Spring or Winter?

Spring has sprung in south west Iowa.

The first inkling of spring is the return of the robins.  They have amassed around my house like a starving army.  The friendly robins brought various friends with them-woodpeckers, blue jays, cardinals, sparrows, and cute little birds that have no name.  They demand food. 

Every morning I yank open my blinds and am greeted by glaring birds.  They swarm the bird feeders.  Upon finding them empty they turn their beady eyes to my window and squawk.  No chirping here.  They are hungry.  Buy stock in bird seed companies-you will profit!

Other signs of spring are popping up.  The tulips are peeking through the ground.  The lilac bushes are going

from dusty brown to pale green.  Rhubarb is pushing green and purple heads through the hard, cracked

earth.  Mmm-pie soon!

Time for spring chores.  There are apple trees to be pruned, evergreen bushes to be lopped off, a garden to be tilled, and a mountain full of leaves to be raked out of garden beds.  I thought I would start with the easiest and rake leaves.  That's when my heart almost gave out as I drug my rake through the asparagus garden. 

Weeds!

How is it weeds grow when nothing else can?  They were blanketed all winter by oodles of leaves, giving them no sunlight.  We are in a drought, they have had hardly a drink all winter.  Yet, here they are green and healthy. 

The farmers say the ground is too cold to plant.  There is still frost in the ground, they claim.  How do they know this?  Do they dig a hole?  Do they stick a thermometer in the earth?  (I actually jammed my meat thermometer in my garden.  The red dial didn't budge.)  Do the farmers congregate in fields at night and have soil seances?  

Spring seems to bring out more critters.  Field mice are in abundance.  Snuggles thinks it is her duty to stalk, capture with her razor-sharp claws, and carry these varmints in the garage.  She throws them around like they are one of her toy mice.  I keep telling her they are called field mice for a reason.

Spring in Iowa comes with rain.  Not San Diego type rain where you say it's pouring cats and dogs.  But in reality you can do a hundred yard dash and only get one strand of hair wet.  No, Iowa storms are violent.  Gusty winds that could sweep you off your feet if you haven't eaten a large amount.  Driving rain that can soak you to the skin in two point five seconds flat.  Booming thunder and crooked lightening that make night appear as day.

Actually after a bitterly cold winter all these spring things are welcome with open arms.  We rejoice the passing of winter and on to the growing season.

But, this is Iowa.  I am told you can never count on the weather in April.  I woke up this morning, pulled open the blinds and was not greeted with starving birds.  I was blinded by the white ground.  This was an eerily familiar sight.

Yes, it had snowed over night.  The temperatures had fallen back to below freezing.  (I have no doubt now the ground is still frozen.)  Shivering birds were huddled together in trees.  My garden tools were deserted and lonely in the garage. 

It was time to get the popcorn popper out of its' short hibernation.  The DVR still has movies for an audience with popcorn.  I will endure the cold for a few more days.  Then old lady winter with her icy hands must be on her way.  She is no longer welcome!

Hen House or Cat House?

It happened again.  I didn't mean to.  It wasn't my fault.

We found another cat.

Doug and I were on an innocent walk.  We stopped to chat with our neighbors who live a mile away.  A pretty white and brown squatty cat came running over.  What was I supposed to do but pick it up and love on it.

"You want that cat?"  they inquired.  "She's about the nicest cat I've ever met.  Showed up here about a week ago.  We'd keep her, but she purrs in and out of our feet.  We're afraid with these new knees she will trip us."

I actually spoke before Doug could open his mouth.  "No!  Three are enough." 

Wouldn't you know we started for home and the cat was trailing us. 

"Don't look, don't turn around, don't make eye contact.  Keep walking."  I urged Doug. 

A half mile later he looked behind us.

"Don't look!" I ordered.  " But since you did, is she still there?"

"Trotting along a hundred feet behind us."  Doug didn't seem all that concerned there was a stray cat tagging along. 

We were charging up hill almost to our house when I had to turn around and look.  Kitty was lagging behind.  She was getting tired.  I worried where she would go if she was too tired to turn back.  I did the only thing there was to do.  I shuffled back and carried her home.

Doug had a smug look in his eye.  He knew we were going to have another addition to our family.

We decided she could be an outside cat and sleep in the barn.  The only trouble was we didn't have a barn.  Maybe she could sleep in the hen house.  But the hen house needed some repairs.  It was drafty.

Doug had some spare wood.  We worked past dark ripping off deteriorating wood and replacing it with smooth new siding.  A small opening just right for a cat, yet not big enough for coyote, was installed.  The broken windows needed replacing and some sort of cat bed need to be in place before it was inhabitable even for a cat.  She could sleep in the garage for the night.

The next morning found us zipping down the road to the vet.  "Snuggles" needed shots.  Doug made a pit stop on the way back at the local hardware store.  I stayed warm in the truck snuggling with Snuggles. 

Doug arrived at the truck with an arm load.  He wouldn't tell me what was in his loot.  "Wait and see,"  he patiently told me.

And I did see!  He had lived with me for 25 years and came to the quick realization this was not going to be a hen house cat.  Installed on the garage counter was a large box with a warm kitty heating pad.  Pointing at the box from across the sink was a heat lamp.   Snuggles had a warm, safe bed in the garage.  And Doug didn't have to share his bed with another cat!

Snuggles enjoys the fresh air.  She tags after us when we are outside.  She runs and jumps on tree trunks just to hang there.  I occasionally spy her up a tree meowing for help down.  She hasn't fallen yet.  I keep telling her she can't come down head first like a squirrel.  No one, not even the cat, listens to me.

My cousin came up to see the new fur ball.  She brought my uncle's dog, Benellie.  I had watched Benellie last winter.  She was comfortable in my garage and ran right in.

Snuggles wasn't thrilled to have a four legged canine invade her space.  Her back arched to the ceiling, her fur stood on end and endless hissing spewed from her mouth.  That was my cue to take her in the house.

One step into the house and Snuggles got more spooked.  I found out first hand how she hangs on tree trunks-her claws.  She jumped to my head and embedded those needle sharp claws into my scalp. 

I swung my head side to side in a desperate attempt to dislodge her from my head.  Not thinking it was possible, but the claws went deeper.  Crumbling to the floor I pried her off my head.  She took off for the shelter under the bed.

Doug moved my now wet, sticky hair aside to survey the damage.  "I don't think you will need stitches.  Look on the bright side.  The blood matches your hair color."

Snuggles is still a garage cat.  She does come in to visit.  Tree trunks are still her favorite things to hang on, because I keep my head away from those deadly claws. 

The hen house is still partially finished.  Doug and I need to get out there to complete it.  I have seen a black cat living there.  I will call him Larry.  Really, you can never have too many cats. 

My question is this:  Is it a hen house or cat house?  For those of you who know me well, you already know the answer.