A Cold Day's Journey

There are friends you can drink wine with. There are friends you can take endless selfies with. There are friends you can gossip with. Eva isn't one of those friends.

Eva isn't much for gossiping and she doesn't drink. When we hang out, once every few months or so, we never end up just sitting around. There's usually a walk or hike of some kind involved in our visits. Even when we're in the city, we end up trudging through mosquito-infested trails beside the Grand River, or pounding the pavement in downtown Kitchener in -24 degree weather, on the hunt for a good sushi place. Sometimes she takes me for picnics in places like this:

One thing I especially like about Eva is that she brings her trusty camera nearly everywhere. She has a talent for taking fantastic, unexpected shots of random cool stuff like this:

And we always meet interesting characters:

Eva loves to take photos of me, too, because I am just as entertaining as little red salamanders and Alice In Wonderland mushrooms, don't you think?

This past weekend, Eva and her trusty camera came up to Someday for a visit. After Eva showered us with an assortment of funky gifts, D distracted the kids so Eva and I could do our thing. It was freaking freezing and horribly grey outside, which never bothers Eva, but the temperature thwarted my plans to initiate her into the world of sap domination: all the pails were frozen solid. So we bumbled around the farm instead. I introduced her to the cows and calves and barn cats (and to Carman) before we set off down the hill for a hike on the trails below the farm.

That's when the sun came out, turning the sky electric blue and the snow into a brilliant canvas of white. The air was as cold and fresh and crisp as my favourite wine. We trudged along the half-frozen trails, sometimes talking, sometimes not, always comfortable beside each other.

The best part about a hike with Eva is that she gets you to look at things you've seen before with a new appreciation. As soon as she whips out that camera, I know to pause and wait until she gets the shot she's looking for, and I try to see whatever it is she's seeing in the moss, or tree trunks or raindrops she's focused on. As a reward for my Buddha-like patience, I usually get a chance to act like an idiot somewhere within the frame of her imagination.

Eva and I try to sushi whenever we can. Kincardine now has a mind-blowing TWO sushi places to choose from, so after we stuffed ourselves with gyoza and agedashi tofu and dynamite rolls at Sushi Won, we went for a bone-chilling walk along the pier. I remember how fascinated I was with the lake during my first winter in the Bruce; I'd never seen the water wearing anything other than its sparkling summer attire, and it shocked me to see it looking like a setting in a Farley Mowat novel.

Eva was equally taken with the frozen wasteland as we braved the east wind and darkening sky:

I was tempted to jump down from the pier and see if the ice would hold - wouldn't THAT make the front page of the Kincardine News? - but after a horrified look from Eva, I settled for a Dorka-the-Explorer-meets-Sears-model pose instead:

We may not drink or selfie together, but Eva and I are in it for the long haul of friendship, one wacky walk at a time.

The Kittification of Someday

(This is a revised and expanded version of a 2009 entry)

A month before we officially owned Someday, D and I went for an illicit hike through the meadow to look at the river. It was my idea; he warned me that if we were caught, we’d be in trouble, since we didn’t legally have possession of the land yet.

“Please,” I scoffed. “Who’s gonna catch us? The farming police? Don’t be such a chicken.”

So we had our tromp back to the river, Neko crashing through the undergrowth ahead of us. I was enchanted with the evergreen forest at the top of the hill, the wild apple trees and pussywillows, the swoosh of the Pine River as it flowed past our feet. I imagined lazy afternoons reading on the riverbank, envisioned taking my dad to fish there. Neko frisked around us and I jumped around in the tall grass and hugged D with delight. He patted me on the back with infinite patience. To him, the river was just an interruption in the farmland. To Neko and me, it was heaven.

As we clambered up the steep, goldenrod-choked path up from the river to the meadow, I noticed a figure leaning on the gate at the other end of the field.

“Oh good,” muttered D.

“Who’s that?” I asked, panting as we crested the hill.

“Doc Munn’s daughter. I told you we’d be in shit if we did this,” said D, grabbing Neko by the collar and clicking her leash on. “This should be fun.”

As we got closer, I put on my friendliest, most beguiling “Oh, is it wrong we’re on your land?” smile and went to introduce myself. Ms. Munn was not amused. She informed us we were trespassing and if one of us had broken a leg in the field or by the river there could have been deep legal trouble. I looked sideways at Dwain. He stood there and accepted the chastisement, although I could tell by his jaw he was about ready to give a lecture of his own. Neko, meanwhile, repeatedly choked herself in her eagerness to make new friends.

