4/15/24
Enter: Henry and Toast
Moving the cats out into the tiny house was my next big step to moving off the grid.
For the first month that I was out here, my darling boys, Henry and Toast, remained in town with their fellow feline companions: Egg and Chicken, and their human care givers: Chelsea and Hunter.
Though I worried how they would handle the transition, I was excited to have them back with me. They seem to be adjusting quite well.
In fear of how they’d respond to the downsize from free-ranging an entire apartment, to being confined to 12×12 feet of space, I prioritized having cat-friendly shelves installed, allowing the cats access to and from the loft above, where I slept, and giving them more ground to explore and play.
Predatory Creatures? Or Harmless Playmates?
Cats have a reputation of being highly skilled hunters, and while I’m not quite ready to let them roam around the property, catching mice and other small animals, I did anticipate that they would be eager to hunt any stray bugs that made their way into the tiny house.
Their skills were put to the test their first night here.
I watched as they both studied a trapped moth, knocking itself against the glass, trying to find it’s way out. I silently cheered them on, hoping they’d catch it – therefore fulfilling their desire to hunt, and saving me the trouble of having to catch the poor thing myself.
While I would feel guilty making the innocent, scared bug die by my hand, I had no problem letting the cats do the dirty work. The alternative being that I catch it in my hands -anxiously, holding my breath and praying to god the thing doesn’t fly at me- and release it back outside.
No, I’d let the cats’ killer instinct come to bat for this one. And for any and all future pest removal needs.
However, I soon came to learn that the cats were more interested in watching the moth fly around, than they were in catching it. Once the moth no longer interested them, they preoccupied themselves with the next best thing, pawing at the inanimate, stuffed toys littering the ground.
It wasn’t until the following evening when the moth made it’s reappearance, that I, as courageously as I could muster, cupped my hands around it, and released it back outside. Proud of myself, I turned to the cats “you see that?” I gloated “I did it y’all. I got rid of the moth.” They couldn’t be less impressed.
Too Much Grass Is, In Fact, A Bad Thing
In preparation for moving out here, I got the cats up to date with all of their shots, administered their flea and tick preventative, and adorned them with fashionable, breakaway collars decorated with personalized name tags.
I wanted to be sure that they felt comfortable and safe in the tiny house, before bringing them out to explore the grand nature surrounding us; that way in case they ever got spooked, they knew they could come back here.
Toast had no objections to spending the first few days inside. Henry, however, is more of the adventurer. So, on harness and leash, I walked him around outside with me.
He’d only walk a few feet at a time before stopping to sniff and snack on grass. I’d coax him to walk a little more, then he’d stop, sniff, and snack. ‘What’s the harm?’ I thought. ‘It’s just grass.’ And while I knew in the back of my mind, from a childhood of growing up with dogs, that consuming enough grass will make an animal throw up, I didn’t wanna ruin a good time for him.
It wasn’t until Henry was back in the tiny house, 7 feet up in the air on his newly installed cat shelves, that he verified my belief that too much grass will, in fact, make an animal throw up.
While Toast is still feeling too nervous to step more than two feet out onto the porch, Henry is eager to come out and explore. And by come out and explore, I mean high tail it to the first patch of grass he can find, chomping down on it like he don’t know when he’ll eat again. With his preference to eating grass over bugs, I’m starting to think I might just have a vegetarian cat on my hands.
Having the cats out at the tiny house with me, has added more meaning and structure to my days. I look forward to getting home every evening (and am eager to get home before too late) because I know I have two precious fur balls awaiting my return.
And waking up to two sleepy-eyed, cuddle bugs makes my mornings more enjoyable. They also help get me out of bed, because if I dare sleep in past their eating time, they’ll get real creative with ways to get my attention; whether it’s digging through the trash (which is not quite cat-proofed yet), knocking things off the counter, or meowing incessantly.
Waking up early is always a goal of mine, and boy do these cats hold me accountable. They’ve recently discovered that the loaf of bread is accessible (and easily tear-into-able) for them, so now when I hit snooze on their meows in the morning, or get home just a little too late in the evening, they’ve taken to seizing the bread, and feeding themselves. At least I know they won’t starve.