The Legend of Zorro-- Chapter 3 A dog-like day

Zorro wasn't too sure about Muscade when he first arrived. But it didn't take long before he started tagging along in her shadow.

A few days after Zorro's arrival:
Muscade, our 11 1/2 year old, 60 pound golden retriever/golden lab mix, and I have our morning routine down pat. She escorts me to the barn and supervises while I do my chores. When I traipse to the manure pile with a filled-to-overflowing wheelbarrow, she trots along behind, pausing to sniff the dewy grass at random.

One morning, on my daily pilgrimage to the pile, I turn to see Muscade trotting happily after me, followed by Zorro. I giggle at the thought of our three-species parade. Empty wheelbarrow in hand, I lead the way back to the barn, and to my surprise, our procession remains intact.

As I sift through the horses stalls for more fodder for the wheelbarrow, Zorro chances a rub against Muscade's front legs. Muscade shoots me a worried, "what am I supposed to do about that?" kind of look, and then Zorro seats himself on the floor beside her, mimicking her erect pose. Muscade backs away and takes up a new seat a few feet further back.

She's right to be leery. She and Ruffles have shared a house for nearly five years now. They have an uneasy truce, which Ruffles violates at will, often rubbing against Muscade, then turning to swat her in the face. Zorro has only been here a few days and his brash move has her confused. She's not ready to trust him just yet.

I make my second trip to the manure pile and am thoroughly amused to see that our convoy continues. Myself and the wheelbarrow, a tail-wagging Muscade, followed by a trotting, mewing, black and white kitty cat.

Later, I tack up Maggie and lead her down to the riding ring. As usual, Muscade follows at a safe distance (Maggie is not particularly keen on K9 companionship), and, behind her comes the ever-curious Zorro. As I mount, Muscade takes up her usual position in a sunny spot on the grass outside the ring. Zorro hops on a nearby fence post for a better view. After awhile, a bored Muscade gets up, stretches her legs, and lowers her nose to explore the tall grass along the back edge of the ring. Zorro leaps from his fence-post position and disappears into the tall grass too.

Over the next few days, Zorro's attachment to Muscade grows. The minute we let her out of the house to pee, he leaps from some nearby shrub where he's been hiding, rubs against her, then follows her. He even sits beside her while she does her business. When she comes back to the house, we look out the window to see her sitting patiently at the front door, with Zorro sitting contentedly beside her. We usually have to shoo him away as we allow Muscade back into the house.

On sunny days when Muscade sprawls on the cool grass, Zorro rolls onto his back just a few feet away. On chilly days when Muscade curls up in the sweet-smelling hay, Zorro tries to tuck himself alongside of her furry belly. Sometimes Muscade allows this, other times she chooses to relocate.



Muscade seems a bit bewildered by this cat's over-friendly gestures. I'm never sure whether she really likes her feline companion, but there was one occasion which makes me think she does care for him at least a little bit.

A few weeks after Zorro arrived, some very good friends came to visit. They brought their adorable terrier mix "Chester" for a play date. In his excitement to meet everyone, Chester (on leash) made an excited dash in Zorro's direction. Muscade promptly interjected and inserted herself between the two of them. I like to think she was protecting her little brother (not that there was any need as Chester turned out to be a perfect gentleman).

It's not just that Zorro follows the dog. He is, in fact, very dog-like: He comes when called, he's the first one to greet you when you pull into the driveway, he adores attention, and he follows people everywhere. He's turned out to be quite an entertaining character. Unfortunately, the only family member he can't seem to get along with is the other barn-cat-- Lilly.

The Legend of Zorro-- Chapter 2 The First Night

I felt the need to get a barn cat because the strays which had been hanging around the property seemed to abandon us over the summer. But at least one of them reappeared the night we got Zorro.

August 24th, 7pm
I debate about what to do with Zorro that first night. I don't want to give him free rein on the property just yet (I worry he might take off and never be seen or heard from again), but I don't want to keep him locked in the cage (how would he "do his business")? I consider bringing him into the mudroom at the house, but that might leave him with the impression that the house is his home (which it is not). In the end, I take my chances by letting him loose in the tackroom.

