Hobo

Hobo is an alley-cat, who appeared in our back yard in 2008.  I put out a cardboard box and some food, and he would show up from time to time.  We could never get too close to him, but he became a regular visitor.  Began to see him everyday; he would usually always arrive via the alley.  When we watched him escort a pregnant Mama Mia up to the deck, we realized that we had a responsibility to these cats.  I had just discovered TNR (trap, neuter, return), and had purchased a lovely humane trap that is almost silent (instead of the metal ones that clank when tripped).  I borrowed a few more traps from neighbors, and we tried trapping Hobo, Mama, and her two kittens.  Managed to snag Hobo and Honey; Mama wouldn't go near the things, and Sneakers walked in and out without getting caught.  So, both boys went to get neutered, and surprisingly, both kept showing up after for food.  We caught Mama later using the drop trap, and Sneakers disappeared with Honey one day and we have not seen them again.

Things changed when Sammy arrived.  Hobo didn't seem to care much for Sammy, and he showed up less and less.  I trapped Sammy in May, 2010, but he remained rather territorial and aggressive for the entire Summer.  He simply ran Hobo off of his turf!  I was anxious and very concerned about where my friend had gone, and started nosing around the neighborhood trying to find him.  Mind you, walking up and down the alley looks rather peculiar, but I kept a photo of Hobo in my pocket in case anyone challenged me.  One day, at the opposite end of the block, a man mentioned that he sees Hobo every day, and feeds him too!  I told him my story, and the man was sure we were talking about the same cat.  I felt great relief that Hobo had found a way to survive without me, but I still felt a bit heart-sick that I didn't see him daily.  Within a few months, I managed to find Hobo lying on the front porch of a house a block away.  I was elated!  Hobo, however, was not comfortable with me trying to get close.  So I wouldn't be called a trespasser, I backed away, and vowed to find Hobo another day.  I joyously announced that I Had Found Hobo! when I got home that day.  And I have found him, every few months.  I walk down the alley and peek into the man's backyard, and find Hobo in the sun.  Wish he'd come back down the block to visit our yard again, and maybe one day he will.  Sammy is such a gentle boy now; I can pet him and he gives me a welcoming 'arf', which is what his meow sounds like.

By the way, neither of Mama Mia's kittens looked the slightest bit like Hobo, although I watched him baby sit them many times while she rested in another part of the yard.  And everyday I learn more about TNR, including the fact that it can be months for male cat's testosterone levels to deplete; it doesn't happen immediately after neutering.

Ghostly Cat

Sammy and Patty with tipped ears

Think of how this looked in the dark

 Now that my so-called wild feral cats allow me to pet them, I often spend time just sitting on the back deck snuggling with them, or watching them eat their kibble-n-canned mush.  Due to the change from Daylight Savings Time, I sit in the dark. Recently, while cooing and petting my three furry-four-footed friends, a quick glance over my shoulder and what is that!?  Another cat, sitting quietly on the deck edge.  In the evening light, the cat looked white or light grey.  After a second of panic at spying a ghostly image, I called to the cat and offered some kibble.  "C'mon, kitty kitty kitty!"  "Have some kibble, baby!"  No movement.  Curious, but cautious so as to not scare the critter away, I slowly rolled on my hip and stretched out a hand.  Still no movement.  Hmm!  After a few more moments, I screwed up my courage and crept closer...then closer still.  I finally put out a mittened hand...and touched concrete.  A garden statue!

My heart still racing because I thought I was in the presence of a ghost cat, I walk back inside and demand to know why hubby had placed a statue out there without telling me.  He declares his innocence, saying he had no idea what I was talking about.  Hrmph!  Next morning, I check out the offending item in the daylight, and it's obviously been in someone's garden for a long time, and there are chips and nicks plus a bit of green.  I am thinking...who?  Why?  Whaa???

Mystery solved the next day when a kindly neighbor emailed with details on why she thought I should have her cat statue, since she only has dogs now.  She knows I'm a cat lady, and since no one answered our door (doorbell doesn't work and I was gone all day anyhow), she just set it on the deck and walked away.

I have been on the look-out for a garden statue for awhile, but everything seemed too schmaltzy, or too pretty.  I wanted something with character.  And this little gift has a notched ear, which looks just like the ear-tipped ferals of mine.  I love it!  

Silly: yes.  A work of art: sorta.  A perfect, shabby-chic decoration for the yard: priceless!  A moment of fright for me, but a wonderful gift that stands exactly where it was placed.

(Reprint from a previous email that I sent to friends and family last year)

Fall Back

Feed Me!

Am I the only person who dislikes this day?  Sure, supposedly everyone gets an extra hour when the clocks are changed from Daylight Savings Time.  But not for someone who feeds cats!  Cat LOVE a regular schedule, and mine want their breakfast and dinner at exactly the same time...every single day.  Day in and day out; same time.  Not today!  They think breakfast should be served one hour EARLIER than the clocks, and dinner too.  Who can deny them?  AND...I have two cat families to feed.  I could hear five little cat stomachs rumble with hunger pains for every minute I tried to wait, to get them aligned with my 'new' schedule.  Why do we still have the old Daylight Savings anyhow?  Isn't it antiquated?  Didn't it have something to do with farmers and their kids?  Why does the whole country have to change for some old idea?  I'm sure that if the First Family actually fed their own pets, then the old time switcheroo would be history in a New York minute.  I'll bet not a single Washington politician takes care of their own house animals, otherwise they'd be pushing through repeals or amendments or whatever they needed to fix this thing too.  That's what those crazy politicians need: more cat lovers!  THEN maybe they would get something done.