Taking Back the Barn

Our family has been living in fear for the last 28 days of our lives. I’ve had it. Something’s gotta give. Poor Gemma won’t even come out of her hiding spot most days. I have to bring her meals to her. I hate seeing her like this. I just don’t know what to do. I really thought that Farmer John would take care of it, but he hasn’t. Nope. No one is going to save us. It’s up to me. If only I knew how.

Being a barn cat ain’t so bad, all things considered. Gemma and I were born in this barn almost two years ago. We are the last remaining felines from our litter. The other three were adopted out. I used to wish I had been adopted by a nice family, but we have it pretty good here. I’ve heard tell of some cats being cooped up inside all the time by their families which adopted them. I don’t think I could stand that. Here, we can come and go as we please. Sometimes Gemma and I go on adventures and don’t come back for days. But when we get hungry enough, we always return. There’s plenty of mice for eatin’ in the barn. And sometimes Farmer John leaves a fresh saucer of Agnes’s milk out for us.

Sure, the winters get cold, but me and Gemma just snuggle under the hay. We keep each other warm and tell stories and make plans for our next adventure when the spring comes around. We love springtime. The days get longer and the breeze catches the dandelions. We chase the white fluffy seeds and make wishes. And in the summertime, we lay all lazy-like in the hot afternoon sun, and creep around the fields in the full moon light. Yeah, life is good as a barn cat. Don’t let nobody tell you any different. Least it was until 28 days ago when Momma's kittens put us all in jeopardy.

About four months ago, our Momma had another litter. So now we got four little ones running around causin’ all kinds of trouble. I just ignore them most of the time, but one night when Gemma and I came back after a two-day adventure, Momma met us at the barn door.

“Where you been, Geno?” She asked me all in a panic. I was bit surprised ‘cause Momma doesn’t ever bother with us much.

“Gemma and me been in the woods. Why?”

“Did Boots go with you?” She asked, all wide-eyed and crazy like.

“No, course not.” I said. Why would she even think such a thing. Like I would take one of those scrawny little kittens out on a two day trek in the woods with me and Gemma?

“Boots is missin’,” Momma said, her eyes shinin’ like she was gonna cry.

“Come on, Momma. He’s a kitten. He probably chased a butterfly or somethin’ and got lost. He can’t be too far. We’ll go scout around for him. Okay?”

“Thanks, Geno.” Momma went back into the barn to tend to the other kittens, and Gemma and me took a lap around the barn yard to see if we couldn’t find Boots. We were both tired from our long hike, and after about an hour we went back to the barn. Boots was nowhere in sight. Momma was sleeping with the other three kittens piled around her, so Gemma and I went to the loft and passed out in the hay bales.

The next morning, me and Gemma picked up our search for Boots. We made a game out of it just to keep things interesting. Whoever found him first got dibs on the next mouse we found. We both knew the other would share the spoils, but the competition made it more fun. We were just about to head off in two different directions when we heard this awful ruckus coming from the yard in front of Farmer John’s house. Gemma and I crouched low to the ground scanning the area.

“John! John!” Mrs. Farmer John was hollering. Farmer John came out of the barn and walked quickly toward the front of the house. Me and Gemma ran to the side of the house and crept along the edge of it, keeping low and out of sight. We stopped at the corner of the porch. We couldn’t see much, but we could hear ‘em.

“Oh, John. It’s awful.” Mrs. Farmer John was saying. She pressed her hand to her mouth and looked away. “What do you think happened to the poor thing?” She asked.

Farmer John knelt down on one knee and rested his forearm on his thigh. He took his hat off and slapped it against his leg then put it back on.

“If I had to guess,” he said. “Something–an owl, a hawk–something picked him up and then was either attacked by a bigger bird or got spooked by something else and it dropped him. You can see the punctures here.” He pointed to the object on the ground. “I don’t think these are teeth marks. There’s no tearing. I think they’re claws or talons or something like that.” Farmer John stood and dusted off his knee.

“I’ll get my shovel and get rid of him.” Mrs. Farmer John went into the house, and Farmer John walked back to the barn.

