This is my feral cat Rose. I usually feed her out in the yard. Last week I found her sitting patiently on the front porch. She deliberately made eye contact with me, and for a moment she was unafraid. She obviously had something to say.
“I am not a woodland animal,” she stated boldly, and glanced over her shoulder.
I followed her gaze. A doe munching on my rose bush looked up, she flicked her ears at me as a pink petal disappeared into her mouth.
“Saying that the yard is brimming with wildlife is an understatement,” Rose continued. “Do you know who I share my food with?”
Actually, I did. I’d set up a trail camera. But I didn’t want to interrupt her.
“Possums, foxes, a greedy baby skunk, crows, sparrows, wasps, and ants. Not to mention Scrappers,” she said, rolling her eyes.
Scrappers is the neighbor’s cat. He lives with two very young children. Needless to say, he spends a lot of time in our yard.
“Then there are those I have to dodge just to get to the food. Two bucks, one doe, three raccoons, numerous squirrels, and that creepy white cat that only shows up at night. I’m not sure if she’s real or a ghost.”
Rose continued to point, and the claw on her index toe popped out for emphasis. “Along with twenty three black widows, twelve lizards, more gophers than is possible to count.” She lowered her paw. The next line came out as a hiss. “And a bobcat.” She looked at me with distaste. “From now on I’d like to have breakfast and dinner served to me on the front porch.” She gave me a slow blink. “Please.”
After our initial interaction Rose reverted to her feral self, she never makes eye contact, she runs when I come outside, usually waiting to eat until the house is quiet. But she said her peace and I got the message. And if she doesn’t finish her dinner, the baby skunk will happily eat the remains. But, at least these days, she’s getting the lion’s share.
