The importance of working cats

I was cleaning the field for spring planting and discovered I had forgotten to return the crow netting to the shed for the winter. Discovering the rolled-up netting wasn’t a surprise; a lady farmer can’t do everything, you know. I pulled away the spring weeds that had already accumulated and gasped when I discovered a snake skeleton. Not just any snake, one that would have killed me graveyard-dead. At an early age, Appalachians are taught the importance of proper snake identification. We learn this around the same time as the mantra “Leaves of three ... leave them be.”

Of course, not all snakes are bad snakes, but one with a wide triangular head attached to a skinny neck brings forth the words of Appalachian Granny Women who remind us, “That’d be a spade-shaped-head child. And a spade-headed snake will stand up on its tail and use that skinny head to level its sights on ya.”

In short, a spade-headed snake will kill ya dead.

We are also taught the importance of creating distance by jumping back upon seeing a snake, which probably isn’t the wisest method of avoidance, and was of no particular use to me upon making the discovery of the skeletal remains of Mr. No Shoulders, but I jumped back nonetheless and released a girlish scream. I farm alone and were I to be bitten, I would surely die; whether the bite be from a poisonous snake or from heart failure. In fact, the bite of a “good snake” would kill me just as quick.

“I need some barn cats up in here!” I said to the snake bones. “To run y’all off before I get myself killed.”

However, finding a barn cat isn’t as easy as one might seem.

Back in the day when my grandpa Frank ran Winchester’s Grocery, “working cats,” were held in high regard. He, like other small business owners, welcomed feral cats in their businesses because a mouse can smell sweet feed from miles away, and it only takes one single oat dropped on a concrete floor to signal a colony of rats. Without rodent control, rats will take over as will squirrels and other critters who love an easy-access meal. Local feed-and-seeds kept feral cats, they welcomed momma cats heavy with a new litter. If a body needed a barn cat, one could be procured at the local feed and seed store for free.

This was before Tractor Supply came to town, but I digress.

It is common knowledge that a lady farmer who has snakes also has a mouse problem. Were I to remove the rodent food source, the snakes will slither on out of here and find another home, preferably up the road a piece at my neighbor’s barn.

I needed a working cat snappy fast. I called my local animal shelter and was shocked to learn I couldn’t adopt a cat who would live outside. I didn’t understand, all of my animals are rescues, even the goats. It’s common knowledge that I am a good fur-baby momma. But rules are rules and there was no way I could adopt any of their cats. I was heartbroken and more than a little confused. At a time where people are dumping their “Covid pets” in record numbers—these are animals that were procured during the lockdown, but the owners now find that they can’t care for them because they must return to work. I had a solution, the shelter had plenty of cats and I needed cats. Problem solved.

Scientists estimate there are tens of millions of feral cats in the United States, and with local animal shelters at capacity, they aren’t accepting new cats. As with cities such as New Orleans, Philadelphia, and Brooklyn, my hometown of Bryson City has a growing number of feral cats. I have even fielded a call from a woman willing to pay one of our students to feed her feral cats every morning.

Feral felines can be found sitting outside of downtown businesses and along the river, or as assembled colonies of cats who breed more cats. Feeding feral cats, while a noble act, doesn’t control the population.

While driving to work I heard the unmistakable voice of Roy Burnette on WRGC radio speaking about a “working cat” program sponsored by Sister Kitten that brings cats to your barn for free. You, as the landowner, are responsible for tending to the animals during the 30-day period while they reside in an acclimation crate. The cats arrive spayed or neutered and are up to date on their injections.

Sister Kitten was the answer to my snake problem. Founded in 2019, it works to improve the public’s perceptions of feral animals while recognizing the importance of controlling the population of “community cats.” This particular animal rescue organization captures cats within their colonies, has them spayed or neutered, and then either returns these cats to their colony, or in the case of “working cats,” re-home these beauties to a farm like mine where they will have a beneficial and rewarding job as head mouser and snake sentinel. Simply put, every farmer needs a working cat (or four), and feral cats are already workers who are simply looking to add purpose and meaning to their lives.

Farmers all across Western North Carolina just shouted, “Amen. Give me all the ferals!”

Eric Phelps, founder of Sister Kitten, has been an animal activist his entire life. Not only has Eric rescued and re-homed abandoned and neglected animals, he can often be found saving animals when natural disasters strike. To quote Eric, “We are doing positive population control. Once kittens reach a certain age of being on their own, they are no longer adoptable because they are too feral. They would either be put in a shelter and never adopted, or put down. This is a much better alternative.”

My anxiety was high as Eric’s white van with the Sister Kitten Logo pulled into the drive. One shelter had already told me I wouldn’t be a good kitty-mommy. What if Eric didn’t approve of my farm? My farm is located in a rural community safely away from the bustling Bryson City traffic. It’s quiet and remote. Surely, my new family members would like being here. Eric slid open the door to reveal the most beautiful black cat (Chrissie) and a tabby (Cali) he had chosen for me. In less than five minutes, he had assembled a dog crate, securely zip-tied everything, including the feed bowls. He placed their shelter in the back of the crate and released the cats.

“Feral cats aren’t vicious as some believe. They are just shy. They are worthy of being saved.”

I agreed with Eric and tried not to cry. I had been approved as a worthy Sister Kitten Momma!

“Now don’t open the door if they’re sitting on top of their shelters. They will bolt. We have found that if they remain in this acclimation crate for 30 days, once released the cats stay in the area where they are released.”

I nodded and baby talked to Cali and Chrissie. Chrissie narrowed her yellow eyes and released a warning growl. She hated my guts. Cali was more amenable to my affection. Weeks passed. I followed Eric’s directions which included providing feed and water and emptying the litter box. I also sat alongside the crate and sang to the cats.

Chrissie hissed. She hated me. The more she hissed, the more I tried to make her love me.

Release day came and I must admit, I was worried. What if they ran off and never returned? What if Chrissie scratched my eyes out? What if someone kidnapped my Cali, who had grown affectionate and trusting of humans? I placed their feed bowl outside and tapped it loudly calling, “kitty, kitty” so they would remember my voice. Then I opened the door. They both took off and hid beneath the building. I returned daily and left food in their bowl but only caught glimpses of them.

Two months have now passed. Cali comes when called, and a Christmas Miracle has occurred with Chrissie. She runs to the bowl upon hearing my truck tires crunching the gravel. And, she sings to me. It could be cat-cussing, but don’t break my heart. What’s important is that we are keeping the lines of communication open. The ladies have a kitty shelter with a blanket, and still receive dry cat food and fresh water. I believe this quiet sanctuary on the farm is less stressful than the constant blaring horn of the tourist train and ever-present cars in downtown.

Thank you, Sister Kitten, for deeming me worthy of these beauties.