A cat-fight between cats is another story. It's the real deal. There's screaming and yowling as fur actually flies through the air to land in clumps on the ground. And then there's the blood. The wounds the angry felines inflict upon each other often get infected and abscess.
That damn ugly old orange cat was bad news, nothing but trouble. If I had only known the trouble he was going to cause, I would have throttled the mangy old S.O.B. with my bare hands and then disinfected myself after.
For nearly a year, Wolf had been my pride and joy. I had watched him grow from a bashful kitten into a magnificent cat. True, he was pretty feral and his wild streak ran deep. But he graced me with his company, allowed me to pamper him with delicacies and rewarded me with occasional pats. When hanging with Wolf, I knew I was privileged to be in the company of a very special being.
I had been leaving the screen door propped open so my flock of ferals could avail themselves of the comforts of the porch. Old Ugly, thief and intruder, was not included in this group. No matter how many times I chased him away, he'd come skulking back. One night after feeding and hanging out with Wolf, I went inside the house. A while later, there was a crash, the sounds of objects falling, and much yowling coming from the porch. I rushed out to discover that Wolf and Old Ugly had gotten into a fight, knocked the door shut, and were trapped together on the porch. I rushed out, got between the battling felines, and flung the door open. Wolf bolted out into the night. The ugly orange beast climbed up on a storage cabinet to cower and refused to move for several hours. Trust me, I did my best to convince the old bag of mange to leave. I gave up and the nasty intruder finally left around midnight. But I never saw Wolf again. He was badly rattled, maybe injured when he fled which must have made him careless. With coy dogs, fisher cats, foxes, and all kinds of nasty things roaming the woods, I doubt Wolf lived the night. Because of this, I should have helped Old Ugly leave the porch sooner... in pieces.
And since we're speaking of cat fights, the civil war of Tommy and Pretty Darryl must be mentioned. At first it was kind of funny. At night, they would face off. First they would sit facing each other and yowl, making the most unbelievable sounds. It was as if they were two space aliens shouting at each other in a strange language. Sometimes they would do this for ten minutes at a time. When they couldn't resolve their differences verbally, which they never could, things would get physical. It wasn't bad at first. But eventually, the fur would fly and blood would spill.
They were fighting a turf war. They had decided only one of them could stay. And neither wanted to leave. Eventually, Tommy would drive Pretty Darryl off. But Pretty Darryl wouldn't stay gone.
The other Darryl had spent his whole first winter hanging on and around the porch. I don't know why he did this but I enjoyed his company. But unfortunately, by hanging out, he didn't develop his street smarts. The first warm day after the snow melted, he went off and never came back. If Darryl had lived, there would have been three brothers battling over turf.
The ladies weren't above the occasional cat-fight. Nobody fought with Mama. But Blue hated Minnie. Still, she was fairly lady- like about it. Angel faced Vick was not a lady. She had developed an unbelievable hatred for Possum Lily. I was constantly stopping Vick from attacking poor Lily. But Vick would not be stopped. Eventually, I realized she wasn't even letting Possum Lily eat. Lily didn't like me, but when I saw the poor little cat wistfully hanging around the outskirts of the woods, I started bringing her food and making sure she got to eat it.
So much for my naive idea that humans and ferals could peacefully co-exist. The damn cats couldn't even co-exist with each other.
No comments:
Post a Comment