The Marvelous in Nature

A few colourful moths

I’m at my parents’ this evening, and it is chilly, unseasonably cool (it seems to me) for a mid-June night, nearly summer. I would ordinarily be outside, checking for moths on the blacklighted sheets I’d have set up, but it’s too cool for that tonight; approaching 10 C (50 F), the moths are, for the most part, tucked into sheltered spots waiting for a warmer night to fly. Since it’s June, there ought to be many nights of 20 C (68 F) temperatures that would be much more ideal. I’ve got my trap running anyway, since it involves very little effort and hey, you never know. But I’m not expecting much when I check it in the morning; the couple times I’ve peeked out the window at it I haven’t seen anything at the sheet I set up behind the light.

In contrast, earlier this month I had some excellent, warm nights. I have yet to see any nights with a sheet covered in moths, but that’s probably just as well – my identification isn’t good enough yet for me to be able to pick through the common stuff to locate the more unusual species, and I would probably feel a little overwhelmed. Even just the couple of busy-ish nights I’ve had, with 50-80 species, have been enough to keep me busy for many hours the next day. Another disadvantage to not knowing anything is that I have to photograph every moth I encounter if I want to identify it, whereas if I already know 40 of those 50 species there’s not much photographing that needs to be done the next day.

The other problem with getting so many moths is trying to choose a select few to post to the blog. With such variety, how do you narrow it down? For the non-moth’er, the large or colourful species are the obvious choices, but even among that group there is quite a selection. I eventually settled on half a dozen that I thought were the most interesting from the last few weeks. Narrowing it down to just the species I had identified helped considerably as well.

The above moth is a Wild Cherry Sphinx (Sphinx drupiferarum), which came to the blacklight at my parents’ last week. I happened to be checking the sheet as it flew in, and I knew something that large had to be a sphinx, so I really wanted to catch it. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my large-moth containers there at the sheet with me. I didn’t trust it to remain (it still hadn’t settled on the sheet, but was buzzing across its surface), so I ended up catching it in one hand, creating a loose cage with my fingers. Good thing I did, too, as it’s a somewhat uncommon species, and one that The Moth Man hadn’t seen before, so we needed photos.

On a similar note, another uncommon species that he hadn’t seen so we needed photos of was this one, the Silver-spotted Ghost Moth. The reason this species isn’t often seen is less due to its abundance, however, and more because of its habits. Most moth’ers attract their moths to some sort of lure, either a UV light or sugary syrup concoctions. This moth rarely comes to lights, so it’s infrequently caught. It has a sort of lekking behaviour, where giant swarms of males form in the evening near the species’ host trees, alders, and female moths will come to check them all out. The moths are most often encountered in these swarms. In the case of my moth, it was the rare individual that did come to check out the light, and I found it sitting in the trap. This species is also unusual in that, taxonomically, it is more closely related to the wee bitty moths than the larger moths, but it itself is about two inches long.

The caterpillar of this moth will be more familiar to most people than the moth itself. This is the adult form of the Wooly Bear caterpillar, that fuzzy, brown and black caterpillar frequently seen in the fall and perceived as a predictor of the nature of the impending winter. For such a distinct-looking caterpillar, the adult is rather bland, although its abdomen has an orange wash to it. The adults are known as Isabella Moths (Pyrrharctia isabella).

There are a number of different species of tiger moths, which are generally characterized by being about an inch in size and fuzzy, with a fuzzy caterpillar stage. The Isabella Moth is part of this group, as is the above, appropriately named the Pink-legged Tiger Moth (Spilosoma latipennis). There are two tiger moths that are nearly entirely snow white, this one and the very similar Agreeable Tiger Moth. The primary difference is in the legs – the Agreeable’s are a yellow-orange instead of pink. I’ve seen a few Agreeables so far this spring, but this was the first Pink-legged I’d caught.

