The Tale of Two Cats

I have two cats, Tucker and Quinn. Each choose our house. Quinn came half a dozen years plus ago. I was out a cold winter December midnight, calling my cats, the late memorable Scheckter, and Lady. Quinn rushed over. He clearly belonged to someone. We put up posters, they came, claimed him, and took him home. He came back to us. Again, and again. The charade ended after a few months. We were his. They since moved away without him.

Tucker showed up sick and injured a few years ago. He’s black and white, and was dirty, with infections. I fed him, providing him water, shelter, a place to sleep, checking on him. Once trust was established, he entered the house. I searched for his people. He wasn’t chipped and nobody was looking for him. Posters brought no seekers. We took him to the vet and treated his issues. He was neutered, has gained weight and is now a handsome boy.

Cat number three…came to us last fall. I called him Stubby. A black beauty with a white chest triangle, he had no tail, just a stump. He’s clearly been abused by his reactions to feet and hands. My wife renamed him Boo Radley. I searched for Boo’s owners. No one hunted him but he was clearly a house cat, and expected us to serve him. We fed him, ensured he had water and a place to sleep. Then winter hit…. You’ve seen this movie. You know the plot.

Fourth is Meep. Meep is the Orange Prince, a little blade of a cat, and so sweet. Meep belongs to the people who live behind us. Here are the points about Meep.

1. Boo is out to dominate Meep. Meep doesn’t want to be dominated. Fights ensure.
2. Tucker is a fierce fighter. One mighty fur and fury battle arose one night. Tucker intimidates Boo, who watches him carefully and makes great warning noises. Meep becomes the orange bolt when he sees Tucker. He’s off and gone, trailing Roadrunner smoke. Meep, Boo and Tucker are kept separated from one another. It’s like a chess game on my part as I move and segregate cats, loving on them and feeding them. (Fortunately, Quinn is accepted by all three of them.)
3. But Meep likes our house.
4. He’s not permitted in his people’s house, apparently not under any conditions. So he’s always at our house. I bring Meep into the house to feed him twice a day (after locking up Boo and Tucker in separate rooms), and provide him sanctuary against fireworks, storms and cold temps, putting him in the guest room with food, water and a litter box. He scratches on the door when he wants out.

Meep has mites. He has terrible mites. Glances into his ears confirmed it, and they gave him huge issues. Raw scratches around and behind the ears ensued. Naturally, we had to clean his ears and start him on miticide. Our treatment of his situation changed his treatment of us. He used to bound into our house, tail up, raging with purrs and meows. Now he became wary. Cautious.

He even avoided coming into the house.

Despite losing his trust, we persevered. It wasn’t fun, becoming a perceived threat, but it was better for him that it be done. We cleaned his ears and treated him for three days, and then stopped to assess, continuing to clean, when we could get him to let us. That became tougher as he kept his distance.

Last evening, as always, he was sleeping in an unused grow box in our back yard. It was time for his feeding so I opened the back door and called. He arose, crossed the patio and stopped. Sitting down ten feet away, he watched me with sad golden eyes.

I lowered myself onto the ground at the door and put out a hand. I usually call him by the name we’ve given him, Meep, but last night, I blinked my eyes at him and called, “Here, kitty, kitty. Here, kitty, kitty.” Softly, softly, again, and again, and again.

He rose. Stretched. Looked around. Raised his tail. Sauntered over. Paused on the threshold. Looked around again. Stepped in. Pressed himself against my arms and sides. Released a squeaky purr. I closed the door. He escorted me to his guest room, and I fed him.

He returned this morning, came in and ate, and promptly came in this evening. We resumed his treatment this evening. This time, he accepted it with little complaint and didn’t race away. His tail was straight up until it curved into a question at the end.

We feel he’s recognized that whatever we were doing made him feel better, and so he’s forgiven us, and trust us once again. I appreciate that he trusts us, since he’s not our cat.

Tucker and Quinn were on the desk asleep beside me as I typed this. Then Meep and Boo got into it in the back yard. T & Q rose up to investigate and I went out to separate and placate.

Cats have always liked me. My wife calls me the cat whisperer. Cats love to visit me, quickly making themselves comfortable on my desk, my lap, my chairs, my patio. There was Grace, Alexander, Scratchy and Blur. All belonged to neighbors but could be readily found at my house all hours of the day and night.

I could tell you about Pepper, who sleeps on our porch and cries for food (which I give her), but she’s not our cat, belonging to the person next store. I could mention Buddy, the small black who visits me when I check the mail or do yard work. He lives across the street. Sketch, a gray and white neighborhood newcomer, could be mentioned, as his people have discovered that he likes it around my yard. I try not to get too friendly or familiar with Pepper, Sketch and Buddy.

I have two cats.

I don’t need more.