…to enjoy a bit of the natural world.

This weekend I have spent my time doing the on-call thing for work.  Right now I feel drunk, although not from alcohol.  From lack of sleep, yes.

I’ve had perhaps two hours of rest since five in the morning on Friday.

Needless to say, it’s been a hell of a weekend.  And not in a good way.

Still, my want to take walks and snap photos suffers no lasting damage from such times, for it is with a great sense of gift that I can stand outside on my own patio and get a fix for my need.

Nature comes to me, you see.

Clance^[1].  For some time I thought I would never see his cross-eyed face again.  He disappeared for more than a year with but one or two minor visits in early 2007.  I hoped for the best and feared the worse: that he had been adopted and that he had died, respectively.

Then he suddenly reappeared maybe two months ago.  Now he comes running when he sees me on the patio and he purrs and meows as he speaks to me with trust and affection.  I’m thrilled to see he’s alright.

A male house sparrow (Passer domesticus).  Whilst kneeling on the patio floor trying to snap photos of a lizard, I heard the tiniest bit of noise beside me, something much like a dry leaf rustling against an old log.

Slowly I turned and looked over my shoulder.  There hardly an arm’s length from me perched this little bird.  He clung to the fence and glanced about as though he’d lost something.

In truth, I put birdseed out every day.  The sparrows join the cardinals, the blue jays, the mourning doves, the rock doves, the Carolina wrens and a litany of other species as they each vie for their bit of the bounty.  My little sparrow friend probably wanted to make sure no threats lurked about before he dove to the ground for a bite to eat.

A friendly fly (a.k.a. government fly or large flesh fly; Sarcophaga aldrichi)^[2].  It sat atop the patio fence soaking up sunshine.  If I approached too closely, it scooted off in one direction or another, but it never flew away—at least not until it was ready to do so.

I enjoyed watching it, appreciating its behemoth size and dazzling contrast of colors.  And the fact that it was so tolerant of me made it even better.

A male green anole (Anolis carolinensis).  He spent a great deal of time challenging me as I stood and watched him climb down the tree rooted just outside the patio fence.  Having been confronted by my share of anoles, I thought nothing of this contest save that it made for a good photo opportunity.

What I didn’t know would be discovered later.  He defied me only because he meant to woo a lady of his kind who hid in the branches above him.  Minutes later I returned to the patio and discovered his display had so impressed her that she had succumbed to his ways.

Yes, the two of them stood on the side of the tree and consummated their meeting in a public display of affection that would so offend James Dobson and his bigoted ilk that they—the lizards—likely would have found a new constitutional amendment being passed to stop reptile procreation altogether due to its immorality.  But I found the exhibition mesmerizing and educating.

A rock dove (a.k.a. common pigeon; Columba livia).  Ancestor of all pigeons, this species, despite the unwarranted disgust by many humans, brings a profound beauty to its surroundings.  The iridescent feathers, the amber eyes, the tolerance for our ways and our places…  Well, I find them intriguing and beguiling.

A Virginia opossum (a.k.a. possum; Didelphis virginiana).  Part of the cleaning crew, in fact, as you can see this one readily went to work on the cat food I had just put out for Clance.  After the cat had his fill, he walked away.  That’s when, much to my surprise, this opossum scampered around the corner, ambled up to the table so to speak, and began munching away.

Oh, and the marsupial knew I was there.  I knelt next to the fence only a yard/meter away, so every sound and movement I made set off alarm bells for this small juvenile (not as small as the baby, though).  But I know something about them: their eyesight is relatively poor, although they can hear and smell like a top predator.  Staying downwind of the little cutie and not making a lot of noise meant it only looked at me with suspicion if I moved too much or accidentally sounded my presence with some clumsy racket.

A male cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus).  My favorite insect in all the world, and a most gentle and placid leviathan if ever there was one.  The huge colony of these beasts that surrounds my home thrives only for a brief period before falling under the heels of time’s onward march.  But during that short life they captivate me to no end, and they give of their calm nature the companionship made possible only by two disparate lives sharing a clear understanding: we can be friends.

— — — — — — — — — —

Notes:

[1] Many would argue that domestic cats are not natural.  I beg to differ.  The wildcat who gave life to this species has been pushed to near extinction by humans.  What can fill that ecological niche if not the very children of the parents put to death by the march of our intelligent advancement.

