Tuesday, March 25, 2014

The evil of the outdoor cat...

ONCE upon a time I had a cat named Lucky, and the name fit. She turned up on our doorstep as a stray and stayed with us for 10 years, until her rather gruesome demise. (More about that later.) I liked her because she was a free spirit, and a survivor, going out for two, three, even five days, in all seasons. She’d show up when it suited her, waiting in the dark before dawn till I came downstairs and turned on my desk lamp. Then she’d make her presence known by rising up on her hind legs and gently scratching with her forepaws on my window.

Sometimes, without stopping to say hello, she’d leave us tattered offerings, with little starbursts of coagulated blood, on the front walk. The birds were disturbing, the moles and deer mice not so much. Jane, the older woman who lived two doors down, mentioned that Lucky sometimes lurked near her bird feeder, but she didn’t seem to think much of it, and neither did we. We put a bell on Lucky, but it didn’t last a week before she shed it in some bush.

If all this sounds lackadaisical, particularly in someone who writes about wildlife, I should note that Lucky, who died in 2008, was our last outdoor cat.

We were about to become early adopters in the trend that is beginning to make outdoor cats as socially unacceptable as smoking cigarettes in the office, or leaving dog droppings on the sidewalk. Full story...

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  2. Cats being cats...
  3. You shall not pass, dog...

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