Non-profit Organization | Barn Cat Buddies | Support Cats

I am no longer allowed to go downstairs alone. Now that the new dog, Shaka, has taken up residence in our home, the kittens have decided I always require an escort.

Usually it’s Wolfe Thor, one of the larger kittens. Occasionally he is joined by Cleo of the Braveheart. Cleo is our resident greeter in the Filer house. She inspects every person coming in the door. She is tiny. Her growth stunted by ill health in her kittenhood as the offspring of feral cats. She’s sweet, docile, and well mannered. You never know what you’re going to get when you adopt kittens of feral cats. Sometimes they are so hardy I don’t believe anything could take them down. Never even a stuffy nose. Sometimes not. It’s always a tossup. Kind of like children.

You get what God sends you.

What you DO know when you adopt a feral kitten or two (science shows they are happier in pairs) into your home is you are saving a tiny life that otherwise would likely perish.

Feral kittens have an 85% mortality rate in their first 2 years of life. They die gruesome deaths at the teeth of predators, loss of food or at the hands of ignorant humans.

You truly save a soul when you open your heart and your home to the tiny creatures. During these Holidays, please consider the little beings outside freezing. Then call Barn Cat Buddies at 540.238.5549.

- Please Adopt

Buttons is our resident beauty queen. She occasionally deigns to grace us with her presence. Buttons doesn’t bebop the way the rest of the kittens do. Buttons slinks and glides as she struts to the music in her own head. She is her own captain, often declining to join us in group activities.

She holds herself apart, as if disdainful of the kittenish activities of her littermates. Buttons is every inch a feline. Soft with a flowing mane of white and gray. When she cuddles up to you, she demands your attention. Loudly. Touch her and a cascade of purrs fills the air. When Buttons is interested in being petted, she’ll flop herself down, turning in mid-air like a competitive swimmer at the end of her lane. Landing on her back, she'll beg you to rub her belly. But no amount of rubbing is ever enough. At some point in the venture, Buttons will take her face and rub her nose insistently against yours, leaving a trail of moist wetness across your nostril and cheek.

It’s sweet, but kind of gross. Buttons will push harder and harder, intent on burrowing through your nostrils into your brain. She's sure she can find a way through the skin barrier if she simply persists. Since Buttons usually performs this ritual at night, on sleeping victims, her prey usually lies still throughout the surprising assault as thought wrestles sleep in a fight to comprehend what is happening. Buttons is a rose among thorns in our group. No one really appreciates her beauty or her maturity. The rest of the kittens are too busy having fun and being kittens, But Buttons doesn’t seem to mind. She just goes on contentedly, licking her fur, secretly knowing how good she looks.

- Buttons

Last night, all hell broke loose in the Filer house. My sister is in Hospital, so I've been gone a lot. The kittens and dog seem to have finally reached the end of their limit of civil discourse. Someone TPed the downstairs master bathroom. I'm not naming names, but it looks like a feline job.

They didn't stop until every inch of the floor was covered and the toilet paper roll was empty. Kudos for managing to keep the stream all in one piece and attached to the roll. Shaka, the dog, managed to hide her food bowl. She's stopped eating. She misses her mom. I guess I'm not the best aunt, as my focus is on kittens who seem to try to kill themselves continually. I drew a bath last night because my back hurt from all the driving in the past few days. I thought to soak for a glorious hour. The kittens missed me and crowded around for the show.

Little Cleo jumps up on the tub rim because she's the bravest of the crew. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Filer's paw snake out and smack little Cleo into the tub. With me. I don't know which of us was fighting to get out of the water quicker. I'm yelling OUCH as her claws are racking my exposed skin. She's horizontal above the water in a feat of acrobatic engineering that I failed to appreciate at the time.

The circus is nothing new in my home. The animal's antics keep me laughing as I write my books. It's commonplace to have my laptop jumped and lose a portion of my work. But life has taught me to look up from the work at the kitten seeking attention. To take the time out to love and nurture the tiny soul. Likely, the words on the laptop needed to be rewritten anyway.