I recently read the local suburban environment newsletter and it informed me a fox had been sighted in our suburb....but no mention of that 'officially' that I could find. So, it got me to thinking and thinking got me to writing a letter to the editor or our local newspaper that then had to be shortened down to 500 characters...how rude! The question asked - how do they propose to tell the difference at a distance between a feral/stray cat and a domestic. The original letter asked how they proposed to tell the difference at a distance between a feral and a stray, since a stray may just be a lost cat - or even a stolen cat....it happens you know....and then narrowed down to the difference between a stray cat and a domestic cat that has decided to leave the confines of their staff's property.
Yes, staff. No - this is not a political rant - it's about being a cat....uhh....servant....oh goodness me - I don't know what it's about really. In all honesty, I'm just a staffer who isn't out to make a buck by telling tales on her Feline Boss. Yes, I admit it...I am owned lock, stock and barrel by that creation called Felis Domesticus (although it is I who is the domesticus).
Now, everybody who has a cat in their life knows darn well that it's not us human bi-ped's that own the cat, it's the cat that owns us. Just ask that very well known Cat, Garfield. We are, effectively, their staff. My photo's of our cat (yes, staff are permitted to call them "our cats") are on other digital storage media, hidden among pictures of the now deceased devoted dog, multiple children and flowers, so putting one of said Queen of the House up for viewing and adulation, is a little difficult right now.
We run at their slightest meow - pandering to their every whim. "No, I do not want dry food tonight" or "give me some warm milk you bleeding cow!", or her favorite - "I know you're planning on Tuna Mornay for dinner tonight so I'm just reminding you to GIVE ME THE JUICE, SERF! (yes - I use canned tuna because fresh is so much more expensive and she can't have it all her own way) I know what Ms Feefee wants...I can understand basic Cat - although speaking it is totally beyond me, which is just how she prefers it because she can then mutter under her breath to her hearts content, and I can't respond in kind.
I believe she has a touch of royalty in her - what cat doesn't....she is a fluffy, black feline with only a few strands of grey for her age. She is old....almost sixteen I believe (she doesn't tell her age but as you'll see later, I've worked it out) and a hand-me-down (shhh - I did not say that) from an ex wife of my husband. Except I - who am allergic to cats, did not come to her....a rarity....she came to me. I ignored her to the point of rudeness and when I wouldn't pay her any attention, she decided to force the issue and promptly climbed on my lap on my first visit to the house, and as is her perogative in her own castle, she went to sleep on this uninvited (by her) guest. Needless to say - I stayed around - and she stayed too....sleeping on my bed and ignoring my friend (we were 'housemates' for a while), bringing me murdered non-indiginous rodents as well as skinks frightened to death with their tails dropped off....sad, but true...she was impressing upon me that I must stay! When it came to her vomiting up her hairballs and food in MY room - that was enough and she was sent outside until she knew to behave herself. She would apologetically lay another offering at the door and scratch politely until I gave in to her piteous look and permitted her entry to my room again.
Now, I'd been told about this cat who lived with my then new, newly separated friend, by an old school friend who knew him through a church they both attended. "She hates people". I was told. "You can't play with her or talk to her...she just ignores you when you come into the house". Fine by me. The dog, Kahn - he was another story.....he was friendly and liked to be with people as most dogs do who are brought up to be human friendly, fear chickens and drive cars (don't ask).
As a person who didn't 'do' dogs either, it was neither here nor there for me. My own dog, who had listened to the upset ramblings of a little girl under the tree where he had his kennel, and been very sympathetic I might add, had been put down many years ago due to deciding to taste the wrong Kangaroo. Well, he was a hunting dog and he really didn't know the difference between the 'roo Franklin, whom my Nan had raised from a little pouchling found on the side of the road by my Uncle (I think) inside it's dead mother...and the ones that ranged about and were shot as farm pests or during hunting season.. At least, that's what I was told pretty much. He got off his lead and Franklin was out of his cage....dog and roo met....roo survived...doggy didn't. Bye, bye Brasso. He's buried under the rose bush on a property up between Ouse and Strickland. Anyway, Kahn decided I was good bi-ped and that was that although I believe he had some second, third and fourth thoughts when I introduced 3 babies to his house...he wasn't around for number 4.
Back to the Cat and her possible royal blood. She is not large, but not finely built either...a medium bone structure but her face is somewhat...flat...more like a Doll Faced Persian or Peke Face Persian. It's not a pointy face. My father's cat, also of the black fur variety and a more neurotic, nervous and bossy creature you have never met, is very fine boned and has a very pointy face. However, Feefee has a shorter coat than a Persian, so maybe one of her forebears dabbled in the dark on the wrong side of the fence one night, daring to break the life of a royal prince or princess. She had been made sterile (for want of a better word - fixed doesn't suit me) at a young age so you would think most of her female urges would have been totally gone by this age. But no....they're not.