That said, I don’t like the idea of outside cats, I don’t like seeing them outside fending for themselves and being exposed to all manner of illness and danger, yet the humane side of me—the part of me that knows what it means to be human—likes even less the idea of seeing them go hungry and without compassion.  I put lots of money into no-kill shelters each month in hopes that some of these lost souls will find a home; meanwhile, I have no intention of turning my back on them when I can afford to offer a meal, a bit of attention and friendship, and a kind soul to whom they can speak.

[2] Amazingly, this is not a macro shot.  I stood some distance from the fly and zoomed in to take the picture.

[3] The photo is bad, I know, but I took it in very poor lighting and with the camera on the wrong settings.  I was more intrigued and enthralled with the opossum than I was with making a piece of art.  So sue me.

How does one measure cruelty?  And when it comes to animals, does outrage stem from the depth of the cruelty or is the cruelty enough within itself to warrant condemnation?

I stepped outside a few moments ago with a small bowl of kibble, a bit of replenishing stock to fill the revolving trough of cat food that I once again keep outside.

Both Psiwa and Clance returned to these shores but a month or so ago, neither of whom had I seen for quite some time.

Living where so much nature and civilization meld together in dangerous combinations, I feared for both of them, feared for what had become of two very sweet and innocent souls.

Yet when the raft of life once more deposited them upon the beach of my existence, I fell prey to that tenderness they share with me, that comradeship they offer with beautiful regularity.

So I noticed when outside a bit earlier that the food supply had grown thin.  Only a handful of nuggets remained where a veritable feast had been placed just this morning.

No sooner had I stepped through the door when at the corner of the patio I noticed a ginger bit of fluff caught mid-stride, eyes watching me carefully.

Then it spoke.

I responded.

It spoke again.

Feeling it must be hungry with its stark outline revealing the need for sustenance, I shook the plastic bowl and let the nourishment dance inside, the sound of it recognizable to any canine or feline who grew up being provided for by humans.

Immediately the cat brightened, cheer washing over its face as it ran to my location, pausing briefly on the other side of the fence, speaking the whole time.

I knew then the poor cat was someone’s friend—had been a friend rather.

Despite its wounded eye and worn coat, despite its thin body pleading for victuals, the constant vocalizations told me my newest guest trusted people, missed its previous home, recognized a caring person.

I grabbed a handful of food and knelt down.  I undoubtedly would have to place the food outside the fence as this orange tabby tuxedo most assuredly was unfamiliar with the entrances and exits to the patio.

I was wrong.

Showing a familiarity that both pleased and intrigued me, the cat zoomed by me and rushed to an opening in the fence, squeezed through effortlessly, then came to me with such haste and verbal engagement that I felt I must be looking at a long lost love.

It rubbed against me, speaking the whole time, and it stood right beside me as I placed the dish in front of it.

Him, I mean, for at that moment the chap rubbed against me again before turning around long enough for me to see he was indeed a male.

He dove into the meal as soon as I set the container on the ground.  I remained beside him as I sipped a beer and watched him.

Famished.  Purely, unequivocally famished.

Half the kibble disappeared within a few minutes, his only pauses rested between chewing and catching his breath.

And when he finished?

He wanted more attention, more conversation.

A bit of matted fur, a bit of drainage from the eye, and neither frightened me.  I certainly could wash my hands before I touched The Kids.  They would be safe.  At that moment, however, this cat needed love, needed to feel what it had felt before prior to its new life at the lake.

His familiarity with the patio leads me to believe he has visited here before, visited often enough to know precisely the ins and outs in unadulterated detail.

For when he exited through the fence and meandered about, I walked to the opposite end of the concrete floor by the other passage.

He followed, suddenly full of verve again, suddenly desperate for more conversation.

In his pursuit of me, he rushed along the fence, turned at the concrete pillar, then dashed through the entrance at my feet as though he’d done it a hundred times before.

This chap is no stranger to my home.

And I run headlong back to the question at hand: What makes cruelty?

Is it that he was abandoned, this poor soul in search of a bite to eat and a touch of human companionship?  Or is that he was lost by those who obviously taught him not to fear us but instead to cherish and trust us?

