It’s Clem, Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper, remember me? Just like a bad attitude, I hover, close by so I can watch, but not so close that I can be spotted….unless I want to be seen. Then I plunk myself up on the bench outside the front entrance and march in as if I was to the castle born, the minute the door opens.
Still, true story, I am so torn. How does a self-respecting stray choose between living the life of a feral (no rules, no curfews) or domesticated cat (lots of food, shelter, love)? Both have their positives and negatives, no matter what the good folks at the SPCA would tell you.
Let’s face it. I was so young that winter the Arctic vortex settled in and yet I had the wits to find shelter in Momma’s garage. How was I to know she would not only see, she would seduce a hungry kitty, down in his defences, with kibble? By spring I had no fear of her but was weary of the Kitty Club Med who actually had established stakes and were not interested in any expansion or adoption programs available. Yet, I felt comfortable enough to actually go inside to eat, snooze, then leave.
Then the nightmare BB, the black feral, even younger than me, who was forever caterwauling, whether out of illness, hunger, fear or just bad ju-ju. He gave cats….a bad name! I could not abide him….maybe the devil made me do it…but I put a beating on him, so fierce that Momma had to watch him die or take him to the vet. You know what that means. BB became housebound as he healed, which meant I would never come around or even darken the doorstep with my presence. Even a feral has an inborn sense of proprietary. No guerrilla warfare in front of the Two Footed. They are just not attuned enough to understand.
BB (God-Rest-His-Feline-Soul) was not strong enough to fight off his immune deficiency and caught his blue cloud. A month later I returned but I was older, wiser and definitely more paranoid. I would come in, eat and take off. No more resting on Momma’s bed. As winter brought colder weather, I got a little more brave and found a spot behind the claw bath tub to sleep but I had to be on constant alert to Bad Boy Andy who could sniff me out and terrorize me…..not doing enough to alert Momma’s attention but that clawed paw would bat me across the face tauntingly, like what you going to do about it, huh????
With the return of spring, I went back to coming in for food, then leaving. Even that was tricky. We each have our own feeding station but I like to gobble mine down and then go finish Andy’s (who eats two bites, goes outside, comes in, eats two bites, goes outside, you get it – let the cat in, let the cat out routine). Somehow Andy took exception to that. He would leave his dish, come out to where I was waiting patiently, reach out that paw, claws extended and bat me across the side of my head. Oh, I did not take that well. I batted him right back.
Still I have a long-term goal. Sometime in the past winter, toe-paws crossed, I saw Andy’s demeanour thaw. You know how we cats are. We love to say Good Morning by sniffing each others noses. The first few times Andy approached me with this salutation I tensed up, expecting a rapid blow to follow. It didn’t. Just this week I bolted in to find Andy eating at his station. I sat down on my haunches to wait patiently for him to leave. Sensing my presence, he turned around, looked at me and leisurely walked away from his food, pausing to sniff my nose and calmly jumped up on his cat hotel. I think, after, let’s see, three winters, we may be making progress.
What do you think?