Yet another bunch of tiger moths have black and tan-striped wings. This one is a Harnessed Tiger Moth. There are half a dozen or more species with this sort of pattern, and telling them apart relies on the size of the stripes, the presence of cross-bars, and the colour and pattern of the hindwings. Last week I also caught a Little Virgin Tiger Moth, very similar but for the orangeish rather than pinkish hindwings, and thinner and more numerous stripes.

When Blackburnian and I were at his mom’s place, we went for a walk through the bit of forest that backs onto her property. As we walked we kicked up many moths, about an inch in size and a bland tan colour. They were these guys, Stone-winged Owlets (Chytolita petrealis), so named for the stone colour of their wings (apparently; I think of stones as gray, not beige, personally). The long up-curved “snout” is actually a pair of palps, and are used as sensory organs. Many moths have palps, but they’re more exaggerated in some species than others.

This last one is the subtle but beautiful Unicorn Prominent (Schizura unicornis). I’m not sure why it’s been called unicorn since it has no obvious horn (unlike the previous moth). I love the shades of mocha, peach, olive and teal in the wings of this moth. I couldn’t get him to do it again for the photo, but while he was sitting in the little jar I had him in he had his hind end and wings tightly furled together and raised up in the air, like a bit of peeling bark. The prominents are a varied bunch, with some mottled like this one, others smooth and sleek, and still others rather fuzzy like the tiger moths.

As usual, if you’re interested in browsing some of the other species I’ve caught, check out my moths photoset on Flickr.

Wrigglers, tumblers and skeeters

It’s that time of year – the time when any foray out to the country or conservation area necessitates packing a can of deet-filled bug spray, when bug jackets and bug traps and bug lights and bug incense all start flying off the shelves. When many people lose many hours of sleep listening to a whine in the corner of the room. When a new dance move, more widespread and familiar than the twist or macarena, begins to be seen at outdoor gatherings. When the mosquito starts to fly.

Mosquitoes are ubiquitous and cosmopolitan, occuring on every continent except for Antarctica. We tend to think of the insects as simply “the mosquito”, but in fact there are 3000 species around the world. Most of these occur in the tropics, however North America has somewhere between 150 and 170 described species north of Mexico. In Canada, where the climate is, for the most part, much harsher and habitats less varied than through the US, that number is just over 70 species, and in Ontario it’s somewhere around 50. But still. Fifty species of mosquitoes just in my home province. Identifying the various species usually requires an expert and a microscope. The Roger Tory Peterson of mosquitoes, Richard F. Darsie Jr., has dedicated most of his career to learning and studying them all and their life stages, and is still going strong at age 90. He lives in Florida, still frequents the University of Florida’s entomology department, and continues to update his 380+-page identification and range guide to North American mosquitoes. I sure hope I’m that active and together when I’m that age!

For the rest of us, the 150 species all just get lumped into the same broad category of “the mosquito”. Mosquitoes are members of the order Diptera, which contains the flies. Like all flies, mosquitoes have just one pair of wings, a pair of vestigal wings called halteres, used for stabilizing the insect in flight, and a pair of relatively large compound eyes. Unlike most flies, mosquitoes have a specialized mouthpart, a tubed proboscis that they insert into the skin of their target to suck out blood. The proboscis is not a smooth tube, as one might expect, but is serrated, which minimizes the points of contact that the proboscis has with the host’s tissue. Unlike a smooth needle which most people can feel being (painfully) inserted, the tiny serrations ensure that very few, if any, nerves are contacted while the mosquito is feeding, and it’s possible for the host to never feel the bite or know the mosquito is there. Of course, it’s not foolproof, and often the proboscis will hit a nerve on the way in – resulting in a quick reflex that the mosquito may or may not survive.

Only female mosquitoes take blood. Mosquitoes don’t actually need blood to survive – males will never ingest any, and a female could live out its whole life without ever having a “blood meal”. Adult mosquitoes actually feed on nectar, like most flies. An adult can live for 2-3 weeks, or as much as 6 months, depending on the species. The longer-lived species are generally ones that overwinter as an adult rather than as an egg, and can sometimes be found buzzing around your house in the dead of winter when there’s a warm spell.

