I Miss My Cat

A few years ago, a feral female cat had a litter in my backyard. Though she was too wild to approach, she ate the food I set out for her. She rejected three of her kittens. I've always wondered how she could tell which ones weren't going to make it. None of them died quickly. So, heart broken, I'd collect them and kept them warm and as comfortable as possible. In my hands, I could feel that their rib cages were either incomplete or they were missing shoulder blades. The malformations were probably due to in-breeding.

Among the survivors, there was a jet black male with golden eyes. I called him "Bubba." He was the only male survivor, and his four sisters (I never named the girls...just called all of them "Kitty.")

Bubba was a real lazy cat. He'd climb a nectarine tree next to my house and take naps high in the branches. As he got older and heavier, he settled on sleeping on top of the fence on the property line between my neighbor and I. When I watched TV, sometimes I could hear him through the ceiling run across the roof just before feeding time. The sound of his padded feet was a reminder to me that it was 4:45 PM.

Bubba had to fight his mother and sisters to get a share of food I set out. I also had an old Cocker Spaniel, named Spotty, that would share his food with him. But would bark whenever any of the girls tried to steal a bite. (Note: Spotty used to find the dying kittens, gently pick them up, and bring them to me! I think he was just tired of hearing them cry all the time, and wanted me to make them quiet. Cute, huh?)

Anyway, as the feral mother had more litters, the number of cats got out of hand. My neighbor trapped a few and I trapped a few and brought them to the SPCA. We were never able to catch the mother, and I think she eventually passed away. Two of her daughters that escaped capture gave rise to two rival factions for my backyard and civil war ensued.

During the following two years, Bubba layed low and would occassionally visit to see if there was anything to eat. All of his sisters never let me pick them up or get close enough to touch them, unless I had food. Bubba, on the other hand, was the most docile. The first time I picked him up, he was asleep...in one of my bonsai pots. He wrapped himself around the trunk of black pine tree. Instead of shrieking out, claws exposed when I removed him from my tree, he just slowly opened his eyes and yawned. I wiggled my finger in front of him and scolded him, "No sleepy sleepy on the bonsai...Okay?" From that day on, he never slept in any of my bonsai pots.

As the feline civil war grew to its highest ferver, Bubba looked very ill. His black coat started turning yellow at the hackles and he lost a lot of weight. I think the women were starving him out. Eventually he stopped coming around. I always hoped he found better digs, for he frequently would disappear for longer and longer periods of time only to show up hungry. Perhaps he was seeking new territory and finally found the promised land.

Either way, I miss him a lot. Not long after Bubba stopped coming around, Spotty died. I don't think his death was because of Bubba. Spotty was almost twenty years old (in human years)! The last of the cats are now gone and my back yard is very quiet and peaceful.

I saw this vid on YouTube and it reminded me of Bubba so much, I just had to share it here: