“Tractor Mouse”

Psalm 32:7, “Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; Thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.” (KJV)

Chore time, I watched two furballs scamper across the gravel driveway and jump into a haystack inside my barn. After feeding the cattle and horses, I spotted four eyeballs backed into the shadows of the tall stack. The tiniest kitten—off white and Siamese cross—moved forward and rested on the edge of the bale. The kitten swayed as it watched me with damp blue eyes. The other all-black kitten peered at me from the cave of straw, refusing to come out. I love cattle, horses, and my standard poodle, but I most certainly, did not want a cat. I didn’t grow up with cats, and my mother didn’t like them. Realtors warned of cat urine devaluing an owner’s property value by thousands of dollars, and I imagined a urine stain plaguing me for life. With nineteen horses and nearly a hundred head of cows at the time, I didn’t need any more mouths to feed. I wouldn’t accept those felines into my home. My first thought was to call the humane society, but God had different plans. When my veterinarian made a ranch stop later that afternoon to vaccinate my horses, his words stuck with me. “Everyone needs a home,” Dick said, his steel-gray eyes locking with mine. “I have three barn cats at my place.” When his truck pulled away, guilt washed over me for not seeing the arrival of these kittens as a win-win situation. Our ranch needed an excellent mouser, and the kittens required a warm haybale, food, and water. Instead of calling the humane society, I decided to keep them and build them a home. My husband and I quickly constructed a kitty maze out of small square bales, arranging them in various ways so they could escape a fox, coyote, or mountain lion. The most petite kitten didn’t live long. After a quick burial, the black kitten settled in. From my kitchen window, I watched the surviving kitty sprint across the driveway and dash underneath a tractor inside the hay shed. She never exposed herself long unless Louie, my poodle, and I were feeding horses. Kitty’s yellow eyes tracked us from inside one of the maze holes. Mouser, the name I gave her, eventually scrambled out of her hiding place more frequently and met me carrying the food bowl. Within a month, I had to watch my step because Mouser loved my dog, who wagged his coiffured pom, nearly tripping me during feeding time. My cat adopted my poodle’s behaviors, walking by his side around the hay shed, then taunting him until he gave chase. During the winter, each morning after I fed the cows, Mouser met me when I shut down the tractor, jumping toward the exhaust stack and cuddling into the warmth. Then, she climbed into my lap, and I brushed her sleek, long coat, watching kitty’s eyes close as her purr rumbled. Eight years passed before I found Mouser bleeding. Without thinking, I snatched my kitty and tossed her into a small carrier, then rushed her to the emergency room. Five hours later, after several stitches and antibiotics, Mouser came home. “Now, remember,” the veterinarian warned. “You must keep Mouser inside for warmth after anesthesia.” My Heavenly Father had bailed me out of enough troubling circumstances in my life, so I could certainly extend the same favor to one of His creations. Soon, the warm utility room became Mouser’s quarters. She cried and clawed at the closed door. I sat on the floor with her in my lap, brushing her like we did in the hay shed, and she quieted. My poodle sniffed the bottom of the passageway and pawed for me to let Mouser out. I cringed, opening the door and thinking about my new hardwood floor. What if kitty soaked the wood and I couldn’t get rid of the smell? For two days, she cried. I finally opened the door. Mouser hid underneath the couch, her paw poking out and touching the soft curls of my poodle. At night, she snuck into the bedroom and snuggled close to Louie, who slept soundly and didn’t seem to mind another body pressed into his. Soon, Mouser went outside at dusk and came to the door at night. I was not grateful for the mouse trophies she left on our front doormat (the poor UPS driver had to scan the ground for trophies so he wouldn’t dirty his boots), but I was grateful for the best lap warmer I’ve ever experienced. Whenever I read, Mouser loved to curl up on my lap, where I would pet her with my free hand. My heart warmed with the sound of her purring, and soon I grew to love that gentle kitty every bit as much as I loved Louie. God used Mouser to change and soften my heart toward cats, something I didn’t choose, much less want; but it showed me that, if I’m willing and will follow God’s lead, he can change my heart in any circumstance.