A new arrival

In all of the commotion associated with Lyle’s birthday festivities, an important event has been overlooked – the arrival of a barn cat.

The chives and crocus sprouted in my garden recently and were summarily eaten by varmints. Could have been rabbits, could have been packrats, could have been squirrels - I don’t think snakes are vegetarians. Whomever...I was not about to stand by and watch the fruits of my labor be eaten by someone else. I had rescued two feral cats last summer when my tomatoes began to disappear, but the relocation was unsuccessful – the cats ran away from home at their first opportunity, never to be seen again. This go-round, I decided to adopt a domesticated cat who simply preferred to live outdoors.

Fate intervened and I learned of a young black cat named Kismet who needed a new home. I went to Albuquerque to pick him up and used the opportunity to purchase a cat door so he could have a home in the feed room but go out hunting whenever he felt like it.


The moment the barn cat arrived and took one look at Hank, Lyle, George, Alan, Wynonna, and Willie, he said, “If I’m going to fit in here, I need a name befitting a rough-and-ready ranch cat.” So I call him Deets, after the very cool tracker/cowboy in Lonesome Dove, who happened to be black. Option 2 was Clint...Black, but Deets seemed to be a better fit, and it also opens a new category of names should I ever expand my herd, since I was running out of options in the first-names-of-country-singers-whom-I-really-like category.

So this is Deets. He hangs in the feed room by day and keeps me company while I prepare all the meals; once it’s dark he goes off hunting. It’s only been four days since he joined the herd, but I’m pretty sure he’s loving his new life.