Every day or three, someone writes to ask, "Hey, are you still feeding all those stray cats in your backyard?" Yep…all four of them. There's Max, Lydia, The Stranger Cat and Sylvia. Sylvia was formerly known as The Stranger Stranger Cat but now she's just Sylvia. At almost any hour of the day or night, I can go to my back porch and find one or more of them waiting to be fed, looking accusingly at me and demanding to know why they have not been fed sooner. When it's hot in L.A., as it has been lately, they also stare at me as if this is my fault, too. It probably is.
Max is the hungriest of the four and is now getting so plump that I'm thinking of getting him the Lap Band. Or maybe it isn't that he's always hungry as it is that something in his feral past has programmed him to live a life of constant food seeking. You can stuff him with Friskies Mixed Grill at 4:00 and by 4:20, he's back to pound on the glass with his paw and make sounds like he hasn't been fed since Johnny Carson retired. Sometimes, he hides around the corner and waits until I feed Lydia. Then he trots over, scares Lydia off and eats the food I put out for her.
Lydia is a nervous cat. She's the one I trapped and took in for a feline abortion and hysterectomy — or whatever it is they do to control the pet population. Somewhere out there, there's probably a Christian Vet who just teaches them abstinence education. Lydia was skittish before that, which is why it was so blamed difficult to trap her and haul her in, and she's just as skittish now. Of the four cats, she's the only one who does much climbing. She'll climb up to a little roof that sticks out from my garage to cover the pool heater and she'll sleep there because, I'm sure, it feels safer. Occasionally, I'll put her food up there for her since Max can't climb.
Sylvia is not afraid of other cats or animals…just humans. No matter how many times I feed her, she won't come near me…except that every few months, she briefly becomes so friendly that I have to check and make sure it isn't The Stranger Cat. (They look very much alike and are probably related.) She's the only one of the four cats who favors the dry cat food I put out along with the wet.
Max and The Stranger Cat both have too many dental problems to handle it…though when there's none of the moist handy, Max sometimes tries a little of the dry food and since he can't chew it, winds up regurgitating it in large chunks. Lydia will eat dry food even though it's not her first choice — but with Max around, it's often her only choice.
And finally, there's The Stranger Cat, seen in the photo above. He's very old, way past the typical life span of a feral feline…at least doubling that expectancy. He's also very sweet and very friendly and largely deaf and lately he's been having trouble walking.
Unless the gardener or pool guy is out there, The Stranger Cat rarely leaves my yard since that would involve either a small amount of climbing or venturing over to the crack in the fence. That crack is situated in the portion of the yard that seems to belong to Max…ironic since he can just barely squeeze through it and only if he sucks in his tummy. Max rarely goes into The Stranger Cat's area and vice-versa. The porch where the food is placed is, of course, neutral territory. Max will not deny food to The Stranger Cat but does insist on eating first.
A Wednesday or two ago, one of my gardener's assistants was using the hose in my yard. I'd told them not to do that but he was new…and when I saw him hosing down around the pool, I leaned out the door and told him that wasn't necessary. It didn't need it out there and I didn't want him to disrupt The Stranger Cat, who was napping. The assistant said, "I just do a little more" and kept on watering. I told him to stop. He said, "Okay, I stop as soon as I finish this part." I told him to stop right now — and he didn't stop and thoughtlessly sprayed The Stranger Cat, sending the poor ol' guy fleeing. I yelled at the gardener to get out of my yard that second and never come back. Spraying the cat was bad enough but that was a clumsy mistake due to inattention. Not listening to the owner of the house was just plain insubordination.
I was in my robe when this happened so I quickly got dressed, went out and found the main gardener, the guy I pay. His assistant had already told him what had happened and had been told in Spanish, "If you did that, getting one of my best customers angry, I'll have to let you go." The assistant came up to me and in tears, begged for a second chance. Given what they charge for their services, I'm guessing those helpers get less than ten bucks an hour — probably more like five — and they work pretty hard for it.
Anyway, the sight of a grown man sobbing because he stood to lose that kind of job rattled me. I forgave and even apologized for yelling at him. The main gardener said that he wouldn't fire him but just to make sure, one of his other assistants would henceforth be doing whatever had to be done in my backyard.
By the time I got back into my house, The Stranger Cat was back in one of his favorite napping places — an old lounge chair, completely encrusted in cat hair. He was relatively dry and totally serene. And since he seemed to have put the incident behind himself, I decided I should, as well. I think that may be why he's still around at his age. He doesn't hold grudges.