Ms. Munn had an old dog with her so we let our pets sniff each other while I attempted to make small-talk about animals and how beautiful the property was. This seemed to soften her up ever so slightly.

“I walk up here every night with my dog to feed the cats,” she informed us.

“Cats?” I asked. “What cats?”

Ms. Munn led us inside the abandoned horse stable and pointed out each of the four cats who lived there, giving us a brief history of each feline.

“This is Mummy,” she said, stroking the plump, purring black and white cat sprawled at our feet. “And that’s Black Betty,” she said, pointing to a pure black kitty reclining on some straw. “She’s named after your mother's cousin Betty Pollard,” Ms. Munn informed D tartly, “because they have the same personality.” I kept a straight face, vowing to remember this conversation word for word so I could amuse my in-laws with it later.

Next came the Teenager, so named because she was “moody,” and finally Frances, who peered at us from between a crack in the boards. “Don’t try to pick her up,” instructed Ms. Munn without further explanation. We also received detailed instructions about administering food, water and bi-annual rabies shots. She seemed so attached to the kitties that I timidly suggested she take them with her before we moved in. She looked at me as though I'd suggested we barbeque them and retorted, "It's the only home they've ever known." She went on to tell us that the cats were worth thousands of dollars, a statement that caused D to emit a choking sound Ms. Munn and I pretended to ignore. I could not wait to describe this scene to Carman.

We never ran into Ms. Munn again after that day, but she did leave us a card in the kitchen which we found the morning we moved in. “Aww, she must have left us a housewarming card,” I said, ripping it open and feeling bad that I’d found her so prickly on our first meeting. The card simply said, “Please take care of the cats. THIS IS THE ONLY HOME THEY'VE EVER KNOWN.” Two labelled photos of “the girls” were tucked inside. Apparently, Someday came pre-kittified.

My mother always had at least one cat in the house when I was growing up, a succession of different personalities named Vodka, Snowball, Velvet, Champagne, Selina, and Chaucer. Since Someday's barn cats were now mine, I decided to rename two of them a bit more creatively based on their personalities. Frances became Ricochet, because she exploded behind hay bales or under doors like a bullet as soon as I walked into the barn, and Mummy became Comfort. Mummy seemed like a silly thing to say to a cat who was fixed, and she was so cuddly and purry that Comfort just suited her.

Of the four, Comfort and Black Betty are the friendliest, the Teenager less so and Ricochet has never allowed herself to be touched. Maybe it’s because I don’t call her Frances.

It’s a lot of cats, even for a place as big as Someday. Neko is always a nose away from her food bowl, and she’s so huge it’s hard to ignore her for long. The cats are way down the lane in the barn though, and I have to mentally poke myself to remember to fill their food dishes and take water out every couple of days. They’ve all been spayed, which is awesome, but soon I’ll have to figure out how to get them rabies shots. Heaven knows they won’t easily be transported to the vet without a fight or three.

Jade took over cat-feeding duties as soon as she was able to walk back to the barn. She and Black Betty have a special bond, while my favourite is Comfort, whose mellow vibe and motorcycle engine purrs won me over from the first day I met her. It has become a morning ritual for Jady and I to walk back to the barn to visit the kitties and feed them, although it took me several days before I realized that Jade was managing to secretly eat a handful of cat food every time.


One day, we went to feed the kitties, only to find a giant, marmalade-coloured interloper in their midst. I was surprised, to say the least. Someday cats are mild-mannered, clean and friendly. This new kitty was enormous, filthy and looked like he knew cat-kwon-do. Even Jade, lover of all animals, treated him with suspicion. "Dat kitty big," she said, and gave him a wide berth.

He stared at me defiantly as I tried to figure out where he had come from and what I should do about it. I didn't recognize him from Blair's Grove or even Robbie's farm up the road. It was spring; I guessed he'd come in search of a meal and a wife, the latter in which he'd be sorely disappointed. In the end, I shrugged and scooped a little extra Barn Cat kibble. They must know him, I thought, as my kitties meowed and prowled around my legs like Mr. Marmalade was no big deal. Maybe they invited him over for supper.

Well, the moment the kibble hit the plates, Mr. Marmalade barged right in, elbowed Comfort and Black Betty out of the way and began gobbling food like a lion at a kill. The other cats ignored him and went to the other plate of food. But Mr. M. must have thought they were getting something tastier, because he flew over to the other plate, hip-checked them all out of the way and plunged into their food like...well, like Neko.

