The Mousers of SSF

It probably does not come as news that everyone on a farm has a job.  Jessie keeps the raccoons at bay so the hens can lay.  The sheep produce fleece for someday and meat for the year.  The bunny I guess is here to make sure I never run out of things to nag my son about.

And this guy here is our LIttle Game Hunter.  I adopted Buster and his arch nemesis girly-cat Karona six months after moving in and the third time I had to completely dismantle our under-the-stairs pantry.  There's nothing fun about mice in your house, except as nostalgia after the rats move in.  Having been through the rats-running-up-the-pipes routine in our city house, I wasn't prepared to sit through Act 2.  Between city-tame raccoons, squirrels, and rats, I often tell people we had to move to the country to escape the wildlife.

I put Dylan on the bus and drove directly to the ferry and on to the Tacoma Humane Society.  It was harder than I'd expected to find 2 cats, not kittens, that seemed suitable.  I had this insane idea that I should adopt 2 so they'd keep each other company (?!), and it's a good thing they each came with their own carrier or I probably would have arrived home one feline short.  In their nearly three-year tenure they've developed for the most part a sort kitty detente, with occasional cross-border flare-ups.

Instinct is sometimes shockingly raw.  Buster wasn't in the house a full minute before he was in the pantry.  That night, Mark and Buster worked as team and the emptied pantry gave up 3 mice.  By the end of a week, the house was cleaned out, the surrounding grounds were a veritable mousey graveyard and whatever Mickeys and Minnies were left must have packed their bindles and skeedattled because I've yet to come across a nasty surprise indoors since.

I think Karona does a little lite mousing, but Buster takes his job very, very seriously.  Curiousity - or instinct - almost killed this cat a while back.  He silently followed me into the attic one day, unbeknownst to me, and I shut the door behind me when I'd found what I was looking for.  Shamefully, it took me 2 days to realize I hadn't seen him for a while.  He was a little dazed, but otherwise fine, and we were all very relieved.  

But, the very next time I went up to the attic?  Yup, right behind me.  He can't help himself - he knows the hunting's good in there.  If I could do what I need to do as well as he does what he does and still have time to sleep 18 hours a day - well, I'd have to bottle that and sell it.

Thanks Buster!