The Story of Mr. Bingley

When we scouted this place out back in 2002, there was an orange cat hanging around outside. The house was vacant. We were told it had been vacant for a year. And prior to that, had been a rental for awhile.

We are all cat lovers. Handyman, like my dad, loves cats. Handyman could never have cats as a child, because his brother is allergic. He had to satisfy himself with the barn cats at his grandparents farm, when he visited them every summer.

When we married in 1991, I had two cats. The amazing Chelsea, best female cat ever; and her neurotic mother, Monet. Monet and Handyman bonded while we were still dating, when she jumped out my open apartment window and landed (much to her surprise), one-story below ground in the old coal dump area outside my ancient apartment building. She was stranded in the brick, room-size well when he showed up one day, and like the prince he still is, he rescued her.

I remember telling my vet that I was getting married and needed to change my name in their files. He said, "You are going to ruin a perfectly good relationship by getting married?!" I replied, "He likes cats." Dr. McCune said, "Oh, I understand."

But back to Mr. Bingley. There was never a doubt in anyone's mind that we would tame any cat on the premises, once we moved in. Each time we came to look at this place, and talk ourselves into the big plunge of remodeling it; he was here. Big, orange and quiet, skulking around.

When we finally took posession, we saw him still. Not skinny, but skittish. Soon enough, little #2, almost 4 at the time, sat on the sidewalk by the garage and up he came, to pet her! He rubbed on her immediately and that was all there was to be done. He sniffed noses with our big male cat through the cracked-open patio doors and soon came in to join our family.

We had named this place Netherfield, an homage to our obsession with Jane Austen literature. (We try not to call it Neverdone, but that does creep in occasionally.) So the only logical name for this feline was Mr. Bingley, the popular owner of Netherfield, in Pride & Prejudice. The moniker fit, as our Mr. Bingley possessed all the same characteristics of his namesake: good humor, gentlemanlike behavior and kindness.

We enjoyed his wonderful presence for over a year. He never wandered far, always coming in at night. We were sure he appreciated his home. Then one day, no Mr. B. The next day, no Mr. B. It was heart-breaking. We printed flyers, called our neighbors, drove around calling. Nothing. He was gone. There was only one logical conclusion to all this: coyotes.

No matter what Hank the Cowdog says, coyotes are NO fun, at all. They wake us at night with their infernal partying. They eat our pets, feline and avian. They creep us out at all hours of the day and night. They had to have eaten our big buddy and what a roast he would have made. We were heartbroken.

A year went by. I picked out another cat at the humane society, when I was there getting some free barn cats. Tony, all personality in a short-haired package. He fit right in.



Then one day, a friend mentioned that he had a big orange cat that had showed up in his barn and was scaring his half-grown kittens that lived there. These friends live about a mile away, straight west as the crow flies, but across a swift-flowing creek, and a lot of fields. He asked if we were missing any cats?!

"Well, we were, about a year ago," I told him. It was a big, orange male cat. He said this one was shy, and hard to catch. But, he said once he caught him, the cat was not agressive, seeming to like being petted. He said his neighbors had told him that the cat had been hanging out in their barn until they chased it off. I couldn't believe that it could be our guy. It'd been too long. But I agreed to come look at it, the next time he was able to catch it.

So, when he called early one morning, I went over. We had three cats in the house then, since we had acquired Tony. I did not need another cat. I knew better than to take #2 or #3. They would want to bring home any cat from anywhere. They didn't clean litter boxes. #1 wanted to go, and since she was beginning to show signs of adult behavior, I agreed.

When we got there, our friend Rob was standing at the far end of his barn holding this giant pumpkin-colored cat and I gasped. Mr. Bingley was a big bulky cat with very matte hair. It wasn't shiny or sleek. It was very unique, I thought. This guy had it. As I went closer, I didn't think it was Mr. B. The face seemed wider and the eyes were green. Mr. B. had gold eyes, almost exactly the color of his fur.

But everything else was the same. The size, the color, the hair. He was neutered. He was kind. He was heavy. We agreed to take him. Can eye color change? I didn't feel like I could say, "almost, but no." So home we came.