I swear I could hear the Teenager sigh as she looked up at me with an exasperated expression and trudged back to the first plate again. Apparently Mr. M. was not so much a guest as a party crasher, and a flea-ridden one at that. His table manners left much to be desired. Someday cats are mellow creatures who wait patiently for their food and eat it in delicate little crunchy bites. With the exception of Ricochet, they love to be petted and stroked, and will often curl up in my lap. Mr. M’s eyes get all squinty and serial-killer-ish if I try to come near him, and the one time I snuck up and laid my hand on his back, he jumped a foot in the air and glared at me like I’d just tasered him.

So Mr. M. has got to go. He eats too much and doesn't want to make friends. He bullies my foursome of genteel kitties and I don't like it. Herein lies the proverbial rub: how do I get rid of the creature? I’ve tried to shoo him away. He runs two feet and then stops, as if daring me to chase him. I’ve yelled at him, made weird noises, stomped my feet and threatened to let Neko finish him off - all to no avail. Mr. M. has established himself as the newest, greediest resident of Someday Farm and I have absolutely no idea how to get rid of him humanely.

I asked a few friends, who suggested raccoon traps, calling the local vet or just putting up with him. I have absolutely no desire to trap a cat, much less a raccoon by accident. The local vet would laugh at me. So I guess I’m left with a grudging acceptance of our new resident and the fact that Someday may become increasingly kittified. But at least I don’t have to worry about the Teenager getting pregnant.

Hausfrau apathy

Today, I just couldn't take it. I couldn't take the dirty dishes, the dirty floor, the dirty laundry, the dirty dog. The mounds of thank-you notes waiting to be written. The garbage waiting to go to the curb. The clothes to be packed for tomorrow's excursion to Waterloo with Jade. Individually, any of these tasks would be quite manageable, welcome even. But collectively, it made me want to crawl back under the covers and hibernate until a fairy godmother appeared with a manservant in tow. Preferably a hunky one that looked like Hugh Jackman.
Normally I don't mind domesticity. I like cooking and laundry, and I enjoy writing little thank you notes to all the generous folks who have showered Jady with gifts. But there was just something about it all today that seemed overwhelming - almost suffocating. D is a great help around the house and usually does the dishes, most of which he did last night at 10pm, leaving just a token few "to soak". He even threw in a load of laundry before he left for work this morning. I can't really complain
about having too much to do; I just didn't wanna do any of it today.

So after surveying my arena of domestic chaos, I decided that Jade and I would be better off outside. And that's where we spent most of the day: picking beans, peas and cukes from the garden, plucking gem-like red currants off the bush to make jelly, playing with Black Betty the cat and Neko the dog. Jade got her first feel of grass on her toes (loved it),
her first look at apples on the tree up close (grabbed them) and her first view of a kitty cat (fascinated by it).
I even hung out her wet laundry to dry later in the afternoon since my mood had improved considerably.

Sometimes, you just need to flip the mess the bird and go do something fun. The mess will still be there; garden harvests, sunshiny days and wee babies won't.

Desecration!

Neko and I went for an innocent tromp through the meadow to the river last night. I thought I smelled something a bit putrid as we made our way through the rusty gate towards the river bank; how I heartily wish I had never found out what was causing the stink.

Stupid me decided to investigate the source of the smell before Neko did, and guess what I found? Yep, some nasty critter had dug up my poor beloved kitty Comfort, who had been resting comfortably in the peaceful grave D dug for her a few weeks ago. And said critter didn't just dig her up, oh no; said critter also had a little "al fresco" dining experience.

Apart from being ticked off that my formerly sweet kitty is now strewn all over the place instead of remaining a happy memory safely tucked under the soil, I'm mainly just grossed out. How am I going to continue my nightly walks to the river, knowing that THE REMAINS are there waiting for me? It's like a car wreck - I can't NOT look when I go by. And don't get me started on the smell.

When I relayed the gruesome tale to D later that night, he looked blank for a moment, then said, "Well, there were a lot of tree roots. I couldn't bury her very deeply."

Another lesson learned in country living: when your brother-in-law offers to incinerate your dearly departed kitty in a very cheap cremation ceremony (referred to up here as "the burn pile"), say yes.

I'm baaaa-aaaack...

