country cat is fraught with danger. Cats prowling through an alfalfa field are at risk from mowing equipment. Cats out hunting can themselves become prey to coyotes, or they can fall victim to passing cars. And woe to the cat that crawls under the hood of the pickup to sleep on a warm engine block; it may suddenly find itself an unwilling part of the fan belt assembly. That, as they say, is when the fur begins to fly.

Dogs, on the other hand, don’t worry country cats much. Dogs mostly run in straight lines, while a barnyard cat exhibits all the moves of an NFL running back, employing zigs, zags and reversals to leave the eager pooch panting for air. “Looking for me, bozo? Let’s see if you can climb this tree!”

Despite a fairly high mortality rate, country cats are in no danger of becoming extinct. If each female produces a new litter of four to six kittens every six months or so, and each one lives 10 or 12 years …. well, you do the math. Planned parenthood is a population control option that’s sometimes difficult to implement. You’d have to look hard and long to find a vet willing to chase down and neuter a half-wild barnyard cat, or a farmer or rancher willing to pay the bill.

A house cat accustomed to sleeping on the couch in a climate-controlled environment and eating specially prepared food would probably have a hard time adapting to living outdoors. But could a country cat be happy living in a city?

Some years ago, my wife and I lived on an acreage beside an apple orchard outside Yakima, Washington. One day, a stray cat delivered a litter of four kittens in our woodpile. As the kittens grew, my wife began taking food out to them. While three of the four eventually wandered off, one little male with Siamese markings that my wife named ‘Chicken George’ stuck around. A friend of mine from Chicago happened to come to town on a business trip, and when he admired the kitten, we jokingly asked him if he’d like to take it home. To our surprise, he agreed, and two days later, our country cat was living a life of leisure in the city.

To our knowledge, Chicken George never regretted his career change.   

Country writer and cowboy poet Jerry Schleicher lives in Parkville, Missouri.

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