Mornings used to be so peaceful. I would leisurely get up, stretch a little bit, joyfully stub my toe on the edge of the bed, make some coffee, sip it in total relaxation while reading the paper.
My mornings were glorious.
Then I came down with a case of the porch cats. An affliction known to the scientific community as porchcatitis, with symptoms that can be as serious as pulling out your hair, general screaming, uncontrollable twitching, the urge to gnaw on pressure-treated wood, and most definitely, ruining your morning.
Mornings are no longer peaceful.
Because porch cats, like all cats, are finnicky and fussy. These two have already forgotten they were practically homeless just a couple months ago when we unofficially adopted them. Gave them land rights to our porch.
Dogs? Dogs are easy. You pour some food in a bowl, you put it in front of them and then get your hand out of there like it’s a rat trap about to go off. Same thing for chickens.
Cats, though? Especially porch cats? It’s a whole ordeal. One of them, T-grass, has decided that there are only SOME brands, and SOME flavors, of cat food that she will eat. I feel like a wine sommelier shuttling cans outside to see what her tastes are each morning. Tempting salmon bits? Meaty beef chunks? What’s your mood today, varmint?
If I get it wrong, she stands there staring at me like I’m just about the dumbest person this side of Kalamazoo. I experiment with different presentations, stacking the food in appealing shapes and drizzling gravy over it like I’m a star Parisian chef.
The meal that they love the most is the one that stinks my kitchen to the highest of Heaven: Tuna pate’ with dead skunk giblets. They eat that ferociously, which is a good thing. Because food that they hesitate on or eat casually invites neighborhood cats who know a free, easy meal when they see one.
My porch cats don’t seem to care. They just let the other critters march right up and eat their food while they stand back and watch. It’s like they don’t mind. As if they’re saying, “You know in life, it’s important to share and give to the less fortunate.”
To which I respond: “You ARE the less fortunate! These cats have homes. You’re lucky to have a porch, and a bowl of food, which you’re now letting some other well-cared-for-critter eat!”
So, I spend the morning shuttling back and forth to the front door checking on things and chasing other cats off.
I become more and more deranged each time I have to do it.
People walking dogs stare at the crazy man stomping after a cat while yelling something profane like: “Get out of here, fat little porch weasel!!!” (but with many unprintable words thrown in for good effect.)
The porch cats watch this whole episode and seem slightly amused. T-grass wonders why I didn’t buy more tuna.
Now I’m devising netting or kitty scarecrows to keep the other cats away. Or worse … letting my porch cats eat inside. Off the porch and into the home?!? The lengths we will go to make sure little critters are happy and cared for. I guess in life it’s important to share and give to the less fortunate. But, boy, did my mornings used to be peaceful …