Were it the former—that he was abandoned—he would be yet another statistic here at White Rock Lake, another of the local cats who started life with adoration for and from people.  I have rescued three such felines in recent years from this very place, three felines who had at least some experience with our kind (some better than others).

Were it the latter—that he was lost—his statistical change would be minimal at best.  And what of those who lost him?  Are they looking for him?  Do they even care?  I’ve seen no indication of a search for this feline.  And I do take notice of all such searches in this area as I have my hand on the pulse of the local population (feline, canine, wildlife, human and otherwise).  If anyone is searching for this beloved soul, it’s not apparent.

Five times in the last five days have I wished to bludgeon myself with a plastic spoon for not having my camera with me.  Five times!

And you wonder why I strongly believe having my camera with me at all times is of the utmost importance. . .

First: I awoke before five one morning and stepped out to the patio.  In the distance, I could hear a kitten crying.  And crying.  Unable to ignore the poor distressed thing, I quickly donned shorts and a tee shirt before heading out into the darkness.

I let myself be guided by the sound of the plaintive cries.  All too soon I realized the smallest ball of fur had climbed a large tree only to realize it didn’t know how to get down.

Luckily, several other people already had found the cat and were focusing an intent rescue mission on helping it back to the ground.

When I turned to leave, who came running to see me?

Clance!

I’d not seen him in quite some time and feared for his well-being.  I stooped down and petted him gleefully as he rubbed against me and purred with contentment.

He seemed in fine health.  Someone’s been taking care of him.

When I finally walked away as he went to investigate the commotion in the dense woodlands where the kitten was stranded, I chastised myself for not having my camera with me so I could snap a photo or two of him.

Second: I drove to Starbucks for my usual morning fix of caffeine and company.  Dawn barely had reached the sky overhead with dim light as I stepped out of the car.

I turned and looked toward the southeast where the sun would be rising.  What met my eyes was the most vivid, stunning sunrise ever imagined.

Clouds stretched as far as my eyes could see, a dim azure to the west that slowly, over the course of the sky, changed hues to a brilliant, deep, unimaginable shade of violet to the east, dark clouds kissed gently by a sun struggling to climb above the horizon.  Where its light filtered in beneath the clouds, hints of gold and red danced like magical beings.

I could scarcely believe my eyes, what with such beauty right there for anyone to enjoy, right there where—Well, damn it!—right there where I could capture the event in but a few simple photos. . .if I had my camera.

Third: Rick and I enjoyed a Sunday lunch sitting on the patio of a local favorite.  Some clouds and some blue sky offered excellent weather, so we sat on his front patio a while afterward sipping Perriers as Wylie skipped about in dappled sunshine.

Eventually the time came for some Frisbee fun.

Only then did I realize what a magnificent scene rested before my eyes.

Sunlight danced through the clouds only to find itself dancing through oak leaves both falling from and clinging to still dressed branches.  Mounds of them rested atop the ground in a blanket the likes of which sings of autumnal grace.

And amongst them pranced this terribly happy dog who wanted to run and play.  Each time he nestled down awaiting the next throw, he half disappeared in a bed of fallen foliage.

Anyone would be proud of such splendor on display for all the world to see, beauty drafted upon the landscape by nature itself.

“I could kick myself for not having my camera with me,” I said, the ‘anger at self’ rather evident in my voice.

“They’ve only started to shed their leaves, and Wylie’s not going anywhere.  I’m sure there will be other times,” Rick replied.

Nevertheless. . .

Fourth: Larenti lay at my feet soaking up attention as though it were a necessity without which she could not live.  I barely noticed anything other than her incessant purring and pawing. . .and the smile so evident on her face.

Peripherally, as though a specter passed between reality and unreality, a wisp of something as gray as smoke pranced through the patio fence and walked directly to the bowl of cat food.

Psiwa glanced at me for a moment before lowering his head to the bowl.  The munching sound of consumption filled the air.

He learned some time ago how to enter and exit the patio through the hole in the fence I created.  I’ve seen him coming and going, usually when I’m indisposed or unable to take photos other than through a window.

Yet there he sat quietly enjoying a bite to eat as I stood barely more than an arm’s length away from him.

Several times he glanced at me, his exquisite green eyes a near match to his flawless gray coat, and each time he did so I mentally screamed at myself for not having my camera with me.

Fifth: Later that same day, Larenti wandered off on an excursion.  I stood on the patio soaking up the unusual autumn warmth when once again Psiwa crept silently through the fence for a bite to eat.  This time, however, was different.

I stood a breath away from the food bowl.  He had to walk within a hair of me to get to it.  But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked toward me.

I watched him, speaking softly with hellos and how-are-yous.

Hesitantly, sweetly, and with a great deal of curiosity, he came to me, a bit reluctant to be touched, yet nonetheless wanting of my attention.

And I felt consumed by those magical eyes. . .

Without my camera, though.

The last week to ten days has offered a new sight ’round the xenogere wildlife sanctuary.

That’s al-Zill, a new cat who’s been showing up often to enjoy a free meal (or several).

As for the name, al-Zill is Arabic and means “the Shadow.”  I felt it appropriate given this feline’s color and skittish personality, both of which help make the predator quite sneaky and oft times unseen.

But al-Zill was not alone while trying to enjoy some breakfast.

That’s Larenti crouched in front of me as she watches al-Zill eat.

It should be said that Larenti has essentially claimed the patio as her own.  She’s here every day, she spends most of her time lounging about, she greets me almost every time I go outside regardless of the time, and she’s grown quite accustomed to me.  She trusts me quite a bit—but not completely.  The way she reacts sometimes, I’m fairly confident she was abused.  But more on that later . . .

al-Zill and Larenti aren’t exactly friends, but neither are they enemies.  They tolerate each other to a great degree and have only scuffled once or twice when one surprised the other.  Not to be unexpected with unfamiliar cats, I’d say.

Despite Larenti’s watchful eye, however, al-Zill went right on with his meal (and I’m assuming it’s a male, although I could be terribly wrong as I’ve not been able to get a close look).

And as he ate, Larenti edged closer and closer.

It was as if she thought she really was sneaking up on him.  Considering I saw every one of his surreptitious glances as she moved in, I knew otherwise.

Finally, though, she got close enough to interrupt the meal.  Either that or he’d had enough for breakfast.

With her continuing to get closer and closer, he finally stood and walked away.  She didn’t follow.

That space in the fence in front of him is where I accidentally put my foot through the wood slats.  I had been leaning against the fence and had my foot propped up in one of the small spaces.  Unbeknownst to me, both the wood and the nails had long since become weak with age and weather.  The moment I shifted my weight and put a little too much force on that leg, my foot went right through the fence and took the corner of the structure with it.

Oops.

[on a side note, I've not seen Aethon, Chira, Clance, or Henko in a few months; I worry about all of them and hope they're doing well; Psiwa, on the other hand, continues to visit; in fact, he was here when I arrived home from work today; I stood quietly on the patio as he gobbled up some kibble for his evening meal]

Last November I discussed my Hobson’s choice regarding the neighborhood cats I had been feeding.  The problem that ultimately forced me to realize I had to stop came from the presence of Aethon, an unsterilized male who had decided the food supply belonged entirely to him, and he was willing to enforce that claim with unremitting hostility and violence leveled against any other cat who wished to share in the bounty.  In fact, he eventually began sleeping near the food throughout the day as a measure of guard duty.

I witnessed on many occasions his savage aggression toward the other cats I had befriended.  When one night he unleashed terrible brutality on Larenti as she approached, my heart broke with the realization that I could no longer feed them without endangering the gentler members of the neighborhood feline brigade.  I wept as I concluded the banquet must end.

Yet a few days later I mentioned to xocobra during a visit that it wasn’t just Aethon’s malfeasance that spelled the end.  At that time, I already faced a growing financial disaster.  Add to that the cost of feeding my own five cats along with at least five regular outside visitors—and all with prescription cat food that isn’t cheap.  It seemed, as I admitted to him, that my Hobson’s choice was a double-whammy.  I was spending a fortune on expensive cat food whilst simultaneously engendering a rather volatile situation with the various outside cats (all because of one specific cat, mind you).  I was unable to monitor the situation around the clock in order to intercept Aethon’s tyrannical terror, and similarly I was unwilling to visit upon him any harm or fright because his actions were not intentionally evil.  He was, after all, simply trying to survive, and being unfixed meant he was a slave to his raging male hormones.

