Thursday stuff...

As I type, there is a goat across the road with his head stuck in the neighbor's fence.  Seems that at least once a week, one of those goats get his head caught in that fence.... simply because the grass is always greener....

You would think that the neighbor would put up a different sort of fence, one that would prevent a goat's head from going through a six-inch-square of air space between the barbed wire and the wood posts.  I used to drive up the hill to let that neighbor know every time one of his goats got caught, but I stopped doing that a few years ago. Number one, the neighbor doesn't care. Number two, the neighbor's solution to the goat-stuck-in-the-fence problem is to use his booted foot to smack the goat on the nose so the poor animal will pull his head backwards and get himself out of the fence.  The neighbor doesn't worry about cuts and bruises to the goat's head and neck because all of those goats end up on his dinner plate at some point.  As a result of all of that, I just ignore the cries of the goat and hope he/she gets his neck out of the fence on his own. When I can no longer stand the goat's pleading, I just shut the door and go to a part of the house where I can't hear the noises from the neighbor's pasture.

I was out on the porch a little while ago to feed Mickey and Gatsby..... and what did I see?..... that blasted orange cat, sound asleep on a chair in the chicken-coop-turned-kitty-coop.  Since the orange cat's return, he has explored every inch of the inside of the garage and the coop, and has staked out his favorite sleeping spots in both places.  Yesterday, I went into the coop to close the gate for the night and there was the orange cat, sound asleep underneath the roosting boxes. I do not trust the questionable manners of that cat, so there was no way I could just pick him up and put his little orange and white cat self out of the coop.  I took the broom and tried to pry him out of the coop by gently sweeping him towards the gate...... and that cat just stretched and looked at me upside-down as he sprawled himself out on the broom.... almost as if he were saying "A little to the left, please...."

Honestly, that cat has tried my patience every day he's been here.... and this coming November, it will be two years. Two years with an orange and white stray cat who doesn't seem to realize that we don't want another cat..... and even when we take him away for a try at lake-side living, he finds his way back here.  Makes me wonder how many more months from now till November that it will take to catch that orange cat again...

Twenty years ago, I would have taken all of the above into consideration and come to the conclusion that the orange cat was just meant to be here and that's that.  This cat-lover has progressed beyond such selfless measures. I do not want that orange cat. Period. He's unpredictable at times, unreliable all of the time, unfriendly unless he wants something, and he's ill-mannered most of the time.

Another noise to add to the country cacophony at the moment... there is a frog somewhere in the back yard, and by the sound and decibel level of his croaks, you would think he'd be as big as an elephant and very easy to find out there. Not so. He's been croaking up a storm for hours now, and I have no idea where he is and I just hope he doesn't continue his singing after midnight.  I've gone out in the yard to try and find him and just see what he looks like, but as soon as my feet hit the wooden porch, that frog turns on the mute button.

I have no idea why the cats aren't searching for that frog..... three cats on this property and you would think that I'd have no other critters out there within five hundred feet of the house. Silly me..... as if I should expect Mickey and Gatsby and that blasted orange cat to earn their Meow Mix.

The goat has finally stopped its pleading... and now I hear hammering... I imagine the neighbor has freed the goat from the fence and now he's repairing the barbed wire between the wooden posts. I refuse to go and look.   I just try to ignore that particular neighbor most of the time. I just cannot come to grips with his strange habit of raising cute little baby goats until they're big enough to either get stuck in the fence or get stuck in a roasting pan.