Stray Cats

No, no – not the Brian Setzer pseudo-period band from the ’80’s. Actual cats (carnivora felidae felinae felis catus).

We have a 4 years old that wandered into our garage as a 4 week old kitten, whom we kept. She clearly one of an ongoing series of litters of feral cats a few years back – there are still a couple of her relatives floating around the subdivision – th long, lean body shape, small head and reeeaaallllllyyy long tail are distinguishing characteristics. Once about 3 years ago I saw 7 of them, all the same body profile, lounging in a front yard while walking the dogs  at night.

Well, not there’s a big ol’ fluffy off-white male hanging around our yard.  He’s clearly a housecat, not feral, since he comes right up to people, is demanding of attention and will walk up and take food and water from you with no skittishness. He was there for a couple of days then we didn’t see him and assumed he’d found his way home but her turend up again this afternoon.

He’s got some sort of small wound on his front left leg so we’ll take him to the vet tomorrow and get him fixed up and scanned for (hopefully) a microchip with his owner’s information so we can get him home. If not, then it’s time to get him tested for any nasty bugs, then see if he plays well with the rest of the pack and we’ll go from there.

I have a soft spot for damaged creatures (whether physically or psychologically – I have the neurotic, weird cat from a psychohouse who has mellowed a lot, but she’s still whacky and the first cat we brought home 10 years ago I picked because she tried to murdelize the SCPA attendant who wanted to put her back in her cage; I like that kind of behavior). It helps that they know I prefer them to people. Ask anyone, my friends will gladly tell you that I already like this cat better than I like you and I haven’t even met most of you and would still prefer the cat after we did meet.

Oh, and every dog is better than almost any person – that’s just a given.


3 responses to “Stray Cats

  • James R. Rummel

    “I have a soft spot for damaged creatures …”

    You and me both, Jon!

  • Feral Thoughts |

    […] Jon discusses the cats that find their way into his life. […]

  • DaveP.

    We started out with Ivy and Trouble from NC Feline Rescue. Ivy was a Domestic Longhair who must’ve been a mobster’s trophy wife in a previous life; Trouble was a cally and, of course, totally insane. At that time I was working security in a metalworking shop and there was this tiny grey kitty who lived there; she was smart enough to understand what an outstreched hand meant and would sit and eat next to you, but a machine shop is no place for a kitten. I obsessed about it overnight and finally Cheryl just said, “You won’t get any sleep until you take her home; just go get her.” Well, that was Precious, my little Russian Blue. She’d only tolerate me, never anyone else. When we got her home, she was covered with cutting fluid and machine oil and metal shavings… it took the vets two baths to get her clean.
    Stay came about three years later. He was a stray who had followed a friend of mine home to his apartment and never left. When my friend lost his apartment, he asked me to take him in. At that time he was a quiet, polite eight-month-old cat with a habit of falling asleep wherever the mood struck him. Well, we got him home and soon found out that the reason he was so quiet and sleepy was malnourishment; once we started to feed him up he quickly became supersonic. Of course, my girls wanted nothing to do with him.
    Cheryl was concerned that he was going to be lonely so we found a suitable companion at a no-kill shelter high up in the North Carolina Piedmont. We wanted a kitty that could stand up to being played with by a fourteen-pound tomcat, so when a part-Maine Coon/part-Bengal kitten came up for adoption we thought we were home free: with that kind of ancestry when he’d hit his full growth he’d be Catzilla, right?
    Wrong. Oatmeal is, at nine years of age a grand total of ten pounds and the sweetest shyest thing in existance. He’s been a great playmate for Stay, though, and he’s got a heart like a tiger.
    Finally there’s Sullivan. After the three girls died (Precious went first with lung cancer, I suspect from all the toxic crap she was soaked in before I took her home; Ivy fought the good fight against thyroid disease for three years before she finally hit the point of no return and I had to step in, and Trouble followed her littermate less than a year after that) I wasn’t willing to take in another cat immediately, but Cheryl brought home this tiny mixed-Siamese kitten and that was that. Sully is the next best thing to autistic around people but Stay dotes on him and we’re slowly bringing him around.

    So that’s my tale of cats: strays, misfits, and orphans.

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