It's been two months and two days since Lydia the Cat passed away at the ripe old age of…
…I don't know. I know she lived to a ripe old age but I'm not sure what it was…fifteen or eighteen. Somewhere in there. If you search online, you'll see many, many estimates of how long feral cats live and I'm sure it has a lot to do with where they are and what kind of support (if any) they get from us humans. Some sources though say two to five years and Lydia frequented my back yard for at least fourteen.
She often slept in the little house you see in the above photo. One evening a week or so ago when it was drizzly out, I saw a possum in there but it fled before I could grab up my camera. It's the first possum I've seen out there since Lydia died, which of course is when I stopped setting cat food out there.
I haven't seen any raccoons out there either but last week, a lady who was staying with me reported seeing a huge raccoon on the back porch where the food used to be. It stood up on its hind legs, she said, and leaned against the sliding glass door in order to peer inside. Then it sulked off.
And no cats have come around. And I've just about broken the habit of wondering if Lydia needs fresh food and water.
There's been a noticeable benefit to ending my 30+ year practice of feeding stray cats out there. No cat food means no raccoons coming by to eat, and no raccoons coming by to eat means the yard is no longer full of raccoon shit. It's a lot nicer out there now…but that doesn't mean I don't sometimes miss my little furry friends.