It Was Cold Fur Sure!

It’s funny how horse people start talking about horse blankets as soon as it gets a little cold.  There are different philosophies about blanketing horses in the winter, and there are many good reasons to blanket—but my fjord horses don’t need it.  Their fur is thick and long, and if you snuggle your fingers into their puffed-up fur on a below zero-degree day, it feels toasty warm.  They don’t complain, they are made for cold.  They do tell me that they need more food, though.  They also tell me the same thing in the summer.

You would think it would be the same for one of my barn cats, Squeaky.  He also has a thick coat of fur; it looks as thick as the fjord horses.  But once it gets cold out, say below 20 degrees, he moves into the house at night.  Maybe his feet get cold. But he comes in grudgingly, spending a bit more time each day.  He really dislikes being contained. I’m sure he’s claustrophobic.  He is torn between freedom, and warmth.  Eventually warmth wins.  In the coldest of cold weather, he claims his place on our bed.  But he doesn’t sleep through the night.  And when he gets up to eat, or use the litter box, he tells us about it.  He meows in his squeaky voice.  He requests our presence at two in the morning, to make sure his food bowl is filled, or to open the door to let him out before he instead decides to run back upstairs.  Or sometimes he just wants a little comradery, a quick pet before allowing us to go back to bed.  Often, I don’t really mind the short late-night visits with the cat.  I don’t sleep well anyhow, and I’m okay with a walk around the house in the middle of the night.  It’s an excuse for a drink of water, or to use the toilet, or to peak at the thermometer– and really, it’s very calming to pet a cat in the middle of the night.  Although I admit it would be a lot more calming if I didn’t have to leave my warm blankets to do so.  

On the fifth night of the recent arctic blast, I think Squeaky was starting to go stir crazy.  He woke me up around midnight, so I could check his food bowl.  He woke me up a bit later, to pet him.  And then he spent some time chatting with the dog.  Eventually he got my husband up at two am, or maybe it was three.  My husband will typically catch the cat and shove him out the door, but Squeaky is sneaky and will instead run away back to the bed.  There were so many meows that night, I almost feel like he was serenading us, or telling us stories about mouse-catching adventures outside on warm summer nights.  Unfortunately, Squeaky does not have a melodic lilting meow.  As you might guess from his name, his voice is harsh and off-key. 

I think my husband and I were going a little stir crazy with the cold snap, too.  Because neither of us got mad at the cat waking us up multiple times that night; he just made us laugh.  When Squeaky does decide to spend a few hours straight in the bed, he is the best snuggler, curled up in a ball tight against our legs.  He doesn’t even mind being shifted to one spot or another, as long as we pet his warm silky fur in the process.  He gives us several meows in thanks, letting us know he appreciates those middle of the night check-ins and our short conversations.