I made a move to go see what was on the ground, though I already thought I knew.

“Where are you going?” Gemma asked. She looked surprised, maybe even mad.

“I gotta go see, Gemma. It might be Boots.” Gemma stared at me.

“I’ll come with you,” she said and started to move.

“No, Gemma. You don’t have to come. You shouldn’t see this if it’s him.” She cut me off.

“I said I’m coming with you.” Both of us crept up to the spot where Farmer John and the Mrs. had been. Sure enough, there lay poor little Boots. At first, he looked like he was sleeping. But then I noticed the dark, stiff clots of dried blood on his belly and back. Just then I heard Farmer John coming back with his shovel. I made a move to leave, but Gemma didn’t move.

“Gemma,” I said. “Let’s go.” She still didn’t move. She just kept staring at Boots. I used my head and nudged her away, standing between her and Boots so she couldn’t see him anymore. “Come on.” I said, and she hurried away with me right behind her. The rest of the day, Gemma was quiet and wouldn’t talk about what we saw. I couldn’t decide if it was better to tell Momma Boots was dead or let her keep worrying about him being missing. But I was too worried about Gemma to worry about Momma too, so I let it be for the moment.

Two days later we got our answer as to what had happened to Boots. Farmer John and Mrs. Farmer John had put two suitcases in their green truck, and we heard them say something about visiting Mrs. Farmer John’s sister for a few days. The barn door was left unlatched and left ajar just enough for us to come and go. That night, Gemma couldn’t sleep. I could hear her pacing around. I lay there, my eyes tracking her back and forth.

Unable to take it any longer, I got up and walked beside her. I steered her toward the side of the barn where the hay door was. I crouched and peered through the crack under the door. Gemma crouched beside me and did the same. The night was so clear we could see the moon shining brightly surrounded by millions of twinkling stars.

Suddenly, Gemma sprang up and ran down the ladder. I followed behind her just in time to see her slip out the barn door. I muttered under my breath and quickened my pace. I ran into the yard and stopped a few feet from the barn. I glanced around looking for Gemma. I walked back to the barn and, sticking close to it, I crept around to the side with the hay door. I stuck my head around the corner and Gemma was sitting against the barn looking up at the sky. I walked over and sat next to her.

“Do you think Boots is in heaven?” she asked me.

“Of course he is,” I answered. “He might have been a little devil down here, but he was just a kitten–pure of heart and a good soul.” Gemma just sighed and closed her eyes. As I surveyed the yard, some movement caught my attention. I blinked, trying to focus on what I was seeing. Gemma felt me stiffen into alert mode and looked in the same direction I was. She changed her stance, and I could tell she saw something too.

Cautiously, we crept along the barn toward the front. And then I realized what or rather who it was. Charlie, one of the kittens, was chasing a mouse around the yard. I swore under my breath. “Damn, kittens.” They should know by now not to leave the barn at night. I told Gemma to stay put, and I ran into the yard to get Charlie. I saw him pounce on the mouse and then a shadow crossed the ground between Charlie and me. I looked up just in time to see a barn owl diving from above. I sprinted over to Charlie and jumped on top of him. We rolled end over end and the mouse went scurrying away. The owl stretched out his legs and spread his feet wide so his talons were fully expanded. He dropped just inches away from us, scooped up the mouse, and flapped its powerful wings as he rose back into the air. Gemma must’ve thought he was coming for me and Charlie ‘cause I heard her scream “No!” as she came running toward us.

“Get to the barn, Gemma!” I yelled at her. Then I scooped up Charlie by the scruff of his neck and headed to the barn myself. Gemma was at the door waiting. Carrying Charlie was a struggle. At four months old, he was long and weighed roughly half of what I did, but I didn’t dare let go of him. I was nearly at the door when I heard Gemma scream again.