He never hissed at any of our other cats. They never hissed at him. He immediately took up residence on the foot of my bed, where he sleeps every single night. He goes out, wanders around and comes right in. He never skulked around the house. He was never intimidated by our tribe of very vocal dogs. But his eyes are definitely not gold.




We got out the scrapbook and looked at the old pictures of Mr. B. This guy has the same number of little stripes in the middle of his forehead. We couldn't bring ourselves to call him Mr. Bingley in the beginning. We were only about 85% sure it was him. But then, we couldn't not call him Mr. Bingley.

We avoided the issue for awhile and called him "the interloper", "the impostor", and "the stunt double". Then he just became Mr. Bingley again. If he is not the original, he is so precious a duplicate, that I feel blessed to know him. If he is the original, I am, of course, thankful that he was protected and generously returned to us.

And so to quote Spenser, through Jane Austen's Sense & Sensibility: "For there is nothing lost, but may be found, if sought..."

Winter blues

Well, the firefighter came and plowed out our driveway for us--first time ever to have that done. And it is appreciated. The piano teacher came zooming up the driveway in her little sedan, lamenting about customers cancelling. She said this is nothin' compared to northern Illinois. We must have gotten about 8" last week. It is pretty, I'll say that. And a ton more coming in tonight.

But I'm done with it. And now the Colts have lost. And Handyman is in Connecticut, via truck, not plane. And then there's this...in my chair, in my office, this morning...and on the floor. (Okay--I took the picture on my phone to send it to Handyman and then I cleaned it up and I don't know how to send it to my computer.) IT was a mouse, in a couple of pieces on the floor next to my chair and IN my chair, was barfed up more mouse with a big wet spot and a pile of erp. Aren't you glad I don't know how to send it from my phone. I'll be happy to send it to your phone if you like...

This never happens when he's home. Either the vermin sense his missing presence and they stridently march in, or the cats are just lazy when he's here, thinking he'll cover for them. Either way--it NEVER happens during the day. And that means, mice are running around here at night!

Where's my Lysol? Where's the sun? It's 8 degrees this morning and I have the Superbowl Blues. My favorite commercial--probably the Google ad, followed by the Underwear in the Office people. The Who (who I never liked, never listened to and was shocked that they were chosen), was undoubtedly the WORST halftime show EVER. They should have gotten Garth Brooks or Tim McGraw AND Faith Hill or Billy Joel and Elton John or someone who could sing! And what's a pinball wizard? That was the only song I had even heard of.

My New Year is just getting started...

Due to family illness and the glorious weather, our holiday season dragged out for quite awhile. Which isn't always a bad thing. It was fun, there was lots of food and I got a boot dryer!

What woman doesn't want/need a boot dryer?! Any woman, like me, who treks to her barn and henhouse four or more times a day, needs a boot dryer. I also had to pull out the YakTrax I got last year. These are stretchy traction devices for the bottoms of my boots. My chickens are envious, but I think their little toenails would get in the way.

It wouldn't be winter here at Netherfield/Neverdone if we didn't have a chicken in the kitchen and this year is no exception. One day last week, I was setting out the little banty hen who has decided to go broody (it's winter you moron!)and I discovered she had been sitting on/in a broken egg. Ugh. It's way too cold for that. At first I set her outside to get some water, thinking I had pulled out all the egg bits. But a Rhode Island Red came over immediately and started pecking at the little gal, so it was off to the kitchen for a grooming session.

Keep in mind that we do have a slop-sink bathroom off our kitchen, so I am not talking about bathing a chicken in my kitchen sink! And what morning would be complete with bathing a chicken. Chickens are not big on bathing, even when they need it and this little gal was no exception. She was fortunate to get a warm water bath and I discovered her entire belly is completely bald! She has made a big brood patch on her belly to keep the eggs warm!

So then I got started blow-drying. Other than becoming alarmed when she could see herself in the full-length mirror, she LOVED being blow-dryed on low. She almost sprawled out on my lap to help! And there's no better smell for your kitchen than a boot-dryer on high with a little blow-dried chicken on the side!

Every day is another mind-numbing routine of busting and refilling water bowls for chickens, barn cats and horses. There is a heater in the horse water tank that runs on a timer and this week I have been shoveling clean snow into the tank. If it would ever get warm enough to melt just a little, the snow on the steel barn roof will melt and channel into the tank. But for now, it's easier to shovel powdery snow than to haul water out there.