My apologies for the prolonged April absence. No, Baby Lowry did not make an early appearance. Mama Lowry is just feeling kinda lazy, kinda un-bloggy and kinda meh. I do miss all you folks in bloggerland though.

Also, I'm having trouble taking deep breaths as Bumbo pushes upwards on my diaphragm, so sitting at the laptop for extended periods hasn't been high on my list after work hours. On the plus side, it does mean I have the uncontrollable urge to fling off my bra (aka the torture device) at some point every day, which D finds faintly disturbing. Yesterday he found it hanging from the pantry door. Whoo hoo!

Anyways, apart from bra-flinging, here's a quick Someday Diary update:
1) Epic April Snowstorm
10 cms, 60km/h winds, freaking horrible driving conditions. In the 2nd week of April. #$%^&*@!? Yeah, that's what I said.

2) Epic visit from Moscovite sister!
My loving, beautiful and wonderous little sister Tanzi shocked the crap out of me by calling me a day after my birthday to announce that she'd be waiting for me to pick her up in Waterloo (ONTARIO! CANADA!) the following Monday. She's been teaching at a fancy school in Russia, and I haven't seen her since August. She won't be able to be here for the birth of Bumbo so she planned a whirlwind week's visit to Canada just to see my belly. Is that sisterly love or what? Apparently D, my Dad and my other sister were all in on the scheme. How they managed to keep it a secret, I'll never know. So I got to spend two great days with her all to myself and even had Easter dinner together. How cool is that? SPACEBO, Tanzi. You rock.

3) RIP Comfort
Yep, poor Comfort the barn kitty finally succumbed to her various infirmities and is now resting peacefully in the east meadow. Whatever infection she had was resistant to penecillin (which D faithfully injected her with) and morphed into a raging open wound that was truly awful to behold. The vet took one look and pronounced her incurable. Poor puss.

I learned just how squeamish I really am when she tottered like a little kitty zombie up to the house every day for her bowl of eggs and milk (she stopped eating her cat food) and wanted to get on my lap. I was able to gingerly pat her on the back, but I couldn't even bring myself to look at her head. Even the vet's assistant confessed that SHE was grossed out, so I didn't feel so guilty. Gah. How the hell am I going to change diapers??? Or look at an umbilical cord stump???

Let me also note here for the record how impressed I was with D. He's never been much of a cat person, but he faithfully carried Comfort back to the barn each night (it's quite a distance from the house), made sure she got her shots and actually encouraged me to reconsider euthanizing her ("She might perk up with the warmer weather!" Apparently warmer weather + open wound = maggots, according to the vet's assistant, so I'm glad I didn't listen to that idea). D even dug Comfort a little tiny grave. I'd never seen that side of him with a barn cat before. It did my hormotional heart good. I will miss her quite a bit.

4) Not too bad a birthday
I turned 39 on April 2nd and it wasn't too bad a day, considering that the anniversary of Rose's birth and death was the very next day. D's aunties took me out for lunch, I had a pedicure, a massage and a big steak dinner with C and D in the evening. To cap it off, my MIL made me a giant, ooey, gooey chocolate cake before she left on holidays, which C delivered with great aplomb when he came over for supper. She also wrapped up an extra-long shoehorn since I can no longer bend down to put my shoes on. God bless that woman! D also took me out to a posh restaurant with C and his girlfriend later that weekend. It was divine...

5) Easter eggstravaganza
Most people would think that eating a venison roast for Easter dinner is somehow wrong, but I loved it. When you're at Dad's cabin, it just works. I made a nifty apple pudding for dessert which was a hit with everyone (except Dad, who declared it "too doughy." "Dad...it's a pudding. It's supposed to be doughy.") And don't get me started on all the chocolate we scarfed down before supper even started. Or the chicken wings and potato chips we ate for lunch beforehand. Or the fact that the pretty pink blouse I'd chosen to wear for Easter made me look like an enormous Easter egg...

So that's the update folks. I will try not to be so anti-blog in the coming weeks.

5 things I learned the hard way

1) When buying certain edibles, don't skimp. Don't be tempted by generic brands that look the same or by no-name prices. Your taste buds and stomach will thank you. My list includes pickles, mayonnaise, ketchup, ice cream, maple syrup, Coke and champagne. It's better to spend a little bit extra and actually see the bottom of the mayonnaise bottle after a few months instead of throwing out an almost-full jar. It also prevents long lectures from disgruntled husbands ("You didn't buy HEINZ ketchup? Kimmy, there ain't no other kindz!"). Plus, life is too short to drink crappy champagne or fake Coke.

