Now our not-our-cats population has increased by two. A couple of weeks ago a cat-sized hole developed in the back fence that separates us from our non-pet-owning neighbors. What once took a couple of coordinated leaps to migrate from their yard to ours is currently an easy stroll and some new cast members seem to be taking full advantage of the situation, much to my chagrin.
There’s now a medium-haired obviously unhomed cat who appears people skittish, though I’m betting not food skittish, if given half a chance, and a solid black shorthaired cat who seems on the younger side. The black cat may be owned since, like Bob, he appears to be in good flesh and coat. Regardless, apparently Bob has been sharing the news that we are the soft-touch family and our yard, once you figure out the dog’s schedule, is a pretty sweet place to hang, because these two have become the newest semi-fixtures.
I’m desperately hoping that once we get the fence replaced next week our newest additions will go back to wherever they were hanging out before finding the stroll-hole. Otherwise I’ll have some hard options ahead of me. My old cats are none too keen on sharing their lives with any additional inhabitants and Darby’s house-dog-not-yard-dog status means he’ll never be in the yard long enough to truly run them off. Taking them to Animal Control means all-but-certain-death, but leaving them here means I’ll eventually end up supplying grub, complete with having to create some sort of feed station for them (and don’t let my husband see that last part, ‘kay?) because I can’t take seeing suffering thrown-away cats. Granted, Bob and the black cat aren’t thrown away, but if you have food, they’re happy to dine al fresco and there’s no way you can feed the one truly in need without Bob eating first --- trust me on that.
Never have I asked so much from a few pieces of wood nailed together…