Survival of the Fittest
This is not a memory of mine but rather a story told to me by my grandparents. However, it was such a wonderful story that I felt it needed to be told. You can question the validity of it if you like, but I’ll say this: I’ve never known them to lie. About anything.
The story takes place on a little sheep and cattle ranch up in the foothills of the Sierra’s, northern California. The closest town is a good half hour drive away. When I go down there it is usually for short periods of time, certainly no longer than a week. I am a city boy and the lack of entertainment has a devastating effect on me. Don’t take that to mean I don’t love being there. I am always excited to go, and sorry to be leaving, but I am drawn to the bright lights of the big city.
I’ve found that down there cats are the most fascinating creatures. They wander from farm to farm until they find a suitable place to call home. Nobody feeds them, or would consider allowing them into their homes, but none the less, the cats are as friendly and playful as any trained house cat. Some people say “so what?” but this is an animal that spends it’s nights hunting for food and being hunted for food, and then turns around and spends it’s days lounging in the sun and playing with whoever or whatever happens by.
This story is the story of Belle, the current resident of my grandparents’ ranch. Belle is an amazing cat. Probably the most playful cat I have ever seen. She would spend hours out on the deck stalking my grandpa. When the time was right she would run full speed across the railing, leap off the edge, catch my grandpa’s hat as she flew past, and then dive underneath the deck with it. After a few minutes, she would drag the hat back out and set it next to his leg, only to begin the hunt all over again. But the most bizarre thing to me was to see her with the dog. It was almost as if they had unspoken language between each other. Each afternoon when the dogs daily chores were finished, she would lay out in the sun against the patio door. Regardless of the time, Belle would be waiting. She would curl up with Patty and sleep the afternoon hours away. I asked my grandparents about this and they said it had nearly always been like this. Here’s the story:
For whatever reason Belle’s mother left the place that she had called home and showed up on the ranch, hungry and pregnant around ten years ago. She managed to worm her way into the geese pen and bedded down between some bales of hay. Patty, however didn’t like this. After all, it was her job to guard the animals, and the idea of a hungry cat in there just wasn’t going to sit right with her. Now the geese I should tell you were full grown and therefor more of a threat to the cat than she was to them. My grandma, seeing the cats fear decided to feed her until the kittens were born and she could move on and find a new home.
Patty never gave up though, she would spend hours each day trying to find a way in. It was only a matter of time before she did. The kittens were just getting old enough to gain some independence when Patty finally got the gate open. After a brief spar with the mother Patty chased her away. The mom never did come back. Patty returned to the pen to chase away the kittens as well. They balled up on each other with terror but Patty had them cornered. She separated the first kitten from the rest. She barked and growled but the kitten just stood there. It would not run, it would not fight. After about five minutes of this, Patty snapped her jaws on the kitten and with one swift move the kitten was dead. I asked my grandparents didn’t stop her and they looked at me with a confused look on their face. I guess living on a ranch you begin to see animals as either food or just animals rather than pets.
Anyway, Patty continued. She went on down the line, testing each kittens’ reaction before she killed them. Finally she got to Belle. She cornered her just outside of the pen dropped down low and began growling. Luckily Belle had no fear. She stood up on her back paws, extended her claws, and whacked Patty right across the face. This must have caught Patty off guard because she stopped growling, turned away, and returned to the Patio for her afternoon nap. Belle retreated to the brush. I often wonder what happened to Belle that first evening. I wonder if she knew she wouldn’t survive on her own, or if she was just lonely (if cats can get lonely). A few hours after the sun set, Belle returned to the ranch. Not to the geese pen this time, though. She walked straight up to the patio and curled up with Patty, and has done so ever since.
I don’t know if there’s is any kind of grand life lesson to be learned from this story. If there is, I haven’t found it, yet it is probably the story that I tell more than any other. Often times people react to it as if it were a sad story, but I don’t see it that way. I find solace in it. Maybe you have to see the two of them together but the very idea of a life long partnership having been created out of such chaos puts a satisfying grin on my face every time.