New Kids on the Block

  
Meowler, Blue's black kitten added a nice splash of color and cattitude to the motley bunch of felines mooching around my porches.  His unfortunate disappearance brought the number of regulars down to eight.

Eight cats is about six too many.  Believe it or not, I still wasn't worried.  The feline population seemed to be controlled somewhat by cars, plows and and kitten- eating things that lurked the woods.  My anguish when any of the uninvited visitors disappeared doesn't say much for my sanity.

But the increasing feline population seemed to grate on feline nerves and personality clashes were becoming more evident.  To divide warring factions up, the dining facilities were expanded.  Mama and her youngest brood had taken over the little porch containing the infamous dog house.  I had opened up the screened porch to feed the older cats.  Wolf only stopped by twice a day and the kittens, especially Minnie, made him edgy.  Minnie always managed to be there and provoke Wolf, so I had to guard him while he ate to protect her.    

On the big porch, originally set up for humans, there was a glider and an old armchair.  On rainy days, there would be cats sprawled all over the furniture.  It really was picturesque.  The cats were so comfortable, even the hardcore ferals wouldn't budge when I came out to take pictures.

Wolf, Blue, Minnie and Vic were all the feline friends I needed.  I didn't even bother trying to befriend the new bunch.  But it seems I didn't have a choice in the matter. 

Of the four new kids on the block, it was the little calico that stood out.  I knew immediately she was a female because calicos usually are.  But it wasn't just her gender or exotic coloring that differentiated her.  The nasty little hellcat had a foul disposition.  Compared to her, Mama was really quite pleasant.  In spite of the kitten's ugly disposition and the permanent sneer frozen on her face, she really was a pretty little thing.  But.when she snarled and hissed, which was all the time, she looked chillingly like an opossum.  To capture both sides of her, I named her 'Possum Lily.

The other three were tigers and at first it was hard to tell them apart.  Then one of the tigers, a sturdy, brazen, little punk, began to stand out.  The little creature began to stalk and observe me.  When he was sitting a few feet away and staring at me, I noticed dark grey ran all the way down his nose and that the end of his nose was black.  Even when he was still quite small, there was no mistaking him for a female.  Not very original, but since he was obviously a tom cat, he became Tommy.  After staking out the human enemy, little Tommy decided he liked the dumb human and was going to tame it.  And it was impossible for this human not to fall in love with the brash little wise guy.  Before long, he had invaded and infested the big porch and every time I stepped out, he was underfoot.

Probably to prove the copycat saying true, another tiger followed his lead.  This guy had big close set eyes and a long face which reminded me of a certain actress so I called him Darryl.  This cat was a pushy, in your face kind of guy, which got on my nerves at first.  But before long, we were buddies and I got quite attached to him.  One day I was playing with Tommy and Darryl in the yard.  As I dragged a branch, they were chasing it and pouncing.  I happened to looked at Darryl and a field with long dry grass flashed into my mind. 

I had seen this field in a dream around the time Blue's kittens disappeared.  In the dream, the late Tiggie had appeared and showed me the field.  With the logic that only seems to work in dreams, I knew the dry field meant that Blue's kittens were dead.  So when I saw the field while looking at Darryl, I felt he wouldn't live long.  I shrugged the creepy feeling off. 

There was one more tiger.  He wasn't friendly and had no intentions of becoming friendly.  I couldn't even pin his personality down enough to name him.  He had such a pretty face, he should have been a female.  But he wasn't.  And he began to show a mean streak towards the other cats.  I settled for calling him Pretty Darryl.  If I had known then what I know now, I probably would have called him Godzilla or Cujo.  To this day, the beast comes around to steal food, piss all over the porch, and pester the spayed women-folk until I chase him off.  Perhaps if his brothers hadn't been so extroverted, or if I'd had the time or inclination to work with him, he'd be a nicer guy today.

But perhaps it wouldn't have mattered.  This dumb human had a lot to learn about feline ways.  People always refer to combatants as fighting like dogs and cats.  Why not say fighting like cats and cats?  Fights between cats are just as vicious and more hateful.  A cat can carry a mean, long lasting, bloody grudge against another cat.  When the feline version of puberty hit, brothers Pretty Darryl and Tommy would become deadly foes.