We are cat people, my partner and myself. We cohabitate with two now, have each had our own in the past before we met, have more photos of our cats than of our our respective children and grandchildren combined. We talk about them over restaurant meals the way other people talk about their infant children, we worry about them when they’re out or they’re late coming home and like doting pet owners everywhere we’ll sit still longer than we planned, longer than is comfortable simply because a cat is resting on our lap. We’re cat people, not to say that if we had a dog it wouldn’t be given the same lavish attention but we prefer that independant, “what, me give a shit” attitude that cats embody. A psychological failing no doubt but it is ours and we embrace it.
Several years ago while out shooting photos I came across a crudely made cat shelter and a dozen or so ill fed cats who scattered as I approached. I took a few pictures, moved on and later that evening mentioned my find to my partner. The die was cast. The next day she went off to investigate with a bag of food and a heart filled with compassion. We’ve been there ever since.
It started off innocently enough, we said we’d feed them upon occasion when we had some extra cat food or rejects from our two spoiled fellows. We’d prop up the shelter so it was a bit more weather resistant and put an old tarp we had over the feeding area so the food was sheltered from the rain. That was all. Sure. But then the inevitable happened. As we set off into the trees and the jumble of urban forest where they lived they would be waiting for us on the path. Or as we walked along they would emerge from the tall grass and weeds, would run ahead leaping for joy and rolling about in the ecstasy of anticipation. They ran away less, milled about as we poured out food and occasionally we’d be able to steal a pet or two as they ate.
Their numbers varied but we seemed to have a basic group of about a dozen and some we’d see for a while but then disappear until I happened to spy them sitting outside the take out window of a nearby fast food joint, looking up expectantly as if waiting on their order.
Somehow they all ended up with names, we’d talk about individual personalities and traits and who we’d bring home if we had the opportunity. The bringing one home idea was one of those things you talk about without ever thinking it’s going to be real. Like winning the big money lottery. We were already crazy cat people who fed a bunch of ferals, we didn’t want to become the crazy cat people next door. So every day or every other day we’d make the treck to the shelter in the woods with food, sometimes just to feed and leave and sometimes to stay and sit and watch them eat and loll about afterwards as they washed themselves and sorted out the hierarchy.
Not all was sweetness and light however. Twice someone burnt out the shelter, destroying all the little comforts we had made but each time we rebuilt an even finer habitat, more waterproof, more insulated, more comfortable. People would steal the feeding dishes and the food we left and at times we know someone had been unkind to them as they’d be skittish as we approached and it would take time until they were comfortable with people again. We had kittens, little balls of fur we bought kitten food for as they were weaned and even though they gave us great joy to see them grow and thrive we were glad to see a group of women gather them up and give them homes.
So through days of sunshine and warmth, days of miserable rain or days of knee deep snow we go off to feed the girls and get a little bit of sunshine to our hearts on even the most inhospitable day.
