And the CAT Shall Lead Them?

Living on a ranch, there are certain things one gets to enjoy that just don’t happen anywhere else. Watching the birth of a baby goat, horse, or cow is one of them. Observing the different personalities of chickens is another. (It’s true—they’re all very unique!)

A third is listening and watching our herd of goats come home to the barn. I’ve attached bells to the leaders, so the experience is both a visual and an auditory one. First you hear the bells ringing, distant little ding-a-dings that signal the beginning of the ritual. The bleats follow, varied in pitch and volume depending on the goat uttering them, until the land is alive with the chorus of “Here We Come, Do You Have Food?” sung by Kids to Nannys, a music group that’s all the rage here on the hill.

Then come the hoof beats, choppy rumblings over the ground that resemble the sound of an oncoming steady—but friendly—stampede. After that, it’s all visual as the wagging white tails and flopping red ears come into view around the corner. I peer over the fence and wonder—who’s leading them today? Is it Maria, my strong and sensible doe, or Christina, the young lady who knows she can get treats from Gerald if she looks at him just right? I know it’s not my top mama Tweedles, as she’s just getting too old to make hurrying a priority, so I’m guessing one of the younger ones, maybe Alice, who always loves to get a little extra attention before the others arrive.

But as they come into view I find myself squinting a little and moving my head back and forth. Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Are all my strong, healthy, boisterous goats being led by…a cat?

Her name is Miss Fluff Puff, and as she trots proudly into the barn ahead of all the goats, she lifts high her little cotton feet to avoid any stains on her pristine silver and snow-white coat, strutting like a Lipizzaner on her way to the arena. In she comes, leading them all, until she gets to the barn door, then she steps aside, taking her seat as prettily as she pleases to watch her fine followers take a drink from the water tank and go about begging us for treats.

“I’ve brought them safely home again,” she seems to say as she gazes at me. “All is well.”

I’ve spent my entire life around animals and never have I seen a cat like this. Not only does she lead the goats in from the field, she feels it’s her job to watch over them always. I’ve learned to refer to her for clues as to which doe is about to give birth, for she will tend to hang more closely with the mother just before it’s time, as if handing out encouragement. When the babies hit the ground, she spends the evenings with them, often curled up amidst triplets under the heat lamp like an attentive nanny. If one of the babies happens to paw at her or nibble on her fur, she corrects him with a quick slap on the face.

These goats are trained from a young age to respect Miss Fluff Puff.

She’s fourteen years old now, but so far we don’t see any signs of aging, and we’re glad. Sometimes when the babies pile up and the chores get long, we wish we had a little more help around the ranch. It can be tough to handle it all, just the two of us. But when I go to the barn I’m reminded—I’ve got the most loyal, fierce, and conscientious sentinel I could ask for. It’s just that she’s got four feet instead of two.

And a really snazzy fur coat.