“Geno! Geno, hurry! It’s the owl!” I couldn’t look back or up with Charlie in my mouth so I focused on the door and hurried the best I could with Charlie dragging between my front legs. Gemma jumped up and pushed the barn door. It swung wide to make it easier for us to enter. I dropped Charlie as soon as we were inside and told him to follow me. We ran with Gemma to one of the empty stalls and hid in the corner. And then we heard it–the unmistakable sound of flapping wings. The owl had followed us into the barn.

I looked at Gemma and Charlie, willing them to be quiet. The loud flapping in the enclosed space was frightening, and it startled Momma and the other two kittens. They began to mewl and the owl landed on a beam just above them. I crept to the door of the stall and poked my head around. I could see Momma corralling the kittens while she kept an eye toward the owl above. She was trying desperately to move them to a safer place behind a pitchfork and a shovel. I made myself look as big as possible and ran over to where they were. I looked directly up at the owl, daring him to take me. I could see him looking me over, assessing my size and weight, trying to determine if he could. Meanwhile, I grabbed a kitten by the scruff and Momma followed my lead and grabbed the other one. We dragged them behind the tools. Then me and Momma sat in front of them and stared at the owl. After a brief stand-off, the owl flew up to the loft. We didn’t hear from him again, but needless to say it was a long and sleepless night.

So, it’s been 28 days since the owl got Boots and 24 days since he took up residency in the barn. Farmer John came back, but he’s done nothing about the owl in the barn. Oh, he knows about it. He just doesn’t see it as a bad thing. Just one more predator to rid the barn of mice–and kittens, Gemma added. Farmer John clearly did not fully understand the situation. Every night we huddle in the darkness hoping we all make it to mornin’. What used to be our sanctuary is now our nightmare. We do our hunting during the day because our nights are filled with terror as the owl hunts. Since mice are night-crawlers, our daytime pickins are slim, and we are all exhausted from trying to keep the kittens safe.

Gemma is terrified. She can’t shake the image of Boots lying dead in the grass and the encounter with the owl in the farmyard with Charlie and me was just too much. Knowing the owl is in the barn gives her nightmares. I suggested that she move under the porch of Farmer John’s house, but she won’t leave us. I can’t go with her. I can’t leave Momma and the kittens to fend for themselves. And Mrs. Farmer John wouldn’t like all of us hanging around her porch. Of that, I am certain.

One good thing that’s come out of this is that Charlie has grown up in a hurry. One night he asked me if I thought the owl got Boots. I didn’t want to lie to him, and because I thought it was important that he realize the danger, I told him yes. I told him I found Boots, and most certainly it was the owl that got him. Charlie got quiet and seemed to let that sink in.

“Thanks for saving me that night, Geno,” he said real sad-like. I just nodded at him. And ever since then, Charlie’s been steppin’ up. He helps Momma keep the kittens in line, and he watches over Gemma when I’m scrounging around for rodents and scraps to keep us fed.

Today Charlie came to me when I was sitting outside the barn. He had hatched a plan, and he wanted to run it by me. When he was done, I had to admit it was a good plan. Would it work? I don’t know. But what I do know is we can’t just keep keepin’ on like this. Just waitin’ around for that pesky owl to decide to move on. It feels like givin’ up. And so Charlie and me are putting the plan in motion. It ends tonight, one way or another.

I found Momma and the two other kittens outside near the old tractor. Momma was dozing in a sitting up position while the kittens wrestled nearby. I filled her in on Charlie’s plan. At first she argued with me that it was too dangerous, but I assured her it would be fine. As long as she and the kittens stayed hidden, all would work out. Grudgingly, she gave in. I think she was just too tired to argue about it anymore.

Next, I went to find Gemma. She was holed up in one of the stalls as was her habit these days. She was a lot harder to convince than Momma was, but when I told her I couldn’t live like this anymore and she saw the tears shinin’ in my eyes she gave in.

“Don’t you wanna be free again, Gemma? Don’t you wanna go on our adventures again and feel the sun on your face? Don’t you wanna look at the stars and run around the barn hunting for mice?” I searched her face. “Don’t you want that for yourself again, Gemma?”

