Every few days, someone writes to ask, "You still feeding all those animals in your backyard?" Yes, I'm still feeding all those animals in my backyard. Carolyn and I have taken to chasing off the raccoons whenever we can but food is still put out for four feral cats who either reside in my yard or are never far from it.
The most familiar is the ironically-named (by us) Stranger Cat. That's the Stranger Cat in the above photo. An older creature of great nobility and friendliness, he's around for maybe twenty hours of the day, most of which are spent either napping or staring at his reflection in the pool. It's almost pointless, by the way, to put out dishes of water for these cats. They've decided my swimming pool is naught but a giant water dish I put there for them and they prefer to drink from it.
Sometimes, we let the Stranger Cat into the house. He walks in, inspects the kitchen, then goes to each spot on the kitchen floor where he can recall being fed something wonderful in the past. He checks out each of these spots to see if they still have any such fine treats, then he wanders over to a towel by the stove, lies down and goes to sleep.
Two of the other cats venture in on occasion if the patio door is open, which it rarely is. Max is on an eternal quest for food and if he doesn't find any outside, he's likely to pound on the glass impatiently with one paw. If one of us has left the screen door ajar, he'll come in and stalk around, looking to see if the food is inside. Lydia may also come in cautiously to check for dinner. Lydia, you may recall, is the cat I trapped and took into a vet where her pregnancy was aborted and they fixed things so she can't get that way again.
The only cat that won't come inside — won't let me get within two feet of her, usually — is Sylvia. I suspect but don't know for certain that Sylvia is a daughter of the Stranger Cat. If she is, she sure didn't inherit her father's friendliness. She's terrified of everyone and no matter how often I feed her, she still sits a few feet away and stares at me with wide, accusing eyes. She has that look that says, "Hmm…maybe this is the time when instead of giving us all this wonderful food, that tall creature will swoop us up and eat us." It's probably the same look I have on my face when I venture onto the Disney lot. Only once or twice has she come within petting distance and I suspect she was stoned on catnip those times.
Every so often, a guest cat appears for a day or three… The latest is a brown-and-white, possibly preggo feline who's shown up a few times to snack on some Friskies. Her very presence causes Max to emit a low, pained moan. I'm not sure if he's afraid she'll take a bite or two of his food or fearful that she'll slap him with a paternity suit…but he makes that weird noise and they go away. I wish I'd learned it in 1983. It would have helped with one woman in particular.