THE CAT IS BAAACK!

I'm a dog person. Dogs offer unconditional love and companionship. Training them in obedience and doing tricks has been challenging with all the dogs I've owned, but it has been gratifying. My dog, Paddy, has also served as a hospice therapy dog. I will never forget the joy he gave people their last days before dying. Paddy is simply adorable.

Cats are a different matter. Their intelligence and fierce independence won't allow you to mold them into fulfilling any expectations you might have. Someone once said that if they were bigger, they would kill you. Most are impulsive, unpredictable, sometimes aggressive, and occasionally sweet and docile---all behaviors that may be exhibited within seconds of the other. The bottom line is that they are predators. 

Six feral cats adopted me last year. One became ill and probably went to heaven, so I'm down to five. Two of the five are tame, as they were probably dropped off in the hills surrounding my house, or perhaps they wandered off from their homes while stalking a rodent. I have to admit that I now have a particular fondness for the two tame ones, although I was never a lover of cats. I have even been tempted to let my two favorites in the house, but litter boxes are not my thing. I also don't care for animals that shed. Paddy is hypoallergenic and non-shedding. Bringing a cat into the house would hurt his feelings. When I take care of my daughter's dog, Paddy looks at me as if to say, "Why, oh why did you bring this little monster so annoying into our house? Don't you love me anymore?"

The cats wait at my back patio door to be fed every morning. I spread dry cat food around so they won't fight for it. A couple of them come back around noon for canned cat food. One cat takes a walk with us in the evenings.

One of the feral cats, Mister Mean, has taken semi-permanent residence on my patio. Mister Mean is not only hateful, but he's also stupid. Every time I open the door to my patio, he tries to claw Paddy and me. Paddy gives him a wide berth because he's afraid of him. About once a month, he disappears for a few days. Mister Mean may have gotten into trouble and lost his life; the cat shows up again--like a bad penny. Admittedly, I feel a sense of relief that he's okay, but why in the world does he mistreat me when I'm the one who feeds him? When Mister Mean is not at my back patio door, waiting to claw me, he ensconces himself on my patio counter. He's King Cat of the courtyard.

The other cats don't like Mister Mean. I've had to rescue him a couple of times when one of the cats had Mister Mean on his back in a ferocious fight. I don't know if cats can kill each other, but I don't want it to happen on my patio. My preference for Mister Mean's demise is a natural death, not a painful one.

When I tell people my cat stories, they look at me like I have two heads. I wonder about my relationship with this cat myself. Why would anyone in their right mind feed feral cats, especially when they don't have a genuine fondness for them? Even more puzzling is why anyone would feed a hostile wild cat? Maybe I'll get points for providing God's creatures with sustenance. After all, I've done things I regret. Mister Mean is helping me right the wrongs.

Years ago, my teenage daughter and I witnessed a multi-car wreck. I immediately ran to help the victims of the accident. Instantly, a crowd formed along the sidewalk, but only two of us were helping. As I was going from car to car, I thought this was a teachable moment for my daughter. After the ambulances arrived, I returned to my car, feeling good about assisting needy people. My daughter commented, "Cool. We recently studied crowd reactions to tragedies in our psychology class. Those that rush to help victims have troubled backgrounds. Most people will stand on the sidelines because they go into a trance or shock and cannot move." So much for running toward a tragedy rather than standing on the sidelines. Heaven forbid I ever congratulate myself. Teens have a way of knocking the wind out of your sails. Again, you raise and love your children with everything you have, then they turn into monsters during their teen years--kind of like Mister Mean. Based on her information, behaviors like feeding the cats, loving your teen despite their behavior, and helping crash victims are due to having a troubled background. Her teacher might be right. 

There is no reward for helping people and animals except for doing a good deed. My friend down the street hates cats due to allergies. She gives me grief when I mention "my" feral cats. I can almost hear her start sneezing when I talk about them. Regardless, I'll keep feeding and talking to them. They are God's creatures--even Mister Mean.

The heat lamp will be installed on my patio again when the temperatures plunge.