The blood is necessary for the development of eggs, as the female needs the protein available in the blood to produce them. Female mosquitoes generally find their targets at a distance of tens of metres/yards by detecting exhaled carbon dioxide and various body secretions such as sweat, and hone in once they get closer through sensing infrared heat given off by the target’s body. Some people will attract more mosquitoes than other people based on these things (for instance, men, because they’re generally warmer and sweatier, are likely to attract more bugs than women). Mosquito repellents work not by poisoning the mosquitoes or creating a distasteful barrier, but rather by disorienting the mosquito’s infrared honing system. Because of this repellents are not 100% effective, as the insect can still by chance, luck, or a missed area, land on and bite its target, but they’re pretty good.

Because they are blood-suckers, and inject saliva into their targets, mosquitoes are problematic vectors of many diseases. These primarily occur in the tropics, but some, such as West Nile which was introduced to North America in 1999, have made it into temperate areas. Mosquitoes are estimated to transmit diseases to 700 million people around the world annually, many of which are fatal. The mosquito-borne parasite malaria causes the death of 5.3 million people, mostly young children, every year.

The reaction to mosquito bites varies by individual. The very first bite any person gets will not swell or itch, but antibodies are created from that bite that result in subsequent reactions. The itchy bumps are essentially an allergic reaction by your body to the mosquito’s saliva, which contains more than 15 different proteins, including one to prevent clotting, one to disable platelets, one to dilate blood vessels, and others that aid in sugar digestion and nectar feeding. With continued bites some people can become desensitized to the saliva, while others can become hyper-sensitized, with mosquito bites causing severe allergic reactions with rashes, blisters and bruising.

The specific saliva composition varies from species to species, so immunity to one species does not necessarily guarantee immunity to another. My mom recounts that us girls could go outside and play for hours when we were younger and hardly be bothered by the mosquitoes or show any reactions, but when we went on a camping trip a few hours away we all found the mosquitoes horrendous – presumably a different species that we had no immunity to. These days I find I react to the mosquitoes around my parents’, but they don’t bother me too much and providing I don’t scratch them the bumps don’t itch and subside within an hour or two.

A mosquito has four life stages. Females will lay eggs on the surface of water. For this they need still bodies of water – eggs laid on a river’s surface would just get swept away. Any body of still water will do, regardless of size, and standing water in birdbaths, old pots or tires, eavestroughs, etc, can be a breeding ground for baby mosquitoes. Public awareness programs advocate dumping standing water and clearing your eavestroughs to eliminate potential breeding locations, and providing that you don’t live near a pond or a lot of puddles, it will probably work. This is more practical in town, however, where mosquitoes aren’t as much of a problem to begin with. Out in the country the accepted approach to dealing with mosquitoes is just that – just deal with them. There are many products that advertise repellents or control, but they’re hard to avoid altogether.

The above life stage, the larvae, are known in many places as “wrigglers” or “wigglers” for their habit of moving through the water by rapidly whipping their tail end back and forth. When they’re not moving, they tend to sink into the water with their tail tip at the surface and their head pointed downward. Most species of mosquito have a tube, called a spiracle, on the tip of their tail which they poke out of the water and use for breathing. One method of large-scale mosquito control involves laying a substance over the surface of the water that blocks the larvae from breathing.

Mosquito larvae eat micro-organisms and organic matter in the water, and are themselves food for many other creatures, including fish, amphibians, reptiles and other invertebrates. The latter includes the larvae of other mosquito species, specifically those in the genus Toxorhynchites which are sometimes known as “mosquito hawks” (this genus also happens to be one of the few where the females do not take blood). They have been used in some areas as a natural form of mosquito control, but are found in tropical and subtropical forests, so aren’t an option for most of North America.

A couple weeks ago my mom and I started noticing these round, dark invertebrates in the water in my parents’ water garden. We had no idea what they were, but they seemed to have just suddenly appeared. We brought one in and looked at it under the microscope, where it appeared to have a giant thorax with a couple of short antennae, and a long abdomen that folded underneath it. It wasn’t shown in my mom’s aquatic invertebrate guide, and we were stumped, so my mom sent the photo off to an invert expert at the University of Guelph.

It turned out to be the pupal form of the mosquito. Known by many as “tumblers” for their somersaulting movement through the water. The pupal form of many invertebrates is often stationary, but mosquitoes are very active. The two little antennae on its head are its breathing spiracles. The pupal form has no mouth, so its movement through the water is primarily a predator avoidance response, or to move to better conditions (such as out of the sun).

When I went back with my camera I found this empty pupal case stuck to the water hyacinth, just above the water line. Nearby were two newly-emerged adult mosquitoes, resting quietly on the water hyacinth bulb, waiting to dry out. Another reason that mosquitoes need still water is this emergence process – in areas with large expanses of open water it’s not possible to affix to vegetation or rocks, and the mosquito emerges at the water surface, where it rests until its wings and body are dried out and hardened and it can then fly off.

Adult mosquitoes are not strong fliers, and a slight breeze (or a fan) is enough to keep the bugs from bothering you. They fly at about 1-2 km/h (0.62-1.24 mph), for up to 4 hours at a time, and on a still night can fly as much as 10km (6.2 mi). I presume this is not usually actually in a straight line, but rather is the distance covered if the mosquito’s looping movements were unwound into a straight line (like measuring a long-distance runner’s laps of an oval track), but it wasn’t actually stated. Mosquitoes are mostly crepuscular or nocturnal, but they can be very active in the deep shade of the woods, as well. Or just about anywhere, for that matter. But they tend to avoid direct sunlight. In the day they’re usually found resting on vegetation, and walking through long grass in the shade of a forest edge can often throw up clouds of the insects.

The whine associated with mosquitoes is produced by the high-frequency whirring of their wings. This high-pitched noise isn’t heard by many adults, but is heard by nearly all younger people. As I was browsing the net for info, I discovered that this concept has been applied to a product called a “mosquito alarm” – not actually anything to do with mosquitoes at all except in its similar sound frequency. Rather, it’s a high-pitched noise that most adults can’t hear, but most young folks can, and is placed in areas where teens tend to gather and socialize, which can be very offputting for adults, especially if they have to wade through the groups to a store entrance or such. Many towns and stores in western Canada have started installing these and claim to have a great success rate in that they no longer have loiterers in the areas where the “alarms” have been installed. Teens can take it the other way with a “mosquito ringtone” for their cell phones, a high-pitched tone that just the younger folk can hear, allowing them to receive messages in class, or other forums where they aren’t supposed to have or use their phone.

I have several other things I could mention, but I think I’ll stop there today. I’m sure knowing all this won’t make you any happier to be out in the swarms, but at least you’ll have something to tell your friends as you’re swatting!

On Father’s Day

Today is Father’s Day. Neither of my sisters were able to make it to visit my parents today, so we’re getting together next weekend instead. I called my dad this evening, however, to wish him a happy father’s day and catch up.

I somewhat regret that I didn’t spend more time with my dad growing up, while I lived at home. A truck driver early in his career, Dad was often on the road for a couple days at a time, while my mom remained home to raise us. He worked hard to make sure our family didn’t want for anything. We didn’t live extravagantly, and we did need to make some sacrifices here and there, but we were comfortable, and more importantly, we were happy. I think my sisters and I have come to know the value of a dollar for this upbringing, and also recognize that money isn’t everything. Dad is no longer on the road, instead some time ago having been accommodated in the company offices once the long days in the truck started taking their toll physically.

Canoe

Not us, though we did paddle a red canoe.

