Wakita is dead

Living in the woods means that I don't have to worry very much about humans. My neighbor's place more or less blocks all entry to my place. Anyone coming here has to get past them first. These are horse people, farmers, and no frills people who guard my gate. Courteous to a fault, they nevertheless understand and deeply respect the concept of privacy. Very few people wander accidently into Hickory Head, and fewer still return uninvited. This might not be heaven, but you cannot get there without living here first.

The lack of human activity here, and the plethora of human activity elsewhere, makes the area around my place a haven for critters. Deer know that staying close to my house means they won't get shot. Hawks and other raptors realize that I do not shoot at them, so they are free to hunt as close to the house as they dare. I don't keep the wild brush cut back so there are plenty of places for all sorts of animals to live, breed, hunt, and hide. Spiders thrive on my porch. Snakes crawl without fear all around the house. Birds nest in every nook and cranny they can find here.

Bert and Sam have carved out their own little universe inside the fenced in backyard, which covers more than an acre. This is two dog territory and there are few creatures who dare trespass. The caveat for coming in on the dogs is that whatever danger exists outside the fence has to be greater and more immediate than the danger inside the fence. That's usually how nature works. Safety in the wild is measured by moments rather than by years. A snake who knows that the pond birds can find him easily when the water is low might take a chance on the dogs, or me, not being able to find him as easily as they pond birds.  The coyotes realize that I can, will, and have, fired on them, and they suspect deeply I'll do just that if they get near enough. They realize the mutts will alert me when they get too close, and they have to know when Bert does his coyotes are here bark I know exactly what he's saying, and I'll react to it by shooting at them. They also know if they come in on me, I'll go looking for them. My neighbors actively hunt them, so the coyotes walk a fine line. They know most prey consider my place a sort of haven. How close they dare hunt is a matter, again, of safety in the moment.

Wakita is dead. She wasn't here when I got home yesterday, didn't come home last night, and wasn't at the door for breakfast this morning. The downside to letting nature live this close is small mammals, like cats, aren't afforded the usually protection of a human who tries to beat the wild back entirely. Hawks, owls, coyotes, wild dogs, tame dogs, foxes, bobcats, and maybe even a jaguarondi could have gotten her.  The list of enemies of small mammals is long, and even a cat can, and will fall prey.

Wakita was killed by the leading cause of death among pets; human stupidity. I found her in bad shape Wednesday afternoon as I was walking out of the door to go to a funeral. She looked like she had just given birth to a litter of kittens, but she was suppose to be fixed. Wakita ate a little of the food I offered to her, and drank a little of the water. I left her by the porch to go to the funeral. When I got back, just over an hour later Wakita was gone.

Since Wednesday I haven't been able to find her. I've looked in all the good cat hiding places and I've looked in all the bad cat hiding places. I've watched the buzzards to see if they've found anything anywhere near. Nothing.

Wakita is dead. She was killed by what kills far too many pets. Wakita died because I made the wrong choice. Wakita died because I didn't take care of her when she really needed me to take care of her.

Take Care,

Mike