You might remember this hysterical commercial from a few years ago. I laughed then (I still laugh) … but now I’m not so sure I should.
It all started a few months ago on my quiet suburban street. A stray, feral cat started showing up on my property wall, looking halfway starved and a bit lonesome. I’m a real sucker for lonely, stray creatures, so I started feeding her. Then I gave her a name. Then she let me pet her.
Then she brought her kitten along for some chow. I fed him … and gave him a name.
I should have known then. How could I be so blind?
At home the other night I discovered not two stray cats waiting for their evening feed … oh no. I found FIVE.
No, it’s not Coco (the original stray) multiplying. At least not yet.
Somehow, some way, the word is out: “Sucker lives in the big brown duplex. Go, look adorable and lost, and she’ll feed you some really great food from Trader Joe’s.”
And so they came.
Noir shows up for breakfast, unsure of my approach.
One cat I recognized: my neighbor’s fierce and territorial tabby. They call her “Tabby.” Behind her was a new cat sporting a patchwork coat of brown, white and caramel. Scared to death but clearly hungry, this new guy crouched, ready to bolt at any second. My two familiar strays were first in line on the wall. The new arrivals waited not 10 feet behind. The fifth cat split, unsure of my presence and intentions.
Oh boy.
I told Tabby to scram and she stared back without blinking. She’s one tough cat. Even 100-pound Katy Dog failed to spook her. Defeated, I poured dry kibble in small piles on the wall. My halfway adopted ferals, Coca and Noir (her son), got preferential treatment and devoured their canned food posthaste.
Yes, I have only myself to blame. I’ve always heard that cats will find the best homes, the richest plates of food and a kind hand to feed them. I stand guilty as charged.
My goal, at this point, is to provide a safe environment for Coco, who seems determined to live wild and outdoors. Soon I will trap her and get her spayed. Her son, Noir, presents the best hope for true adoption. He’s young and affectionate, and so far, sweet.
And for the record, no, I am NOT a cat lady. Not officially … not even close. I’d need double-digit felines before I’ll entertain that quasi insult.
You’re funny. But that’s what happens when you start feeding strays. But at least you know you’ll have good karma.