Of course, being daughters, it’s natural that we would have shared more with our mother than our father – most dads hope for a son that they can share their own interests with, and find it difficult to relate to a daughter. My dad did pretty well by us in this respect. Dad owns a canoe that must be nearly as old as I am. Some of my fondest memories of being with my dad involve taking that canoe out on the water. Dad taught us how to canoe when we were still youngish – myself maybe ten, my youngest sister only six. Since I was the oldest, and therefore biggest and strongest, I was the paddler, and my sisters would usually sit in the floor of the canoe. Even at ten or twelve, though, I wouldn’t’ve been much of a contribution, and I’m sure that Dad did most of the work on those outings. He took us up to the small manmade lake in the nearby town to teach us, and we’d also go out to other lakes and rivers within a reasonable drive. Today I still love to paddle along the shore of quiet water, taking in the surrounding nature from a totally different perspective. I never took lessons; all of my instruction came from my dad. When I eventually have a home where I can store it I’ll get myself a canoe or kayak so I can continue to go out and enjoy the water.

Second only to that memory is going out with my dad on bike rides. Although we’d sometimes bike around the roads in our area of the countryside, more often we’d pack them up and take them to a bike trail someplace. We’ve done the Toronto lakeshore, the Grand River rail trail, another rail trail east of Georgetown, and the Niagara River bike trail. It was a great way to see the area, and I loved to watch the scenery flow by, the breeze in my hair and the sun on my face. My bike once I graduated up to “adult” size was a maroon 18-speed hand-me-down from our next-door neighbours, and I loved that thing. A thin-tired racing bike with rams-horn handlebars, I could speed along on good paved ground and feel like the wind. It wasn’t as great for rough trails, but we were rarely on them anyway. My dad maintained the bikes, and put a lot of care and effort into keeping them in good shape for us.

Looking a little worse for wear these days.

Dad built many things for us. Living in the country, we took the bus to school, and would have to wait for it at the end of the moderately long driveway. Dad built us a cute little shelter, complete with door and windows, and a bench to sit on, to wait in for the bus on days where it was cold, windy, or rainy. When the shelter was destroyed a few years later (we presume by either an errant car or intentionally by vandals), Dad collected up the scraps and used the good pieces to build a tree house in one of the maples in the front yard. The treehouse was a great little retreat, with a trapdoor, a roof in one corner, and a balcony on the other side. It’s still there, although probably no longer safe for anyone but the raccoons and squirrels. When I took a notion a few years ago to own a small flock of birds, he helped me build a large walk-in-sized flight cage for them, coaching me through the measurements and structural . In the winter he’d build a fabulous toboggan run down the one moderate hill on the property. Because of the way the trees on the hill were laid out, it was necessary to bank the run in a couple of spots, and Dad would build up the sides and corners to create a contained track that was difficult to fly out of. To make it speedier and more exciting, he’d take his water sprayer and coat the smooth track with a thin layer of ice. It was huge fun, and a favourite winter pasttime. I sometimes think in the winter of going again, but I doubt I’d enjoy it as much as the run in my memory.

Dad always seemed to have the answer. If something broke, Dad could fix it. If you needed a gadget, Dad would have it. If you wanted something to accomplish a particular goal or task, Dad could rig something up for you. In fact, he still does. I have all kinds of respect for my dad and his knowledge. In particular, he has and continues to coach me through so many computer problems. Dad got into computers early, back when they operated off floppy disks and had no internal hard drives, and he’s always known an astounding amount about them. The only reason I know as much about computers as I do is because of what he’s taught me. The same applies to household problems or car problems. Or cars in general – all three of us girls now own standard transmission cars, and the reason we can drive them is because of Dad’s patient tutelage.

I owe as much to my dad as to my mom for where and who I am right now. He’s influenced my life in a different way than Mom, but just as strongly. For everything, Dad, thank you. Happy Father’s Day.