The problem with the tackroom is that it's really just a stall. A stall with walls that reach only partway to the ceiling. It wouldn't take much exploring for a savvy, curious cat to figure out how to get out. And once in the main barn, there are cat-doors and open stall doors that lead to freedom. I take the risk though, and loose much sleep because of it.

I turn Zorro loose on the world at about 7pm. By 8pm, he is nowhere to be seen. I search the barn while shaking a small bag of cat treats and calling his name. Nothing. I wander the property, still shake, shake, shaking the treats-- again, nothing. Tears well up in my eyes. I promised a little girl I'd take good care of her cat, and after just a few hours I've already lost him.

A few minutes pass and I check the barn again. The horses are out, so the barn is still and quiet. Then, I hear it. It's a kind of faint shuffling coming from the hayloft. Moments later, a meowing, dust and cobweb covered, black and white face peeks down from the tiny ventilation space between the barn ceiling and the walls of the hayloft. Jubilation!

He meows and squirms and stretches a paw down toward me. But he can't seem to figure out how to get down. Dave gets a ladder I stand on the highest rung, reaching with one arm to pull the cat toward safety. Zorro is of two minds. He seems to want down, but everytime I get my hands around him, he digs his claws into the wood, anchoring himself in place.

Finally I send Dave up the ladder instead (he's taller). Eventually, with me holding the ladder, he pries Zorro's claws from the rafters and a squirming, frightened cat tumbles down into my arms.

I hug him and feed him and pat him as he purrs and rubs against my legs. Reassured, (and fed), his curiosity takes over, and before we can blink he jumps onto the 4 foot high door and out into the barn.



He's skittish and nervous, but intent on exploring every corner. We leave him for the night. Or so we think.

11:00pm
With our heads barely nestled into our pillows, we're suddenly jolted upright by the banshee-like, high-pitch screams of fighting cats. My first thought is that Tomlin (the tough, scrapy, ugly, street-smart Tom cat) is back and is showing my poor, inexperienced, urban indoor cat what it takes to live life in the sticks. I run outside toward the barn and yell, but I don't see any cats. I check the barn and shake the treat bag again. I walk the dark path toward the riding ring calling his name. But Zorro has disappeared and hasn't carved any Z's in the walls or on the ground to help me find him.

I go back to bed, but I don't sleep. I worry that he's lying somewhere outside, alone, frightened, and bleeding. I toss and turn and worry for hours, thinking that I should have brought him to the house. At 3:30 in the morning, Dave and I jerk upright in bed again. It's that same, spine-chilling, snarling, cat-fighting sound. I throw on a sweater and my crocs and tear outside to the barn. I get there just in time to see Lilly dash out of the tackroom (where I had left full dishes of cat-food for Zorro).

Lilly? I have seen Tomlin around from time to time, but I haven't seen Lilly in over a month. I assumed that she had taken up residents at one of the farms down the road-- which is probably where she came from to begin with. Now I wonder whether she's been here all along, to shy to show herself when we're around. Right now though, I don't care. She has clearly frightened my poor Zorro (who's cowering in the rafters with a small scratch on his nose), and I'm not in a forgiving mood. I chase her outside.

I climb up on the ladder again, but I can't reach Zorro. At least I know he's here and he's alive. In the morning I'll work on getting him down.

The Legend of Zorro-- Chapter 1

After my encounter with the bold, and clearly deranged squirrel playing house in my barn, I began the search for a barn cat-- actually, I began the search for two barn cats. What I ended up with was a live-in stray and a foxy, masked-avenger who defends our property (and his food dish) with great gusto.

Sometime in August 2010
Finding a kitten would be easy. There are so many cute, cuddly, barely-weaned fluff-balls up for adoption on Kijiji that it's no wonder some people end up hoarding dozens of them. I, however, am on a mission, and I won't be deterred by cuteness. The cats I'm looking for just have to be proven mousers with an affinity for the outdoors. If they're scrappy looking and un-cute, then all the better.

As I scroll through the pages, I see several adult cats up for adoption (mostly due to "changes of circumstances" beyond their owners' control), but most are Garfield-like indoor cats, many of whom don't even have claws-- definitely not what I'm looking for.