2) Buy good sheets, no lower than 300 threadcount, preferably Egyptian or organic cotton. Trust me on this one: once you have experienced the soft, gentle embrace of good sheets, you will never again suffer your body to sleep on scratchy polyester disasters from Zellers. Even D, who was a die-hard flannel sheet aficionado, has become a convert to my silk/cotton blends.

3) Some dogs just want to chase cats. No matter how much time you spend trying to teach them that cats are not their personal wind-up toys, or encourage a feline/canine dialogue, certain dogs are hard-wired to chase small furry things. No amount of patient instruction or angry yelling will help. It's easier to accept this phenomenon and strategically prevent said dogs from having kitty contact.

4) Men think farting is funny. This does not change with age, maturity or marital status. No amount of dirty looks or talks about respect or how when you were dating they never passed gas in front of you will ever change this. *sigh*

5) Some people are just better than you are at doing stuff. Writing, baking, scrabble, witticisms, decorating - there's always someone who can do it better than you can. And that's okay. Cause it probably means you can do something better than someone else out there too!

A perfectly perfect day

Sunday was what I consider to be one of those rare, perfect days, full of simple pleasures.

D and I slept in until noon and woke up in a pool of sunlight. After so many grim, grey days, the golden light felt like a miracle. From our bed you can see birds flitting around in the ash tree against a background of a wintery blue sky.

D made me french toast for breakfast & we did the dishes together while listening to the Vinyl Cafe. Comfort paid us a weird visit - the cats NEVER come to the house - but when I looked out the kitchen window, there she was, hanging out in the driveway Fed her some eggs and she moseyed back to the barn. Was drifting off on the couch with my feet in D's lap while he watched Band of Brothers (his Christmas present) when a few of his old friends dropped in. We hadn't seen them since the summer; it was good to have a visit.

After they left, we took Neko for a long, lazy stroll through Blair's Grove, along our favourite trails. Stopped in at C's for a Haagen-Daaz bar (I'd strategically left a few there as C is chronically understocked with good treats), then headed home to make D his favourite turkey casserole.

Ended the night with a long hot shower and crawled into bed with D...a perfect ending to a perfect day. It's not often we get such days, so I thought it worthy of note, esp. after all the cranking I've been doing lately about crockpot disasters, sick kitties and nightmares!

Sleepless but glad

I'm functioning on approximately three hours' sleep but am fighting the grogginess long enough to report that Comfort is simply suffering the effects of venerability and not some raging kitty disease. While this is not wonderful news, at least she isn't suffering. And no, I wasn't up all night worrying. (Brother-in-law just needs to get a softer guest bed!)

The kind vet and his lovely, rosy-cheeked assistant braved chilly winds and an overly excited Neko love attack to pay me a visit yesterday. Comfort was examined and pronounced "long in the tooth with failing kidneys," which made me sad. But the vet assured me she wasn't in any pain and was simply living out the last few days/weeks/months of her life with a slight case of distemper. She got a few cuddles and shot of penicillin in the butt, and waddled off, seemingly no worse for wear.

So, I guess a few extra moments in my lap and some warm milk are all I can do for her now. Sad, really, because she is such a lovely kitty. I'm sorry she won't see one more summer and have the change to lounge in the sun with baby & me. However, she seems to have had a relatively carefree, overfed life - and what more can a kitty ask for, really?

The vet was a real sweetheart and wouldn't charge me for the visit, so I paid him with two bottles of the boys' hard cider. He seemed quite tickled with it and I proudly relayed the story to D on our way to Waterloo last night. He looked horrified - turns out I'd given the vet the old, stinky, dran-o flavoured cider from two years ago by mistake! A quick phone call with instructions to pour it down the drain (or at least clean his toilet with it) remedied the situation; I'll be sheepishly delivering the "good stuff" tomorrow. Kind of embarrassing, especially after I'd extolled the virtues of "Someday Cider" for about 10 minutes to the vet before he left...

The Kittification of Someday

We have four cats at Someday Farm. They are inherited barn beasties, left for us by the previous owner's daughter, who cared for them diligently after her father died. I tried to tell her she was welcome to take the cats before we moved in; she looked at me as though I'd suggested she barbeque them and retorted, "It's the only home they've ever known." This sentiment was forcefully repeated inside a card she left us after we took possession of Someday, along with photos of "the girls."

