Here, Ginger! Never mind!

If you start feeding them, even feral cats can be sociable creatures.  Translation: underfoot. 

Whatever you're outside, there's always a few regulars following you around to keep an eye on things.

Sometimes it gets annoying.  If it's a nice night and I wander out to star gaze or moon watch, I have to keep moving.  Standing still in cat language means, "Please sharpen your claws on my legs.  Maybe I'll feed you again."  This claw sharpening and leg climbing can get painful.  When it keeps happening, I have several choices.  I can get mad, but that doesn't do any good.  I can feed them again.  Or I can pick up an acorn or stone and toss it.  When something gets tossed, the nosy creatures have to chase it and check it out.  Of course, sometimes it's risky picking things up in the dark.  Every once in a while, I pick up something nasty.  But except for the leg shredding, cats are good company if you're wandering around at night.  They're pretty good "watchdogs" and their sharper than human senses come in handy.  As long as the cats aren't acting nervous, I usually feel safe.  Protected by my leg- shredding feline security guards, on nice nights I frequently lurk outdoors.

But one night last summer, this security system didn't work out.  I had gone out and within a few minutes, the usual crew began to appear.  First Vick showed up.  Then Peg.  Then Clyde.  Then Hallie.  They milled around, watching me and waiting.  And then I saw something white coming out of the bushes.  Thinking the white was Ginger's white bib, I began to call her.  She waddled towards me out of the bushes and kept coming.  Ginger was a fit young cat and the waddling wasn't quite right.  And as she got closer, I noticed the white fur wasn't a bib but a white stripe.  I stopped calling Ginger but the skunk kept coming.  I slowly backed up and kept backing until I reached the porch.  I waited until I got safely inside before I screamed.

Meanwhile, all the cats were still sitting out there, wondering why I had bolted.  Apparently, Mr. Skunk was a buddy of theirs.  And Mr. Skunk must have been using the felines' extra senses, too.  Since they weren't scared of me, he wasn't scared of me.  And they weren't scared of him, but I was sure as hell was.