Now, I looked up how to calculate a cats age in human years...I found it on this site. Feefee, by my calculations is about 78 human years old...give or take. She has a bit of arthritis and my stepdaughter says she has a hip issue. Stepdaughter knows more about these things at the tender age of 21 than myself because she was brought up with cats and dogs and has seen their health problems at various ages. Her own adorable dog died recently...a King Charles Cav and he really was adorable with none of those disgusting habits some dogs pick up.....he knew I didn't like lickey dogs so he didn't. By contrast...the little 'boy' Feefee is fooling with from next door, is a positive embryo! He would be, according to the aforelinked website, only 28 in human years, at the most.
Randolph is a glorious slick, sleek, dark, muscular young man who lives next door with his four Staff and his Companion, Lucinda. Lucy, as she likes to be called, is somewhat unremarkable in beauty....and as is sometimes the case when glorious meets goodlooking but not really interesting, Randolph's eye has wandered across the fence to the much older Cougar, Feefee. She, in all reality doesn't do much to attract him to her side except flick her tail. Poor, foolish Randolph struts and postures along the fence line like the big man he thinks he is and Feefee just flicks her tail, stretches luxuriously (and probably hopes he can't hear her joints popping and creaking with arthritis) and over he comes. What, do you think, she used to first get him interested? Left over food perhaps? No. It was a toy....a simple bath toy left outside by the children. She told him he would find a huge fish in the back yard and if only he would go and hunt it down for her, they could share. The gullible Tom that he is - he did....and he found a blue rubbery plasticky toy whale....which everytime he touched it, moved. FOOL! Feefee got quite a giggle out of that I promise you.
Somehow, the said whale made it up to the balcony (I swear it was not by human hand!) where Randolph was spied pouncing and punching, teasing and taunting it - much to his embarrassment when he realised he was being watched. Not long after that, the two black felines were seen conversing and bathing each other on the balcony, really getting into this mutual admiration society. Feefee even permitted him to share her meals. Meanwhile, Lucinda would be in her own back yard wandering around seething, ringing her collar bell indignantly as she waited for this ancient, neighbouring Lolita of a Cat to release her Randy from the evil spell of pussy-cat passion that Feefee seems to have cast over Randolph. The darker the nights got as summer came to a close this year, the better for Randolph as he would slink up to the balcony after dinner and the two of them would continue their little tete a tetes' alone and unhindered by children and jealous Companions. And when she has had enough, Feefee sends him on his way by just turning her back....she does not feel the same passion as Randolph, it is not her style. However she has enough left in her to want the attentions of a young gigolo for an evening of entertainment and devoted attention.
She hasn't always had it her way though. A few years ago, before too many children entered the house (she moved to the outside when the children came, of her own volition), there was a huge Ginger Tom who ranged the suburb, instilling fear into potential rivals, non-rivals and children alike. With his evil, wild screaming and raging he would pick a fight with any feline that crossed his path...be it on their own property or not. My husband spotted him one night and said he was a huge beast and would not like to meet him outside at night without a pointy weapon in hand. At one point he pointed the hose at said Rebel Tom and the Cat actually thought about taking this 6 foot plus human on! To his credit, Tom thought better of it. He obviously didn't like showers any more than my seven year old does. However, he did take Feefee on one night...or maybe she tried to take him on. She obviously isn't good with Macho Toms because she came off seriously second best with a gaping wound down her side, her skin ripped into a huge tear down to the muscle. We did think she was a gonner then. Without the money for a vet, we bought some spray that my husband had used successfully before on an injured animal, and hoped for the best. Although purpley pink suited her colouring, I really don't think she appreciated it at the time as I detected a gleam of disgust in her eyes amidst the pain that was there. But, she's still here...so she's obviously forgiven my husband for the indignity that saved her life.
Now, she is entering her twilight years where, everytime we purchase cat food we wonder if she will use it. She's getting cataracts in her eyes and as said previously - her hips are going and she has arthritis. Her kittenish ways are fewer and further between although she can still be tempted at times. She hides from the children as best as she can and likes to now spend a lot of time laying at the side Kahn's grave in the long grass. The best of both worlds - peace and quiet from the children, a soft bed, warm sun....and a companion dog that no longer bothers her with his stupid butt sniffing that he would carry out frequently, much to her disgust and disdain.
I really must hunt down those photographs....or take some new ones....bear with me and some photo's may appear eventually. I hope I've fixed all the typo's too...they sneak by us when the children are all a-chatter.
Cheers'
M.
Garfield (C) Mr. Jim Davis