The barn cats sit faithfully on their little heating mats and eat their canned food quickly. Whatever freezes in their dish, I give over to the dogs to remove! Keeps them busy and entertained.

Then there's the never-ending process of emptying the muck tubs of their frozen loads. The colder it is, the more the horses stand in the barn and fill their stalls. I got in a little bit of trouble last year for breaking too many muck tubs by dropping them on their sides to dump them. Cold and plastic don't always work well. So my solution this year--always have Handyman dump the muck tubs. It's worked great so far.

Crazy

UPDATE TO THE UPDATE:

The "tipped" ear is actually a purposeful mark from the Feral Cat Group in our area. They catch 'em, neuter 'em and release 'em. They "tip" their left ear to mark who's been "done". Then when the Humane Society takes them in throughout whatever manner, they also know from the ear tip that that cat is already neutered. Thus, they don't have to spend a lot of time on them...which is how our barn cat "JOE" ended up being a girl! ;) Now she is Jo, as in Jo March, not Joe Hardy.


Here's Bob renamed Tony, who continues to amaze us with his fabulous personality. He has met three nutty, loud, pushy dogs and two other cats and hasn't hissed one time. He has been chased and nibbled and carried around and has yet to stop smiling. He leaps up on the bed and trots around the house looking for company. How he ever ended up in the slammer is beyond me (although he is missing the tip of one ear, which says frostbite).

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Crazy...that song by Patsy Cline...that aptly describes our weather, our remodeling, our furniture arranging, the laundry and our recent trip to the Humane Society.

Uh oh, you should be saying. I know someone is going to get me that shirt that says, "one cat away from being the crazy cat lady". And I probably deserve it. I have already told Handyman that once the kids are gone, I will probably be an animal hoarder--who CLEANS the litterboxes.

Anyway, our county shelter, right next to the 4H fairgrounds where we live all summer, is a no-kill shelter. One of the few in our entire state. It was in the news all week due to being maxed out: 18 dogs in crates in the lobby, one day of 15 dogs coming in, one person bringing in 21 kittens in one day...yada yada. What is the matter with people?

Attached to our Humane Society is a LOW-COST SPAY/NEUTER CLINIC! How easy is this people? You can spay your cat for less than $30, in one day and never worry about this again, OR you can pretend you owe this little creature nothing and push your responsibilities off on the rest of us (READ TAXPAYERS), to the tune of at least $150 per animal, according to the staffer yesterday.

So, we were there to get feral cats for our barn. They would be neutered, vaccinated and microchipped and they would be free. My favorite price. I told them I wanted boys and that I knew my kids wouldn't rest until the feral cats were non-feral anymore. But, no boy cats in the feral room--would I be interested in less-social tame cats for my barn, for free?? Uh, yeah.

Then, as we waited to see the wall flowers, we gazed at the big glass-enclosed room with the sign overhead saying, "These 6 cats URGENTLY need a home", and I asked what was the story with these 6 particular cats? Well, they are the ones that are just done with the whole cage-living situation and really, really need to get out. So they get to socialize in there and jump on shelves and hang out listening to the never-ending barking going on in the lobby.

So I start reading the little personality profiles hanging there and then I get choked up thinking of Mr. Bingley, who was here when we came and how much we miss him and I say, trying not to cry, "I could probably be talked into another cat..."

And they smile and beckon me in to the little room.

Where I meet "Bob", who butts the brim of my hat with his head so hard that it almost falls off. And I say, "I'll take him too." And they gave me the free shirt that says "SOFTY".

Okay, not really. But I did bring Bob home, along with two quiet guys originally named Reebok and Thomas, now named Joe and Frank for the Hardy Boys. Joe and Frank are friendly and adjusting to life in the hayloft. They look nothing alike and I pray to heaven they like to catch mice...

Creepin' crud

This week's excitement, other than 428 4H activities in three nights, with two kids and two dogs, is that the horses have some kind of skin issue that is itchy and leaving bald patches on their bellies and legs.

Reno started this thing last fall. I didn't know if it was fly bites or what, but I was inconsistent with the Fung-Away spray since I didn't know for sure that it was "fung" or not. Eventually with winter, it seemed to go away and I thought we were over it.

