A couple of years ago the run down State Housing Block I was living in was surrounded on all sides by, and standing the real risk of falling to, FERAL FELINE FURBABIES.
These damn wild cats multiply faster than you can imagine.
Me, being me…
All that empathy, to the point of identification… I saw hungry scavenging cats… I know what it is like to be hungry for a few weeks at a time – and what it is like to get a half decent meal once a day after that time.
Of course – me, being me – the horrid skinny ugly temperamental cats would get some meals! Especially the cute little kittens, whom I thought would stand a chance of getting to know hoomans and degenerating from their lofty status as king ferals to turn into lovable, fat, healthy house cats.
A few years pass, to the present day our story flies. With a montage of births, deaths, chasing images on computer screens, chasing tails, chasing tennis balls, catching tennis balls, throwing back tennis balls — wait? whaaaaaaaaaat? throwing back tennis balls? yes – actually properly throwing back tennis balls. okaaaaaaaay then –— combined with all the bites, scratches, punctures, bleeding, bruising and lost nails… Lost nails. Yes, lost nails. When one of these teethy buggers latches onto your arm like it is climbing a tree and uses its inner pit bull to bite your fingertip. You lose a nail. Simple really when you think about it.
Not having ever wanted cats, it is funny how I now have three ex-feral wild cats moving around with me, along with another three or four I feed outside each night. To be honest the shed roller door is left open six inches at the bottom. It has been this way for almost year. Despite freezing in the uninsulated and drafty shed this allows the outside crew to come in an clean up anything the “house cat team” don’t spot. It’s a good arrangement. For bending down and cleaning up spilt cat food can be daunting some days.
I love my cats…. They are a source of amusement. And pride. Yeah, I think maybe pride is the biggest feeling I have for these horrible things that were at deaths door. For they are all troopers in their own way. Has taken a year of keeping oine inside, but he finally lets me pat him and has even tried jumping on bed. So – PRIDE at how far they have come and amazement at their constant learning and progress sums up.
I hate my cats…
For I have not spent one single night away from this place since moving in almost a year ago. No matter when I am in the country I get back every single night in order to feed, clean toilet trays and provide a human shaped pillow for them to curl up next to.
This arrangement works well.
For the cats.
For me it is starting to prove antisocial and possibly part of becoming depressed…
Actually being on a feline imposed 10pm-7am curfew. As though I am on police bail, or court imposed sanctions of some type.
For that I cannot hate the cats.
But I cannot hate myself. So, the cats get the blame. For now.