The look on her face was heartbreaking. I could see it all there. She wanted so badly to go back, back before that damn owl, back before that night, back before Boots. I saw the hope, but I also saw the fear. She looked away from me then and gave me the slightest nod of her head. I took that to mean that hope won out. I took that and ran with it.

When night came, Gemma, Momma, and the kittens were safely tucked away and were as prepared as they could be for what was about to go down. I took my place in the loft, buried deep in a pile of hay. Charlie, he had the hard part. But I believed in him, and I willed him all the courage I could muster.

About an hour after we were in our positions, the owl stirred. I could hear him rustling about. I wondered if Charlie heard him, and I listened intently for his signal. And there it was. Charlie knocked something off the workbench and then jumped to the ground to investigate. He started batting something around on the dirt floor, trying to draw the attention of the owl. I heard the owl take off from its perch in the loft and land on a rafter just above Charlie.

I couldn’t see Charlie for two reasons–one, he was on the ground and I was in the loft, and two, I was deep in the hay. If Charlie stuck to the plan, he’d be aware of the owl but pretend to be so distracted by his play that he didn’t notice him. I strained to hear and sure enough, Charlie was still batting the object around the barn. I had to believe he knew the owl was watching him.

The other sound I heard was the owl’s talons clicking against the wood beam as it paced back and forth watching his prey. It was unnerving and nearly drove me to leap out of the hay and abandon our plan. But then it happened. The loud and powerful beating of wings echoed in the barn. I heard Charlie scrambling below me, running here and there, knocking things over in an effort to avoid the owls' talons.

At one point I heard the owl shriek and something came crashing down off the shelves. I could hear Charlie bolt up the ladder, the beating of wings close enough to drown out the sound of the thump as he launched his body into the hay in the loft. Now it was my turn.

Charlie lay still and silent in the hay, and I began to move about. The idea was that the owl would assume I was Charlie and take a dive at me. And sure enough, it worked. Before I knew it, I felt the sharp bite of the owl’s talons in my ribcage. It nearly took my breath away, but my adrenaline kept me going. He squeezed my body tightly as he tried to lift into the air. He actually managed to get me several inches off the floor and for a moment I thought we had underestimated his strength. But then his wings gave out and he came crashing down to the floor before he could let go of me. He was stunned, but I was ready for it. As soon as we hit, he loosened his hold on me. I jumped on top of him and began clawing and biting him. Before I knew it, someone else was beside me fighting just as fiercely if not more. Though I did not dare pause to look, I knew it was Gemma. She was snarling and biting and clawing as all of her fear, frustration, and sadness was savagely unleashed. And then it was over. The owl ceased to fight, ceased to move, ceased to breathe. Charlie came out from the hay, and we three sat looking at the bloody mangled heap of feathers.

I heard a noise coming from below. We walked to the edge of the loft and saw a beam of a flashlight as the doors opened. Farmer John stood in the doorway and swung the beam around the room. He grumbled when he saw everything all topsy turvy. He aimed his flashlight at the loft and caught Gemma, Charlie, and me sitting and watching him.

“Hey there,” he said. We tensed, ready to bolt. But his tone gave me pause. I expected him to be mad, but his voice sounded soft. He climbed the ladder, all the while speaking in soft soothing tones. Then I realized. His voice was one of concern. We were covered in blood and feathers, and he was worried about us. So we didn’t run. We just waited.

When Farmer John got to the top of the ladder, he scanned the loft with his flashlight. He paused when he saw the mass of mangled feathers and blood that used to be the owl.

“Huh,” was all he said. Then he used his flashlight to look us over one by one. When he saw the punctures in my side, he gently scooped me up and took me down the ladder. He closed the barn door and for the first and only time, I spent the night in his house. He cleaned me up, poured something over my wounds, gave me a bowl of cream and put one of his flannel shirts on the floor for me to sleep on. The next morning, I went back to the barn.

Gemma and Charlie were waiting for me. Charlie presented me with one of the talons from the owl, and we butted heads in affection. Gemma walked over and rubbed her body against me. I winced in pain from the punctures in my side, but it was then I knew she would be okay. We had our barn back, and we would all be okay.