I kept noticing Princess biting her sides and I kept thinking, "oh no! She's getting some sort of spring colic or something! Eeeek!!" Although I am very diligent about time spent out on spring grass. Then when I turned her out the other day I thought I noticed something weird on the side of her large zeppelin-like barrel and sure enough, it was a bald patch with some red dots!! Great!! And upon closer inspection, there were several more on the other side and on her hind leg.

Of course, not to be outdone, Reno had already got his belly up and running, including the patch right in the elbow of his front leg, on his hind gaskin from last summer and he rubbed his butt so hard on the webbing stall door thing that he bent the two eye-bolts beyond recognition. I did mention to Handyman that they had seemed somewhat small for a horse application. He replied that he had not planned on 1200 lbs. of buttocks to be pressing on them for some duration. I replied that he obviously was new to horses. They have been upgraded.

Sooooooo, before the heat wave broke last night, I bathed two horses with betadine shampoo twice this week. The Fung-Away is almost gone and I am emptying last summer's tube of Vitamiacin. There seems to be some improvement. Princess's spots already look like hair is starting to come back. I wish I had some clippers to trim "gorilla boy" who started shedding in February and is still not finished.

I'm also trying to dig out the stalls and get all the bedding replaced next week. I'm guessing that it might be bug-related. The bedding is fairly old and what with those chickens/feathered rats in there all the time, who knows what they're bringing...(in all seriousness, I don't think my fowl have anything foul.)

On another note, Handyman was seriously bitten by "the Love Machine", our cat Jake. We were in the ER last Friday night for an hour and a half, watching Jay Leno and getting IV antibiotics. PTL--no infection! The doctor told us they usually get infected and it can be VERY serious business very quickly. I am VERY thankful.

#3 is going for surgery one week from Monday...to have her bladder issue fixed, once and for all. The other two have been through this too, so we know the routine. Just praying that all goes smoothly. When #1 had her surgery, our terrific pediatric urologist who operated on her found 2 ureters on one of her kidneys. One had been hidden in all her xrays--he was surprised! Just another documentation of her "special-ness".

Handyman got a call to shoot Barak Obama this week in a 3-camera interview. Unfortunately, he was already booked on an auto auction. He was bummed because he wanted to see how "Barry" handles himself out of the spotlight/when the cameras are off. Later that day Handyman talked to his friend who was crewing-up the job and found out that BO's campaign was saying they couldn't pay the regular rates for the guys; "They didn't have enough money." Hmmmmmmm...how does that work? This is the champion of the working man, right? Thank goodness for the auto auction.

I wrote down 6 things for dinners this week and made sure I had the ingredients for them all. I didn't assign them or anything, just kept the list in the kitchen and that made things a lot easier. However, I fell off the wagon with my laundry baskets. They're everywhere and they're overflowing and I hate it. So, it shouldn't be too hard to get back on that. I also cleaned the bathroom downstairs rather than waiting for #1 to do it. Rather than being angry with her every time I walked into it, I decided that really, it's my house and I'll have to clean it all when she's gone, so I might as well take 15 minutes of my time to make me AND Handyman happy, than grouse around for a week and then clean it anyway. She'll have her own bathroom someday, and I'll bet she figures it out pretty quickly. Either way, this makes me happier.

Haven't planted the garden yet, and thank goodness--it's going to be 47 on Monday. This state hates me...but it has been sunny. My climbing rose is making progress and my parents brought 4,295 suckers off their lilac bushes. We managed to plant 10 or 11 of them. It'll be great if they all take. My rhubarb looks great and the crabapple and cherry trees are starting to bloom. If the dogwoods get frozen out this year, AGAIN, I'm putting the house up for sale.

Oh, one last thing...I found a hen with an apparent broken leg in the barn. I assume a horse stepped on her. Handyman and #1 played orthopedists and splinted her up with popsicle sticks and duct tape. It'll be two weeks tomorrow and she has been rehabbing under the patient, protective wing of Sir John Middleton, the toeless rooster, who LOVES her. They snuggle together at night and he stands over her during the day. I don't know what he'll do when she returns to the flock. It's precious.