And therein rested my Hobson’s choice: stop feeding them or chase him away.  Since chasing him away was impossible and unpalatable, I really had only the illusion of a choice.  My course of action seemed all to clear…  I had to stop feeding them to address both the financial worries and the growing discord and harm being done in response to the availability of food.

But did I stop?  Yes.  For a short time.

Too often I was visited by any number and combination of these cats, and each time I died a little more, lamented their need and my unwillingness to fulfill it, and suffered a thousand wounds when they called out to me or stared at me with the questioning want of a cat accustomed to being provided a meal but who suddenly finds itself going without.  Nevertheless, I knew I had to stop, at least temporarily, in order to break Aethon of his habit, that of staking his claim early in the morning and remaining on sentry throughout the day so as to attack any interloper who wished to share in the feast.

And it worked.  Perhaps a week went by as his visits grew less frequent and shorter.  He would arrive and take his position.  He would watch me closely with eyes asking the question his mouth could not articulate.  Finally, after seven or eight days, his early arrival stopped.  He began making infrequent visits throughout the day and night, each time checking to see if the situation had changed, and each time finding it had not.  And then, after about ten days, his presence became occasional, one defined by casual strolls and jaunts through the area as part of an irregular schedule.

The damage had been done, though, for the same could be said of the other cats.  I rarely saw any of them, and certainly a few seemed to have disappeared altogether.  I feared for them, shed tears of worry and sorrow on their behalf, and eventually succumbed to my own humane heart.  I began feeding them again.

Since then, most have returned at least from time to time.  All except Clance and Chira.  Clance I saw rarely after that, and now I’ve not seen him for a few months.  I do carry a great deal of concern for him.  My hope is that he was adopted, rescued by some other loving person, but I also realize that’s probably more self-deception than anything else.  He could still be around but not visiting because the meal became unreliable.  I simply don’t know.

As for Chira, the last few times I’ve seen him he has been wearing a collar.  As I had suspected and hoped for some time in response to his less frequent visits, it appears someone has at least taken to providing him with love and attention, not to mention some kind of stable companionship and care.  My apprehension based on his absence lessened tremendously when I realized that.  In spite of not seeing him since early January, I have at least some measure of hope that he’s being taken care of and hasn’t just gone missing like too many stray cats do.

Henko still visits.  Being as aloof and skittish as she is, she’s still the hardest one to see.  But that doesn’t mean I don’t see her.  Almost every morning like clockwork, I watch her slink by the windows nearest my desk where I work.  Rather than bother her too much, I give her plenty of space.  She’s a small, frightened lass, one subjected to quite a bit of unnecessary chasing by the others, something due in no small part to her size and position in the local pecking order, I believe.  So I give her space and don’t attempt to visit with her too often.

Psiwa’s presence is almost as regular as Larenti’s.  He comes and goes throughout each day and enjoys his time at the public table.  He’s grown quite accustomed to me, something that pleases me to no end.  Instead of running away each time he sees me, he’s now so comfortable with my presence that he’ll sit right by the fence as I put out additional food.  When before I couldn’t be within six feet (two meters) of him, I’ve actually been able to touch him a few times over the past month or so.  That is tremendous progress between us.

But now that I’ve ranted ad infinitum about all of these cats, and without mentioning the few new visitors I’ve seen on very rare occasions, I come to the crux of the matter.

My relationship with Larenti has developed to a new level.  She now talks to me even when it has nothing whatsoever to do with food.  She responds to my presence with comfort and affection, shows excitement when I’m around, and shows up constantly, sometimes sleeping right outside the patio fence for hours at a time.  This is nothing like Aethon’s similar behavior last year, mind you, for Larenti is not violent and is not protecting the food.  She’ll lie quietly and without interference as other cats—especially Psiwa—come and go.  For that matter, she hangs out with Psiwa quite often.

The point is, though, she’s grown used to me and has developed a bond with me.  It’s comfortable and welcomed.  And it’s in danger.