A birding interlude

I’ve been very busy this week, it feels like I’ve barely been home. I returned to my parents’ on Monday, and remained there till Wednesday morning, whereupon I headed out for a dentist appointment. Fortunately this was just to have some routine x-rays done and a couple other similarly benign procedures, so it wasn’t a terrible trip. Then yesterday Blackburnian and I headed off to his mom’s place for the afternoon and stayed overnight to do some mothing. We returned home late this morning, and I’ve spent most of the morning photographing and subsequently editing the photos of the moths we got. I’ll have some catching up to do this weekend on various projects, tasks and chores that were put on hold while I’ve been away this week.

I’ve been trying to contribute to I and the Bird on a regular basis, but realized when the deadline came up for this edition that I hadn’t actually posted anything about birds since before the previous edition (which are semi-monthly). This is a little strange considering how birds are my primary interest, but I suspect part of it has just been a lack of good photos or notable observations. I haven’t had a lot of chance to just go out and stalk some birds – either the weather’s been not-so-hot or I’ve been busy trying to complete a survey and couldn’t dawdle with the camera.

However, while at my parents’ this week I decided to take my camera and go out to track down a couple of warblers I’ve heard singing for a while, despite the rather overcast skies that makes getting good photos near impossible. I headed up to the woodsy area behind the barn where the birds have been singing for a couple weeks. I gave a few good pishes and the birds came right in. The first one to give me a good look was the above Pine Warbler, which flew right to the open branches above my head and, after a minute or two of checking me out, began to sing. He’s an annual resident there, the first warbler to arrive in spring, his musical trill a constant from the huge White Pines in the forest behind the house.

The other warbler was this Mourning Warbler, who was much more reluctant to come forward and be seen. This is the first time I can recall a Mourning being at my parents’. They do breed throughout southern Ontario, but I’ve never encountered them there before. Most of my breeding Mourning experiences date back to when I worked for the Toronto Zoo some eight years ago. Mournings are among my favourite warblers, so I was very pleased to discover that the bird I’d heard last week was still hanging about the same spot this week. I’d expected he was likely just a migrant, present for a few days while he fueled up, but he seems to have actually set up shop back there. I wonder if he has a girl.

After the dentist appointment I was feeling ravenous, and decided to stop by Tim Horton’s on my way home to grab some lunch. The Tim’s store isn’t a very exciting place to eat, though, so I thought I’d find a spot out on one of the backroads in the countryside somewhere where I could pull over and listen to the birds. The spot I chose was a little dead-end road not far off the highway (I could still hear the roar of the highway traffic, though it was muffled by a lot of trees), where they’d run the end of the road through a small, thick swamp. I parked the car and opened the door, and the first bird I heard was this bright male Common Yellowthroat singing virtually right beside the car. I grabbed my camera and snuck over to where he was singing and pished him in. Like the Pine Warbler, as soon as he’d determined that there was nothing to worry about (which didn’t take him long) he returned to singing from within the thicket, his head thrown back and his chest all puffed out, hormones raging, I’m sure.

Another colourful bird to come in when I pished was this striking Baltimore Oriole. I don’t often get orioles to show much interest in me, so that was interesting. I also don’t tend to associate orioles with swamps, although they are often in riparian areas. They’re fairly common around here, but are more often heard than seen. It’s funny that such a brilliantly-coloured bird can be so difficult to spot. While at my parents’ I don’t see the male all that often, except when he comes to the oriole nectar feeder my mom has out.

And finally, a yellow bird. There were a couple of Yellow Warblers in the swamp with the oriole and yellowthroat, but I wasn’t able to get one to come down close enough for a decent shot. I did, however, get this other yellow bird, a sunny American Goldfinch. There seemed to be a small flock of goldfinches in the area, and they’d always respond when I pished at various points along the road. Goldfinches are late breeders, waiting for the thistles and other plants to go to seed and using the fluff to line their nests and the seeds to feed their young. They often won’t start building nests till late June or early July, when many other birds have already raised and fledged broods of young. So this group of birds I encountered were all still just hanging about, not having established territories yet (although two or three pairs may also nest in the same general area, in a loose colony).

