Cats on Tuesday: Squishy for Hire: Moles Beware

This spring the ground was terribly damp and spongy, bringing more moles to the backyard than Moochie, a small white and black man-cat, could handle. He was aging, you see, and these hairless little creatures were overrunning his territory. His owner, Granny, was getting older, also, making it more and more difficult to see to all the needs of her prized, private garden. Every morning Granny would find more evidence of the destructive moles, thus spending all of her imagination, time and energy trying to rid her garden of them. "Mooch," she often told her cat, "You're not doing your job. We've got to find a better way to get rid of these pesky critters. I just can't keep this up any longer."

Soon after the old ladies third, exasperating attempt to reduce the mole population, a young, smoke-gray, neighborhood cat slipped silently from atop the wooden, garden gate and introduced himself. "Squishy's my name, ma'am, and I've been observing your little quandary from the top of the fence there. If you'll let me come and sit in your pretty, shady garden where I can find some piece and quiet from the noisy little brood of youngsters at my owner's house, I'll gladly catch and kill your moles." The fearless smoke-gray sat back on his haunches and groomed one of his ears, waiting for an invitation. "If you don't mind my saying, I am the best darn mole destroyer this neighborhood's seen in years, ask any of your neighbors," he added confidently.

At that moment, Moochie, who'd been observing this boy-cat poking around in his territory for the past several days, lifted his aching, arthritic body from the warm spot in front of the small, oil-heat radiator, provided just for his cold feet, and padded out the door to stand between his lady and the bold, intrusive youngster. "My name is Moochie, and I've been watching you, son," he said with quiet authority, "I've heard of your accomplishments, and if you behave yourself and don't take advantage of my ladies kindness, then we'll give you a try at catching these troublesome critters. As you can see, I am unfit for that kind of duty anymore, and it's getting harder for my lady to tend to these matters, as well. What wages will you require, son? What kind of food do you want? Wet, dry, tuna, scraps?"

The young cat spoke boldly, "I am well-fed, thank you, and I need no payment for my work, but as I said, there is absolute chaos at my place and a cat needs a refuge once in a while. Your place is beautiful, lush and quiet, with plenty of shadows. Let me come and lay in the shade on warm days and bask in the sun, upon your rocks, on cool ones. Having such a place to relax without all those raucous youngsters about would be payment enough."

"I'm eager to have the moles eradicated," Granny said. "I'd be glad to serve you whatever you like for your hard work."

Squishy, snickered to himself, hard work? Why killing these pesky moles are a piece of cake for me. "No, thank you, ma'am," he grinned at her. "Like I said, peace and quiet on occasion is all I require. I've seen how feeble Moochie is getting and I know if he were able to, he'd be taking care of the pests himself. It would be an honor and a privilege for me to help you and old Moochie out." He stood up and touched noses with the older cat, out of respect for his age and his territory, and then he trotted off towards the garden gate. "I'll be back in the morning, while the grass is still damp with dew. That's the best time to catch them running through their tunnels and digging out," he called over his shoulder as he leapt upon the gate in one swift move, showing his massive muscle structure and mastered agility.

Each morning for the next several days, Squishy could be spotted posed upon the stone wall, watching and listening for just the right moment, the slightest movement of earth, or wiggle of a blade of grass. In one swift move, he had pounced time aftertime, catching his wriggling prey between his teeth. Unlike the mice he often hunted, played with before delivering the bite of death, he was swift to kill the mole. Moles did not give the pleasure of the chase the way a mouse or vole did. Besides, he was hired to do a job and he was bound to do it swiftly and cleanly.

A month has gone by and there are no longer any moles in Moochie and Granny's garden. If there were, they would not last long, for Squishy is always on the guard and would dispose of them quickly before the eye could take notice. Squishy now lounges about the garden patio at will, or lays shrouded in clumps of fern, or on really cool days, lays fully extended across the massive, moss covered boulders clustered under hundred-foot cedars and firs. He takes no offer of food, nor petting. A kindly word now and then from his aging friends was all he needed to be content as the silent keeper of their garden.

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My mother has wanted me to tell the tale of Squishy and Moochie for sometime. I finally got some pictures to help with the story. Moochie is about thirteen years old and adopted my parents about that long ago. He has a bent tail and my mother has to watch out that he does not to catch his tail on a wire or small branch. Squishy belongs to a neighbor with children. The story is true, except for the talking to my, mother, of course, but who knows for sure if such words passed between them. I'd like to think they did. My mother is very kind towards all animals, and has had many cats, all of whom she's kept until it was time for each of them to go the way of all the earth.