No, renovation fatigue hasn’t turned my brain to mush and I’m not high on drywall dust and paint fumes. I do actually know what time of year it is. (Groundhog Day is just around the corner, right?)

The title of this post is in honour of our newest family member, Easter the kitten. Remember her?

Today is Easter’s five month birthday, and she’s starting to cross the boundary between kitten and cat.

She hasn’t learned her lesson about curiosity yet and likes to investigate everything–including the camera.

She’s learning to hunt, although her prey predominantly has six legs. She eats grasshoppers, wings and all. We’re hoping she’ll move up the food chain soon.

“Hello. Can I eat you?”

She has caught one mouse, although I think that was only because he was stunned and petrified after Wiley and I unearthed his home, and he made it very easy for her.

I’ll spare you the more graphic images of what happened next

She chased a vole this weekend, but, after running in circles around the driveway a few times, she was frightened into giving up the chase when the vole turned and squeaked at her.

It was a very embarrassing scene.

She’s very rambunctious and works hard to entice Ralph to play with her. Ralph’s been a very good Mom and often obliges, even though a wrestling match between a kitten and an experienced barn cat is really not a fair fight.

“Don’t you want to play with me, Mom?”

She’s even started to grow into her head, which as a kitten was her most defining characteristic. We only occasionally slip up and call her by her baby name.

Easter’s not-so-big-anymore head

Being an only child, Easter is a wee bit spoiled. She’ll come when Matt whistles, but that’s because she knows he’s a soft touch who’s good for a cuddle, a scratch and even a treat. I’m still working on training her that she’s not allowed in the house (she made it as far as the kitchen one day) or on the patio table when we’re having lunch outside.

In the family roles, I’m the enforcer and Matt’s the enabler.

Ahhh, the challenges of parenthood.

Upon moving to the farm, we made an agreement: no animals for the first year, except hopefully a dog.

Then came Ralph and Bert. Then Ralph had kittens. And the dog became “maybe next year.”

There’s no hard feeling though. These four fluff balls made our first spring on the farm pretty special.

Trying to get four kittens to hold still and look at the camera is a bit of a challenge.

But now it’s time for them to leave Matt’s and my forever home for homes of their own.

So farewell Rex. Farewell Gypsy and June. Enjoy your new families. Make lots of new friends. Enjoy your life of leisure as pampered pets rather than hard-working farm cats. We’ll take care of mom and tug on her tail every so often for you.

Watch out, Ralph! Rex is coming for your tail!

For those mathemeticians out there who are counting four kittens minus Rex, Gypsy and June and finding things aren’t quite adding up, your calculations are correct.

While we’re taking care of Ralph and tugging on her tail, we’ll also be taking care of this gal.

Our new addition

She was our favourite all along. While three of the kittens look pretty much identical, she stood out. She had golden eyes while the others had blue. She was shy and timid and stuck close to mom while the other three were always looking for attention from the humans. Her head was slightly rounder and larger… which led to the unfortunate name we’ve been calling her for the past 10 weeks… Big Head. We’re trying to rename her, but it’s hard to break the habit. Matt came up with the new label of Easter… as in Easter Island. We’re terrible parents.

Can you blame us? She always has this weird petrified look on her face.

Big Head Easter is showing early signs of being an excellent huntress like her mom. She spent a lot of time stalking her brother and sisters and has perfected her pouncing technique on the tufts of grass in front of the barn. We think she’ll be a good addition to the farm and to our family.

So no animals for the first year except for a dog cat. That’s okay by me.

Feeding time is Ralph’s favourite time of the day. She’s a pretty self-sufficient cat and an exceptional huntress. However, perhaps because she’s accustomed to the uncertainty of not knowing when her next meal will be, she gets quite excited when Matt gives her dinner.

Every evening, Matt makes his way out to the barn, scoops a bowl of kibble from the sack of Agri-Cat and sets it on the big folding table in the basement of the barn.

From the look of things when we first saw the farm, this seemed to be the routine that Ralph was used to.

She hops up on the table and devours the kibble.

Sometimes she puts a paw in the bowl to hold it in place (and no, she doesn’t get the whole big bowl full of kibble).

The other night, she was particularly excited. Matt grabbed the dish off the table to fill it, and Ralph made the leap to the table. Unfortunately, she was still under the table at the time.

Cat skull meet table. Thunk.

Matt dropped the bowl and picked up Ralph.

“Are you okay? How many fingers am I holding up? Where does it hurt?”

Being the self-sufficient resilient girl she is, Ralph was fine. She was hungry. So she squirmed out of Matt’s arms, reminded him with a meow he still had to fill her bowl and, once the kibble was on the table, properly positioned herself for the jump to the tabletop.

And then she ate.

Obviously a blow to the head has no affect on her appetite.