Who's Killing My Cats?

Two of our cats are missing. Well, five, if you count Starbucks, but he's been gone for six months now, and his two younger siblings, Rambo and Tigger, who have been gone about four. And I swear, I had nothing to do with it. Starbucks managed to live almost a year; Rambo and Tigger were only 8 weeks old. There is evidence (coyote scat) that more coyotes are lurking around. So I guess the cats have gone to the great coyote digestive system in the sky. (An aside: don't you think it's funny that the word used to chase a cat away, 'scat,' is the same as the word that means 'poop?')

Two weeks ago Lightning disappeared. (Rambo and Tigger were his litter mates and he was the only one left.) I really liked that cat. He went missing one day before his six month birthday. The-Person-Who-Serves-Me was going to get him neutered for his birthday, which a few of us thought might have something to do with his disappearance. Anyhow, he was sweet and sleek and had a perfect black tuxedo with a bolero jacket.

The most recently missing cat was Lightning's mother, Charlie. I didn't like that cat much. Some days she was nice to me, other days I'd be just minding my own business and she'd hiss and spit at me. What is it with cats? If a dog doesn't like someone, they stay pretty consistent with the growling. Not cats. You never know where you stand with them.

The main problem with Charlie being awol is that she leaves behind three 8-week old kittens. She was one fertile cat and had litters faster than you can say 'spay and neuter program.' The kittens are a diverse lot: there is one black who looks a lot like Lightning, called 'Clone', one pure white one, a female, called 'Honky Cat', and a cool looking grey and white male with a white 'V' on his face, a very nasty little bastard (ironically the largest of the bunch) called 'Putz.' And of course, now that there mother is missing, I am their surrogate. This sucks, big time.

All about me

My name is Xena. I am half Great Pyrenees, half German Shepherd (or so I've been told; I like to think I'm half wolf). But my mother, who was a one-time show-dog (I'll dig up a photo somewhere) was raped by a transient German Shepherd, and here I am.

I started out life on a small acreage in Estacada, Oregon, with two brothers and two sisters. Because I was the most aggressive (again, heresay), I was chosen to live with the person who now serves me.

Due to my nature, I was named after the Xena from the TV series, and of course, she's no dog, but I try to live up to my namesake. Case in point, in the past three months I've hunted down two coyotes, one adult possum and three baby possums, at least one raccoon, and three baby bunnies. Now, I don't kill anything, understand, I only find them and let others make the decision for me. So what happened to the possums was not my fault; nor was it my fault that The-Person-Who-Serves-Me made it look like roadkill.

On the farm where I now live with The-Person-Who-Serves-Me, we have five horses. Two I have known since I was a puppy. I don't chase horses, although one time I was following too close to the younger Arabian, Shani, when she was running, and somehow her hoof slipped and I got nailed in the right eye. This has left me with a slowly growing cataract and a profound respect for what the business end of a horse can do.

Although I am not violent, I have a reputation as a thief. I have brought home such a variety of things that there's hardly space to list them, but mostly they consist of single shoes (many), single gloves (one time I brought home an actual PAIR of new leather gloves, which really excited The-Person-Who-Serves-Me), Coors Light, a Starbucks Iced Mint Frappucino, and so many baby toys that it makes me blush. I especially love squeaky or soft, floppy plush toys (but more on those later).

Because I steal (and The-Person-Who-Serves-Me is constantly apologizing to people) I make a point of burying nearly everything I bring home. Recently The-Person-Who-Serves-Me thought she made a grisly discovery in the swamp in the pasture, but as you will see, it turned out to be something I already knew about.

I know I should probably go into therapy for this thievery problem, but it's a lot of fun because I get so much more attention when I do it than when I don't. And any attention is good, especially when they're begging you to return a shoe you've taken from a dinner guest. I can't get enough of that.