a cat story
I am and always will be a dog person, first and foremost, but I also tend to go all mushy over any mammal I encounter, as well as birds and even some reptiles and amphibians. Today, however, is all about the cats. Feral colonies have been commonplace for as long as we’ve lived in this little corner of Washington State. Often they are independent and standoffish, too wild to consort with mere humans. Occasionally, one seeks help and, thanks to its above-average reading skills, it notices the well-hidden advice scrawled into the earth by animals who have come before, a message I presume says, “Suckers live here. Make the eyes at any window to activate human food dispenser.” These cats are usually the runt of a litter, abandoned by their mothers and siblings. In the case of Miss Malcolm—who we also believe to be the runt—one devoted brother has remained by her side. And, despite her tiny size, at about a year-and-a-half old now, Miss Malcolm is a force to be reckoned with. She is sweet, gentle, and loyal, but also indomitable. (As she confidently follows—and often leads—our German Shepherd on walks around the neighborhood, I sometimes call her Mini-RBG.) Mr. Mooney, her brother, is a little love of a cat as well. Their other siblings, including Mango and Quinn, we haven’t spotted in several months now.
That doesn’t mean we’re down to two. The white-footed, utterly gorgeous Bombas—named for the sock brand because the moniker Socks seemed too obvious—has become a frequent guest, as has the sleek, golden-eyed black cat, Raven. Raven, alas, does not play well with others. She appears to have no family, no feline companions, none of her own kind to protect and play with her. We think she’s younger than the Miss and Mister and definitely not a littermate, but she is also aggressively territorial. When the others attempt to commit an act so audacious as eating their own food, quoth the Raven, “Nevermore”. This has presented new challenges to ensure they are all well fed and stay hydrated in these hot summer months.
We’d stepped up our efforts to help these cats survive as the threat of freezing temperatures approached late last autumn. We’d started providing regular meals to keep their bellies full when hunting opportunities had significantly dwindled. We’d purchased and assembled an elevated and insulated shelter to give them a safe place to hide away from the elements, one with two escape routes in the event a predator should find them there. We’ve provided them with boxes to play in and catnip toys, and now we’ve even purchased a multi-tiered cat tree with scratching posts, hidey-holes, a hammock, a bed, and dangling playthings to bat at…a completely irrational item for outdoors, but what delights they will discover upon it for as long as it lasts!
While it’s tempting to throw in a Ruth Bader Ginsburg-inspired lace collar for Miss Malcolm, on that, we’ll resist the urge, as we wouldn’t want Mini-RBG to get caught up on a hedge or fence post while on the hunt…or on the run. I’m thinking the judicial robe and oversized glasses are probably unwise as well. Though her unique style is legendary, I doubt Ms. Ginsburg had frequent cause to flee from the clutches of a Poe-quoting cat.
I am first and foremost, a dog person. I don’t have a cat, nor do I have multiple cats. Really, I don’t, though my wallet—if verbal—would certainly beg to differ.