My mother always had a cat in the house when I was growing up, with a succession of different personalities and a variety of names: Vodka, Snowball, Velvet, Champagne, Selina, Chaucer. But four cats is more than I've ever had to deal with at one time, and I'm now faced with the dilemma of a very sick kitty. Comfort, the friendliest, purriest and most congenial of the barn kitty coalition, has not been well of late. She's gotten skinny, even though she still rams her way into the food bowl. I suspected an ear infection, as she was shaking her head a lot, and made a mental note to go and buy ear drops from the vet. But this week she has deteriorated at an alarming pace, walking with a lean and sometimes falling over when one of her companions brushes by her too enthusiastically. Yesterday I found her looking practically post-nuclear, with a trail of crusty blood coming out of her eyes.

So, much to the amusement of D and C, I'm waiting for the vet to arrive. Most country people don't spend money on barn cats; they are an expendable commodity, and believe me, when one goes to "the bush" or "the happy hunting ground," there are a dozen more willing to pounce into the empty place at the food bowl. But I feel bad about leaving Comfort to suffer. She is the only barn kitty who'll stand up to Neko, and the only one I can pick up and hold in my lap. She's a friend to all children and amuses visitors with her paunch of belly fat that swings when she walks.

We've spent hours together sitting in the sunshine. She truly was a comfort to me while I was on my leave of absence, her purrs a tonic to my grieving soul. So although I am usually a bit more of a hardass when it comes to animals, it doesn't feel right to follow "the country way" in the case of Comfort. I called the vet over on the 4th Concession and he promised to drop by today. I'm going to shell out a fistful of dough, probably only to have the vet tell me she's a goner, but at least then I can put her out of her misery knowing I tried to do something for her.

I wonder how the other kitties will react if Comfort, whom I've always thought of as the feline ringleader, disappears from their kitty coalition? I think Comfort and Betty are sisters; I have no idea if cats care about that kind of thing or not. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.

RIP, Mr. Marmalade

Well, I don't know if Mr. M kicked the bucket, or if Lois took it upon herself to come up and trap him for me, but I'm happy to report he's GONE! My kitties can eat their dinners unmolested and I don't have to worry about buying barn cat food in the 40lb bag instead of the 25lb one now. Phew. RIP, Mr. Marmalade. We hardly knew ye.

Go 'way, Mr. Marmalade

I went out to the stable the other day to feed my four lovely barn cats (they came with the place), only to find a giant, marmalade-coloured interloper in their midst. I was surprised, to say the least. My four kitties are mild-mannered, clean and friendly. This new kitty was big, dirty and looked like he knew cat-kwon-do.

He stared at me defiantly as I furrowed my brow and tried to figure out where he had come from and what I should do about it. In the end, I shrugged and scooped out the usual supply of Barn Cat kibble. They must know him, I thought, as my kitties meowed and prowled around my legs like Mr. Marmalade was no big deal. Maybe they invited him over for supper.

Well, the moment the kibble hit the plates, Mr. Marmalade barged right in, elbowed Comfort and Black Betty out of the way and began gobbling food like a garborator. The other cats philosphically left him alone and went around to the other plate of food. But Mr. M must have thought they were getting something tastier, because he flew over to THEIR plate, hip-checked them all out of the way and plunged into THEIR food like...well, like Neko.

I swear I could hear The Teenager sigh as she looked up at me with an exasperated expression and trudged back to the first plate again. Obviously, Mr. M. was not a guest my cats had intentionally invited. And his table manners left much to be desired. MY cats are mellow creatures who wait patiently for their food and eat it in delicate little crunchy bites. They love to be petted and stroked, and sometimes they even sit in my lap. Mr. M. looks freaked out if I try to come near him, and when I did manage to try and pet him, he shied away like a kid who doesn't want to be hugged.

So Mr. M. has got to go. He eats too much and doesn't want to make friends. He bullies my foursome of kitties and I don't like it. But herein lies the rub: how do I get rid of the creature? I have tried to shoo him away. He runs two feet and then stops, as if daring me to chase him. I have yelled at him, made weird noises, stomped my feet and threatened to let Neko finish him off - all to no avail. Mr. M. has established himself as the newest, greediest resident of Someday Farm and I have absolutely no idea how to get rid of him humanely.

Suggestions? Anyone?