I decide to place my own ad: BARN CATS WANTED Looking for two outdoor, adult cats-- proven mousers who are preferably spayed or neutered.

The next afternoon, there's a message on my cell phone from someone saying they have the perfect cat for me. I'm busy at work though and I don't get a chance to call back right away. A few hours later, as I'm driving home, my phone rings again. It's another response to my ad. It's a man named David (and no, it's not my husband). He says his family has the perfect cat for me-- and he has been neutered.

He's supposed to be an indoor, family cat, but is adept at slinking out through open doors or windows. While out, his murderous instincts take hold and he savagely attacks both feathered friends and furry fiends. He presents his bloodied prey as trophies at the front door. This has created tension among the bird-loving neighbours and the family is getting tired of trying to defend their cat's honour.

Me: "Out of curiosity, what colour is he?"

David: "He's black with white paws, and a white nose and belly."

That's all I need to hear. I'm in love. I grew up with a kind, gentle, easy-going black and white cat. Whiskers was my faithful companion through 16 years of childhood triumphs, teenage angst, and adult beginnings, and I miss him to this day. I've had a soft spot for "tuxedo" cats ever since, and came very close to adopting one named "Socks" from the SPCA in Moncton a couple of years ago.

David (somewhat apologetically): "His name is Zorro"

I try unsuccessfully to stifle a giggle, and then I make arrangements to meet David, his family, and their cat the next afternoon after work.

I try not to get my hopes up, but I have a good feeling, so I search through some as-yet unpacked boxes and dig out the oversize cat carrier and toss it into the trunk.

It turns out the family lives in a busy, family-oriented subdivision in Eastern Passage. When I arrive, Zorro doesn't waste anytime in trying to bolt out the front door. We manage to thwart his attempts though, and I am instantly, completely in love.

I sit and chat with the lovely family for a good half hour. Within minutes, Zorro leaps onto my lap and curls up. He purrs contentedly as I stroke his shiny black coat. The parents and the two daughters are extolling Zorro's many virtues-- they seem worried that I might not like him. Little do they know that I'm sitting here worried they won't like me enough to let me take him home.

The youngest daughter (Sophie) declares that Zorro's favourite colour is pink. She promptly produces a pink headband/wig combo and puts it on Zorro. He squirms and wriggles, but is otherwise resigned to what I expect is a common ritual. Sophie pats and plays with Zorro and it's clear that she's probably the person who will miss him the most. I feel bad. I try to reassure her that I'll offer him a great home-- and that they're all welcome to visit anytime.

After a bit more chatting, they ask if I've brought a cat carrier. Feeling relieved and excited, I bring it inside from the car. I put it on the floor so Zorro has a few minutes to get used to it before I have to coax him inside. The small metal door is barely open before he shoves his way inside the big green box, sniffing at all the unfamiliar smells. As I ask for the dates of his last vaccinations, and what kind of food he likes, Zorro curls up and falls asleep in the carrier. Sophie gently slides his pink wig/headband into the carrier and tells me I can keep it so he'll feel at home.

Then, just as I'm heading out the door with him, she rushes to the basement and reappears momentarily with a square fleece blanket with a cat paw print. "This is Zorro's", she says, and so I thank her and add it to my new cat's meagre possessions. After that, I'm speechless.

For the drive home, I position the carrier in the middle of the backseat, facing the dash. I have a bag of cat treats handy, and I can easily reach my hand back to appease him if he seems unhappy-- which he does. The 45 minute drive home is filled with regular yeowls of discontent. He's not interested in the treats, but the guttural sounds ease when I shove my fingers into the cage for him to rub against.

Finally we're home and as soon as the car stops moving, Zorro becomes quiet again. I open the car door and point the cage outside so he has a chance to look around before being released into his new habitat. The dog, always happy to see me, rushes to the car, tail wagging, and barking like crazy. Zorro's not impressed. He hisses a bit, and Muscade glances in his direction, but otherwise ignores him.



I leave Zorro like that for half an hour or so, then I move the carrier into the cool, quiet tack room in the barn. I place some food and water inside, but leave him in the cage for another hour or so.

That evening, I let him out of the cage. His first night proves to be a sleepless one for both of us.

To be continued...