Sir Casey At Bat – Who’s on First?

Is it my turn yet, please, please? I know I am the last kid, I mean cat on the block, I must learn to respect my elders,  but I got so many questions and so much to say, so can I just jump in? Thank you, thank you, now where to begin……

I was not one of the lucky ones, scooped up by the Two Footed as a kitten. No, I lived at the Colony, probably over two years, but I couldn’t swear to you how old I was, just how hungry,  hot and cold I was.  And the truth is George Orwell had it all wrong – Two footed ggggoooodddd, Four footed bbbbaaaadddd!! I know, I lived it. The word catastrophe was coined for cats like me.

The day I first saw Momma, I knew I had struck pay dirt.   So listen and learn, listen and learn. And tell this story over and over again to all feral kitty cats so they too can seek out a Momma, like mine.   First things first, I am a short-haired Male Tabby with many shades of gray stripes on my body and legs, and the prominent M on my forehead. My paws are all perfectly tipped with the lightest pastel shade of gray possible.  I also have a thick, bushy charcoal ringed tail which I use to show my emotional state be it fear, uncertainty or happiness – and majestically long white whiskers.

Yes, I am one cool cat dude but let’s be straight, the first time I saw Momma, she did not befriend me for my looks. No, at that point I looked like I had the mange – crusty fur with big tufts missing from the constant marauding Toms, trying to fight to the finish, all in the name of establishing territory.  My ears were tattered and torn, I had huge oozing gashes scattered across my belly, back, paws and head, thanks to the Forest Freak. It was rumored to be part wildcat, part coyote with fox added in to make it more frightful.  Whatever IT was, all of us from the Cat Colony were treated with the same lack of respect.  We had all  been cauterised with the same distinctive branding mark on  the left side of our neck.

Then there were those pesky traps put in place,  it was said, by some simpleton who wanted to catch rabbits.  I got caught not once but twice and worked my way out of them but still had a front paw, then a back paw that I couldn’t use for days. I was what is known as a ‘Hot Mess’. Such is the life of a Cat from the Colony.

You may ask what I remember from the Colony – as little as I possibly can, I tell you.  It was a brutal life.  The kitten stage was fun, Baby Mama was fair but busy, so along with my siblings, we climbed trees, chased butterflies, learned to stalk and hunt to survive (and for fun too).  At night we would curl up in a ball with Baby Mama in the den, who would groom us before we would drift off to sleep, feeling protected and content. But soon enough we were half the size of Mama, then the same size, then even bigger than our poor Brood Baby Mama who had a new batch of kitties and the rules changed.  We were out of the den, voted-off –the-island, so to speak. It was time to make our own way in the world.

There are so many tales I could tell you about this existence, so ask me sometime but let’s skip ahead – to the Good Time’s.  Everybody loves a Happy Ending!   But before I go, you want to know.  What happened to you once you were kicked to the curb, so to speak at the Cat Colony?  Well, my steel-gray – almost black and white brother (Momma named him Seven, don’t ask) and I hung out together, hiding in the bushes and forests, communicating in soft meows, making sure there were no enemies in sight before we went out hunting for food  which we shared for survival.  It was a sure bet that every evening the Tom Cats in charge of the dens would come by to practice their Gorilla Warfare tactics on Seven and I, to keep them in tune for  when the Forest Freak came calling, I guess.

Once I no longer had the comfort of a den to hide in, I started noticing three alien cats, two Black and White Toms and a Calico Female, appear each and every day at the Cat Colony.

They all had smooth, shiny, thick fur and sleek bodies. The three of them appeared a bit hoity-toity, when they came to the creek, dipping their paws in the water, then shaking them delicately, laying in the sun on the cement slab walls that encase the Creek, grooming themselves and each other, their tails and ears twitching at any sound that could indicate a threat.  All three of them had a non aggressive relaxed yet curious look about them.  After a couple of hours in the sun they would get up, stretch and leave single file, a Black and White in the front and one at the back, the Calico in between them.  Were they another Colony?

How would I get Membership for their Kitty Club Med? There had to be an answer to this riddle.  I got it, I’d follow them when they left.

And so a plan falls into place and space.