MISTER MEAN


Everyone knows I don't like cats, even though I'm now feeding five feral cats every morning. I never dreamed that moving into a townhouse in Horseshoe Bay almost three years ago would feel like living on a farm. After all, I have to get up at the crack of dawn to feed all the animals! My friends think I'm crazy, and my family has grown accustomed to my eccentricities. Most of them love me despite my weirdness.

Some say I shouldn't be feeding feral cats because they need to fend for themselves in the wild. Some have severe cat allergies and start sneezing at the mere mention of cats. Some hate cats and cannot figure out why I'd want to feed them. I inherited the job of feeding the cats after my friend and neighbor, Bruce, moved to another part of Horseshoe Bay. At least Bruce made sure they were all neutered before he left.

Maybe my love-hate relationship with cats is better explained by remembering the ancient sects of Catholic monks and Muslims who practiced self-flagellation to atone for their sins. Feeding feral cats, especially those that attempt to claw me every time I step out the door, is penance for my past sins. I don't think my punishment will be over anytime soon. Just sayin'.

The clawing cat is named Mister Mean. He's not only mean, but he has to be the dumbest feline I've ever known. There might be some feeling of affection for the poor creature, but I'll deny it if asked.

The rain came early last November and resulted in a significant drop in temperature. The first time it was less than 40 degrees at night, I installed a light contraption that I'd put together last winter to keep one of the cats warm. The fixture is a light bulb nestled inside a metal cone to warm baby chicks. At least that's what the guy at Lowe's told me.

I researched cat houses on Amazon and found them too pricey, so I bought three cheap Styrofoam ice chests and several throws for $5 each at Dollar General. Three inexpensive cat beds were also purchased and fit perfectly inside the ice chests placed sideways. I might be crazy, but I'm frugal. Don't judge me for buying Styrofoam even though it's terrible for the environment. I had to think of the greater good.

Two cat houses were for my favorite feral cats that are tamer than the rest and were probably abandoned by their heartless human families. The third cat shelter was for Mister Mean. I know. Crazy.

My once-beautiful patio was transformed into a cat hotel during the winter months. The cats seemed to appreciate their warm surroundings and could be seen ensconced in their homes as evening approached. Mister Mean decided to rearrange his furniture at some point. The throw and cat bed were moved outside the container while he snuggled inside on bare Styrofoam.

When I would open the patio door this winter, Mister Mean would immediately approach me in anticipation of a second meal while hissing and attempting to claw me. He's lucky that I'm still in penance mode. Otherwise, he'd be back on the street. You can't fix stupid.

Mister Mean has now decided to live full time on my back patio. Lucky me! Maybe he isn't as stupid as I once thought. After all, a crazy cat lady takes care of his needs. Thankfully, Mister Mean now approaches me without hissing and clawing.

Hopefully, Charlie Chaplin was correct when he said, "He who feeds a hungry animal feeds his own soul."

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