Great! Porch cats! Oh man, how in the world did it come to this?
When our good neighbor, Miss Shirley, passed away last year, her two cats, who had themselves adopted her years before, went in search of a new place to eat and lay their heads at night. Porch cats are funny like that: Kind of nomadic. Never bitter or too down about their luck. Resourceful and enterprising. Unfazed and upbeat.
Most of all, they can always spot a sucker.
Exhibit A: My front porch.
I have my daughter to thank for this. A lot of people left food out. Offered to help. Pitched in.
That’s what neighborhoods do. They pull together and help those in need. They take each other in, and care for everyone. Porch cats included.
But my daughter opened up a virtual Holiday Inn for the critters – putting out blankets, buying kitty accessories and carting the two lug nuts around like they were babies.
“You know, if you don’t stop treating them so good, they’re never going to leave,” I specifically remember saying.
“I know,” I specifically remember hearing. “That’s the point.”
We were slowly becoming porch cat people.
We’ve never wanted cats. At least my wife and I haven’t. For starters, I’m allergic to them and blame most of my childhood’s darkest moments – awkwardness around girls, some really awful soccer losses, my inability to go more than 3 seconds without sneezing or wiping my nose on a sleeve – to our plethora of house cats as a kid. (Not to mention we had a cat named Jaws who liked to mark his territory … ON MY SCHOOL BOOKS!)
Cats were not my thing.
But these two are different. The one, T-grass, is kind of round and lazy. She lays in the middle of the street and forces cars to go around her. I’ve seen this phenomenon play out many times. They honk and yell, “Shoo, dummy!” and eventually go up on the curb to navigate around her lazy hindquarters.
The other one, an orange-striped male has a tip missing from his ear, is deaf, and has just a handful of teeth to his name. But sweet as can be. He always used to come out to touch noses with my dog, and then rub up against her like he was in love. My daughter named him Sunburst a long time ago.
Each morning now I look out the front door window and am greeted by two furry faces. They seem to be saying, “Mister, we have guarded your porch all night. Now what do you say you fix us up some tacos?” Or at least, that’s what I read from their meows.
My house has had all kinds of critters over the years. Dogs. Two chickens in the backyard. A lovebird named Gabby many moons ago. Fish, and hummingbirds, if you count the visitors to our bright, red flowers on the side of the house. But never cats. Never wanted them.
Neighbors, though, stick together and help each other out. Nomadic porch cats included. It’s the code of the street.
Besides, at least if I know T-grass is up on my porch, I don’t have to worry about driving up on the curb to get down the road. Maybe there are SOME perks to porch cats.