It was nice to do a bit of visual birding where I wasn’t making tallies for each species (as I am for the surveys I’m doing). I find when I’m at my parents’ I’m often caught up in other things and tend to bird by ear, identifying what’s around based on what I’m hearing, but not actually going out to look for the singers.

An infusion of cute

It seems that so far I’ve posted about a wide variety of different things – unusual, bizarre, interesting, cool, current, pretty, colourful, diverse… but nothing that I would necessarily classify as cute. This post is to rectify that oversight.

This weekend my middlest sister was at my parents’ for a few days. She’ll be moving to Ottawa this coming weekend, and I wanted to visit with her before she takes off for the far reaches of the province (actually, it could be worse, she could be moving to Thunder Bay). Also, I wanted to visit with the cute bundles of fur currently in her care.

This is Momcat. She’s a stray who has adopted my parents. She’s been living there for about five years now. She first arrived in the area, we think, by means of some thoughtful person who dumped her and her young litter in a box at the side of the road not far from my parents’ place. There seems to be some underground network among the animal community directing the lost, the sick, and the homeless to my parents’ – good people live here. Momcat isn’t the first stray to arrive at their doorstep, and she’s unlikely to be the last, although with my parents’ moving this summer they’ll have to establish a new network.

My mom rescued a couple of Momcat’s kittens from that first litter, but Momcat herself has remained elusive. I’ve never known a more wary, nor a more wiley, stray. Most strays that arrive remain stout outdoors cats (my parents keep their own cats indoors all the time, but strays are allowed to come and go – that’s the life they know, and they’d be unhappy trapped indoors), but they pay for their lifestyle choice – most disappear after about two years, probably to cars or coyotes. The fact that Momcat has resolutely remained outdoors, and is still around five years later attests to her wileyness.

Momcat has had a litter of kittens every year since she arrived. So far she’s evaded all attempts to catch her to have her spayed, unfortunately. Over the years she’s become more comfortable around us, though she knows precisely how long our arms are and stays just out of reach. This summer I’ve spent some time trying to tame her down and win her trust enough to be able to bring her in for that (sadly, just to break that trust again, but it’s for the best). There’s hope yet.

This spring Momcat chose to have her litter in the hayloft of the barn. The hayloft hasn’t been used in a long time, it just being too cumbersome to get the hay up there, and then bring it down again. Now the hay’s stored in a shed that sides the barn. The hayloft, however, retains a nice bed of old, loose hay and straw, and is cozy, protected from the elements and predators. Since no one’s ever up there, it’s a nice quiet place for a family.

In the past, when Momcat has started bringing her kittens around to the house for food (she gets fed regular meals like the indoor cats get, but with the hopes that it will not only sustain her, but perhaps cut down on the amount of hunting she does on her own time), an attempt would be made to catch as many of the kittens (who’re slower and less wiley than their mother) as possible and distribute them to indoor homes. My parents have kept a few of Momcat’s babies, but most now live with many different friends of my sisters.

This year, because we knew the location of her kittens before she moved them, and because the location was a contained space, we were able to go in just when they reached the age of starting to feed themselves and catch them all. It was a bit of a kitten-wrangling session, not helped by the fact that the hayloft isn’t large enough for adults to stand up in so my sister and I were trying to scurry as we chased the poor frightened creatures from one end to the other. But in the end we did get them all, and brought them in to a cage we had set up.

They’ve adjusted well in the couple weeks since they’ve been in, and while Momcat still seems a bit lonely from time to time, the kittens are having a grand ol’ time with each other, and have become very friendly with people. They all have new homes lined up that they’ll be going to in the next little while. Hopefully we’ll be able to catch Momcat this summer, because we’re just about out of cat-less friends to take the kittens!

While my sister’s been visiting this weekend, the kittens have been kept on the screened-in porch where they can be separate from the other cats but still have lots of room to run around and play and make a mess (with flowerpots and the like, of course – one of the great things about kittens is that they come litter-trained). Below are some photos of the furry balls of cute.

Ruby