In a couple of weeks, we’ll
celebrate the first anniversary of our “down-sizing” into this tiny house, with
half the square footage of our previous domicile (and no garage, where our
house in Scappoose possessed one of the three-car
variety…) We dumped loads of “stuff” we’d pack-ratted for almost 2 decades; which, it turns out, I do not miss. We brought along with us things we didn’t
think we could or would—notably one small, wild black cat, who is now fully
integrated into the household (mostly.)
Over the months, we’ve
learned that this house and its surrounds come with their own cast of feline
characters. Shortly after we moved in, I
met a woman in the neighborhood who informed me that the area has a “thriving”
colony of feral cats. This has come
clear to me in the persons of at least 3 of that number who have decided that
my yard—with its covered sitting areas, its birds and its “Mo Memorial Food
Dish”—is a fine place to visit and set a spell on their rounds of the neighborhood.
There is “Grey,” a big, lanky
but muscular tom, whom I believe is not neutered. He has marked everything in the yard,
including all the places I normally sit to enjoy the outdoors. I’m fairly used to the smell of cat piss, so
it doesn’t bother me overmuch. He lords
it over the memorial food dish, though he chooses to only nibble on the
contents, so obviously he is not hungry.
Being that he’s not neutered, I’m inclined to believe he’s NOT a member of
the feral colony. So I mostly chase him
away (gently.)
We also entertain “They,” so
named because they are black and I haven’t been able to get close enough to
determine their gender. They are less
in-your-face than Grey; They seem an affable sort, but clearly undesirous of a
physical relationship with humans. They
will also pick at the memorial food dish, but, again, not as if it is their
sole source of nourishment. They indulge
in one particularly interesting behavior:
Often, when we’re out in the yard exercising the dog—throwing her disc
for her to chase and bring back—They will sit just on the other side of the
chain link fence, watching the sport, like a parent at a child’s soccer
game. I’m not sure what fascination this
holds for them; I can only speculate that perhaps They grew up in a household
with a loved (or at least not hated) puppy or dog before they were turned out
into the wild to fend for themselves.
Kind of breaks my heart.
And then, there is Dominique.
Why Dominique? People of a certain age might remember “The
Singing Nun” in the 1960’s, and her hit song “Dominique.” Husband came up with that name for this character.
The little bee-dub (our abbreviation for “black and white cat”) is very chatty—she
regales you with a constant monologue of surprisingly forceful “mew! mew! mew!”
the moment you step out the door.
Husband dubbed her “the singing cat,” which led to the “singing nun”
reference, which led to Dominique. Works
for me. I had been calling her “Paleface,”
because her face is mostly white, and I didn’t immediately know her gender. I have since ascertained that she is female,
and that she has been spayed—evidenced by the very tip of one ear having been snipped
off, the mark of a spay-neuter operation carried out on a feral cat
colony.
We’ve also ascertained that
she is not planning on being the aloof, touch-me-not, feed-me-only feral kitty
in the back yard. She has progressed
from running to meet me as I scoop food into the memorial dish, to begging at
the back door for meals. Where she once
spun and hissed and dodged when I brought out the food, now she will allow a
soft stroke of her back as I draw my hand away from the dish and she digs
in. She’ll devour her breakfast and then
sit under my chair while I drink my morning bracer. Today, she hopped up on a padded stool next
to me, and we sat in quiet amity while I sipped my coffee. I think we like each other.
None of my sisters have
animal companions any more. They all
seem to think it would be unfair to take in and care for an animal that might
outlive them. I just cannot subscribe to
that theory. I’ve told my family that, I
may not go out purposely LOOKING for another animal to add to our family, but as
long as the Universe brings animals to ME, I’ll have faith that we’re meant to
better their lives in some way for whatever time we’re allowed.
We’ve never NOT had a
houseful of animals companions. Just
now, we’re supporting a family of one dog and four indoor cats…and one “singing
cat” who seems bound to become a member of the indoor clan at some point. If this is what the Universe asks of me, it’s
not in me to refuse.
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