Baton Rouge is known for its feral and stray cats. Somewhere I think I read that there are more feral cats in Baton Rouge per capita than any other city in the U.S. Or maybe I just made that up, convinced that it is true. A black mother cat gave birth to half-a-dozen kittens in the pampas grass outside Kohl's a few years ago; the employees, including Mike, left food for them daily. We saw at least 3 kittens one evening when we sat outside at Joe's Crabshack. One little black-and-white fellow with emerald eyes was jumping from empty table to empty table, then rousted out a couple of his siblings to play in the sand around and under the playground equipment. We reported it to our server, who said that one of the employees was feeding the mother cat.
When we got home, I notified the Capital Area Animal Welfare Society (CAAWS) and became a member. As I'm typing this, I realize that we need to do more. But, then, we are, in our own small way.
Sometime the end of last year a little black kitten started showing up around our house, sitting in the front windows and yowling at our cats. Miller in particular would respond, batting at the window and warning him away. Finally, we decided that he must be a poor little stray, and put food out for him. He ran from us at first, but the food would disappear, and gradually he become more trusting, finally allowing us to touch him. Mike discovered that he was an unneutered male, and left me with the task of taking him to the vet. We named him Phantom because he would just show up from nowhere when it was feeding time.
As is usual, these situations always arise just when it's least convenient. I'm able to remember the time so clearly because it was about 2 weeks before we were scheduled to go on our first cruise. There wasn't time to organize things through the animal societies here -- they have various and sundry requirements and, of course, are completely backed up -- and we were planning to adopt him, anyway, so I caught him one morning (there is no greater feeling of guilt than picking up a trusting little kitten with the intent of taking him to the vet) and took him to Dr. Phil. The next day, the deed was done, he had his shots, and a few days later, Mike discovered that he belongs to the people across the road.
Any animal lover will understand how angry I am as I type this. They had brought the kitten back from some friends' farm for their young boy, and had kept him in the house, but now that they had a new baby, "naturally" they couldn't let him stay in the house. Oh, but they do still keep the dog in the house. Mike asked if they fed him, and the man said that they did put food out, but he could live on rats and stuff he could catch. I'm proud of my husband for not telling that . . . person . . . what he thought of him, although he did tell him that we had thought he was a stray and had him doctored. The idiot just responded, "Oh. Thanks."
At this point, 7 months later, he is as much or more our cat than theirs. He comes over at least once a day to be fed; I have introduced him to the delights of catnip, and sometimes that's all he wants. Most mornings, he comes galloping across the road, tail held high, when I go out for the paper, sometimes for breakfast, sometimes for catnip, always for a pet. If the door is open, he heads straight into the laundry room and begins marking the appliances; he will also huff and hiss at the bottom of the door, if either of our cats is on the other side. If I'm working in the front yard, I'm almost certain to have some company.
He discovered that he can jump from the hose caddy to the kitchen window, so it is not uncommon for him to appear as I'm fixing dinner, and demand his. He still occasionally sits in the front windows and teases the boys, although if it's just Buddy, they usually just sit and look at each other, and we know that he sleeps behind the Indian hawthorn in front of the house.
Mike has brought him in the house more than once, and he so clearly wants to stay, but Miller is having none of it. I sometimes wonder if we shouldn't just let them fight it out. Miller would let him know who was boss, and that would be the end of it, but I worry that Miller could really hurt him. He's so used to Buddy backing down that I don't know how he'd react to a cat who didn't. He's just so damned big, and Phantom is a little thing -- fiesty and scrappy, but little.
And now he has discovered the cat flap (it's really a door for large dogs which was here when we bought the house). About 10 days ago, Mike came back to the bedroom with Phantom. He had found him in the living room, marking the carpet around the cat scratcher. Obviously, he had jumped the fence and gone exploring. He took him out in the backyard and spent 15 minutes or so playing with him and Buddy. Then, Phantom decided it was time to go and jumped the fence.
A few days ago, as we were watching television, I saw Miller at the cat flap, but . . . the head wasn't quite big enough, and where were his white markings? You guessed it -- Phantom.
Buddy, who was on the couch, perked up his ears, and then ran to the flap. He and Phantom stared at each other through the plastic, then Phantom walked off, and Buddy followed through the flap. When Mike went out to check on them, they were just sprawled on the patio together. I wonder how often they have met up in the back yard; how many mornings when Buddy jumps down from the window and asks to go out, has Phantom been out there saying, "Meet you in the back yard?"
So, who is the Wraith? A few weeks ago, Mike discovered that another cat was also eating the food we put out for Phantom. He saw them walking up the driveway together, and on another occasion, saw Phantom waiting for the other cat to cross the street. He named it "Wraith" both because it is a grey tabby and because it is nearly skeletal. We're fairly certain that it is female, so I will call it "she." She eats astounding amounts of food, but doesn't seem to gain any weight, so Mike is going to stop at PetCo for some dewormer. She's far too skittish and emotionally fragile to think about capturing and taking to the vet right now.
At first, she would run at any sound from the house, but gradually, she has come to allow Mike to stroke her and now purrs and rubs his legs. She spends at least part of her day under the RAV4 (Mike has put a pet bed underneath), which, of course, isn't being driven right now. She came out when I opened the door to put out some recycling yesterday, then stopped when she say me, and . . . didn't actually hiss, but stared with her mouth open, then retreated under the car. I told Mike that she was waiting to be fed, and, of course, she came running to him.
I think Gollum might have been a more appropriate name.
No comments:
Post a Comment