Meow – the Fox Is Dead
Mon., July 7, 12:10 AM
If you want to read the background to this piece, you might go back to The Meow Index. For several years I’ve been following the stories about the stray cats who think they live in my yard. I’m beginning to think I’m bizarre myself for pursuing this story.
U.D. wasn’t sure whether she dreamt it or actually heard the woman with the little dog screaming there’s a dead fox in this yard. So she asked her, and the woman said oh, yes, her little dog had run into our yard and there was a dead fox and she had gone home and gotten a trash bag to dispose of it… I suppose we should be grateful, but that woman is nuts; I would have called Animal Control, because who knows whether a wild fox is contagious. In any case, the only sign of fox here is the furry residue in the hollow tree. If there were ever other foxes, they have left. And you know what that means.
Kittens! Of course, I’m not interested any more and I’m tired of providing a home for any stray cat except Dos-a. These are not Dos-a’s babies. There are two ginger and white beauties hiding under my steps; their mama is the calico, Floppy, who is Dos-a’s granddaughter. Floppy is beautiful – ginger and black and white with cute markings – but she is even more skittish than she was before (we think the fox got her last litter). Not only will she not let me touch her, she calls the babies to hide if any humans are nearby.
There’s another mama, but she is new to the neighborhood. She’s another gray tabby, but she has enough white around her mouth to do a “Got Milk?” ad. One of her babies is yet another gray tabby, but a little darker gray. The other two have some Persian or angora genes; maybe Fluffy got his way after all. One of the babies is a softer version of the one we used to call Screen Shot. The other is one of the prettiest we’ve had in a couple of years – very dark shades of brown, like coffee. Please note, I'm not naming any of them.
This mama brings her kittens up to my deck to be groomed, to be taught, and to play. She will not, however, let them eat the food I put out while I am still around. All of the kittens – both litters – are beautiful and fun to watch, and I wish they’d go play somewhere else. Mrs. Neighbor out back will feed them, and maybe she will have better luck catching them. (When she catches them, she gets them neutered, and I totally approve. Unfortunately, if you can’t catch them yourself, any agency that you call will destroy them.)
One thing I’ve noticed about all the strays is that, as smart as they may be, they don’t understand about doors. They will come into the garage, especially when the weather is bad; Dos-a comes in when she feels threatened by a male. But they don’t go through the door into the cellar even if I leave it open.
U.D.’s cat, on the other hand, knows how to open doors that are closed. He pushes them, and if that doesn’t work, he starts clawing at them until he can pull them open. He’s not street smart, but he’s definitely house smart.
There’s been a lot of noise outside, as two males try to shout each other down. I think the more talkative cat won. He meows at me too, because war has been declared; this is my territory, not his. Whenever I see him marking his territory, I spray Lysol. All animals hate that; I think it interferes with their olfactory nerves. But more importantly, I try to Lysol those spots while he’s watching. He hasn’t given up yet, but I think he’s getting the idea. I would swear I also saw him marking the kittens. Those are not mine; he can keep ’em.
