NEDA A Tip of the Hat January 2021

BARN CATS - cont’d
sight and sit most regally yet inconspicuously
at your feet. But your attention was on the
subtleties of the counter canter being
schooled in the arena. Your brain is repeating
the dressage mantra "inside leg to outside
rein" when you realize that you have inadvertently
yet violently leaped up and shouted,
"outside rein". The two riders, the two schoolmasters,
and the instructor are staring at you
for your insolent blurting into the sacred trust
of a lesson. Your eruption inspired both
schoolmasters to do unintentional, yet perfectly
executed, flying lead changes.
Meanwhile, Vicki is firmly attached to your
thighs. Her claws are embedded and
remain so as she patiently hangs and waits
for you to return to sitting so she has somewhere
warm to watch her horses indoctrinate
both the counter canter and the flying
change of lead to their timid yet eager
riders. Trying to regain any semblance of
lesson-watching etiquette, you silently lower
back onto the bench, Vicki curling up and
purring contentedly on your now static lap.
Superior mouser, Lily, resting in the tack room between
hunting mice and rabbits. Her guardian of 16
years, Patty Montana reports that Lily delighted in the
occasional luna moth appetizer. Photo: Patty Montana
You cannot blame Vicki for your daggerclaw
injuries: You know that is how she ensures
that herself a safe lap-landing: Cat
claw daggers to the ready and securely anchoring
in. To her, lap-landings must be like
sitting on a couch that decides to remove
itself from being sat upon. Imagine if
couches would leap across the living room
just as your backside is hitting the cushions.
Double pawed Cheetos surveying his kingdom. His vocalizations rival those of crooner Harry Connick Jr. Owner:
Bill Cronan, Cape Coral, Florida. Photo: Beth Ann Cronan
You, too, would develop a strategy for
couch-landings. Vicki has had years of experience
in lap-landings and has purrfected
the maneuver: She has her claws to the
ready and fully activated until the lap stops
screaming/moving. Highly decorated in her
last Feline Olympics, Vicki received a
perfect score of 10 for her lap-landing technique
and high praise from the judges' jury.
Once the bloody tourniquets are removed
from your legs, having Vicki sit on your lap is
actually an enjoyable way to observe a
lesson in the outdoor arena. She purrs
metronome soothingly as you contemplate
the complexities of mastering a balanced
counter canter. As a premium, you have
become a multi-tasker due to Vicki's training
and are now utterly aware of anyone entering
your personal space no matter how intriguing
the lesson before you. Nothing
enters your five-foot personal space unnoticed.
If you see she is stalking you, you nonchalantly
place her in your lap pre-attack.
Having her in your lap is really not a bad
thing: She is warm and soft and purrs. If you
do not follow lesson observing protocol, Vicki
is just as pleased to do it her way...
Barn cat charm component:
An accomplished trainer.
Third generation draft horse teamster Mike
Schobel of Schobel's Farm, Rehoboth, MA
was the guardian of the legendary barn cat,
Max. While Max was not named after the
apocalyptic movie character Mad Max, his
attitude of self-preservation would have
eclipsed the movie character. But barn cat
Max was much more beguiling and strategizing
in his approach to equestrian lifestyle.
Physically, Max was not even a massive
headed, double-clawed tom cat. He was
athletically sleek, more of an on-the-track
thoroughbred's body but he had a perpetual
wheeze. It was theorized he had allergies,
perhaps to shavings and hay like the rest of
us. His aversion to veterinary care beyond
the vaccines and the basics kept us from
finding a definitive answer. Max was
"cuddly" the way a momma grizzly bear with
cubs is cuddly when she would awaken
from hibernation and need to find food for
her clan. A "thorough" vet exam would have
cost several human lives including those of
Mike, the barn staff, and the vet staff. It was
overwhelmingly agreed that Max's desire to
not be hindered by regular allergy medication
be honored.
Max was a giver, a "gifter". He liked to
bestow everyone with presents. Because he
did not have an Amazon account, he gave
the "things" he, err, captured. Admittedly,
Max was like a rich Texas oilman on safari in
Africa: He killed everything he encountered.
It was hoped that he did not kill more than he
gifted because he gifted DAILY.
He lived by the old adage that you paid for
your supper. Max would present some
token, an enormous bullfrog or fledgling wild
turkey, in exchange for a half of a can of wet
cat food. (Max had dry food available at all
times...) When you stepped off of the step
stool that was used to stand on to brush the
18.2 hand Belgian's back, you frequently
would land on a "gift". Ever decreet, the
silent Max would sit and wait while you assessed
his freshly delivered present. And he
Continued →
January 2021 NEDA.ORG TIP OF THE HAT 13