Crazy Cat Lady in Training (June Photos, Day 25)

 

Many years ago (probably 10 or more), we were on our way out of town for the weekend.  When we stepped outside to load up in the car, we were surprised to find a couple of terrified kittens hunkering down on our porch.  Now, our property is about four acres in size, and other properties in our neighborhood also are multiple acres, so our nearest neighbors are not particularly near.  That increased our surprise that there were animal babies hanging out on our front step, as we had no idea where they might’ve come from.

Billy was maybe nine at the time, and—as you might expect—he was immediately in love with the little critters.  And, to be honest, I wasn’t far behind, as I’ve always been a sucker for cute little things.  He wanted to keep them.  (Actually, he wanted to take them with us, but we managed to talk him out of that!)  But, even if taking them along was out of the question, I couldn’t bring myself to just abandon them, when they might not have any way to fend for themselves.  So, we crunched up some dog food into smaller pieces, put out a bowl of milk and a bowl of water, and agreed that if they were still when we returned, we would keep them.  I found out later that Brian only agreed to that arrangement because he was convinced they’d wander back to wherever they came from and we’d never see them again.  Turns out he was wrong.

Those kittens were the beginning of a never-ending family of cats that have lived on our porch ever since.  They are, in fact, the direct ancestors of today’s photo entry, “something cute”. 

These cuties represent half of the most recent generation of our fuzzy creatures.  The thing about our cats, though, is that while they are uniformly adorable, they are still mostly wild animals.  I usually refer to them as one step shy of feral.  We currently have one mama cat (both of our adults are mama cats, so clearly someone else comes to visit now and again) that is friendly and would actually fit the common idea of “pet”.  Throughout the years, I’d say we’ve had maybe a handful of cats that actually liked us.  The rest of them are the very definition of ‘fraidy cats—they run and hide whenever any of us come near. 

I can almost understand them being afraid of Brian; he’s always shooing them away from his truck, or out of the garage, or making a lot of racket with the lawnmower.  But me?  I’m the one who brings the food and water every day.  The one that says hello to them every single time I lay eyes on them, however briefly it may be.  I’m the one who stands as still as humanly possible for long minutes when they come out of hiding to eat, trying to make them understand I just want to be their friend.  But I don’t make much progress.  So far, I’ve had to content myself with one friendly every couple of generations or so.  But I keep trying, which I’d say definitely puts me in the running for a crazy cat lady label.

(Incidentally, as much as I love the little fuzzies, I would prefer to take the whole gang to the vet and have them all fixed so that our current crop would be our last, but there are problems.  First, Brian doesn’t want to spend the money—though I’d say over the long run, that would be cheaper than feeding descendants forever.  And, secondly, I truly can’t catch them.  The big ones never allow themselves to be cornered, and while the babies might be a little less savvy, they already know how to claw and bite.  I never get through a generation without a few injuries.  That’s probably a cat lady fail.)

Do you have pets?  How did they come to your family?