You already know I intend to leave Dallas at the end of the year, give or take, an uprooting change in my life intended to get me away from concrete jungles and too many people.  I want to live in a place that will indulge my growing need to commune with nature, so it’s certain I will relocate closer to the family farm in East Texas.  I want a place where the natural world is not as tainted as it is here, a place where walks in woodlands and along riparian landscapes are not deceptive illusions as can be found here at the lake where I presently reside.  There is ample nature to be seen here, yes, but it’s not natural and it’s not free of human overcrowding.  It’s a habitat located within the city, one surrounded on all sides by urban and suburban sprawl, one a mere stone’s throw from downtown Dallas.  I’ll post some maps momentarily to show you what I mean, but this lake is nothing more than a brief hallucination in an otherwise vast landscape of civilization.  It is no escape from humanity’s constant drivel and activity; it’s a blink right in the middle of the mess, one you could easily miss if you didn’t know it was there.

That’s not the life I want anymore, and it’s not the life I’ll have when I move.  Or at least that’s what I hope.

Which leads me to Larenti and the other cats.  When I leave this place, I must leave them behind as well.  It’s simply not possible to rescue them all, methinks.  But could it be possible to rescue one or two of them?

I think it is in at least a small way.  Since I don’t know where I’ll move to, though, I don’t know if trying to do that would even work.  And I dare not move them simply to keep them as outside cats.  They’re comfortable in their current territory with lives that are somewhat stable and secure, at least as much as can be had under the circumstances.  Uprooting them and placing them into a new, wilder environment would simply put them in greater danger.  I’m not willing to do that.

I still think it could be possible to adopt one or two of them before I go.

Having six or seven cats would be a tremendous change, I know.  It would be disruptive to the current five assuming one or two new members could even be integrated.  That’s a huge assumption.  But aside from that consideration, what else can I do?  I would be leaving them without my support—the biggest part of which is food!—and would essentially be abandoning them to their fates.  I’m sure they’d survive given that they survived before I came along.  They are cats, after all, and that means master predators and cunning beasts whose only real threat is people.  And starvation, disease, larger predators, parasites, and whatever else might befall them.

Therein lies my worry and pondering.  When I move, what do I do about them?  If anything, who do I rescue?  And will any action even be possible?

I have months before this quandary is faced directly.  I already stress about it nevertheless.  I can’t wait until the last minute to decide and act.  My greatest fear is that I’ll simply have to disappear from their perspective.  One day the food will stop.  One day the affection and attention will end.  It will be so abrupt and unforeseen.  And what will they do then?  How long will they continue to visit hoping for my return?  And who will occupy this space after me, and how will they react to these cats who keep coming around and waiting?

There is much that must be considered in all of this.  I realize that without hesitation.  It doesn’t change the consideration, though.  Not at all.

Many times before I have mentioned the distinct coloration of black tabby cats.  Kako was the first such feline I had ever seen.  Before her, I never knew such a thing existed.  Then I discovered two neighborhood cats, Clance and Henko, who, like Kako, are black tabbies.

The most ingenious aesthetic trait of these cats lies in their fur’s color scheme.  Although generally black or very dark in appearance, their hairs are mostly white.  In fact, I’d say at least two-thirds of each strand is white and only the outer third is black.  Despite the discontinuity in proportions, the cats display a dark appearance with their stripes almost hidden except when viewed at just the right angle in just the right light.

I was looking for one or more photos of Kako to post today when I came across a few of them that captured in presentable detail the true nature of her coat.  First, look at this close-up.

That’s her neck as she stands next to the patio doors.  As you can see, only the tips of the hairs are black.  Most of the fur is actually white.  Now, look at the whole picture from which that was taken.

This trait reveals itself most prominently when she lies on her back and shows her belly.  You can see examples of that here, here, here, and here.  (There are other examples, but I think that’s sufficient to confirm my point.)

And yet, despite her fur being almost entirely white, she remains a black tabby: dark overall and seen by all but the most careful of observers as a basic black cat.

Albeit a mighty fine, petite, ear-freckled, in-your-face black cat.

Her general whiteness is never more apparent than when I brush her.  What the grooming tool captures always presents like the color of light ash, a gray so close to white as to be near indistinguishable.  It is then her hirsute dichotomy becomes evident to all.

Feline doppelgängers are not unusual.  Kako has two in our immediate vicinity: Clance and Henko.  Similarly, Larenti has one in the form of Aethon.  Given the ubiquitous nature of domestic cats, rare indeed is the fur person who has no look-alike walking the surface of the planet, and impossible is the consideration that any cat anywhere has never and will never be a mirror image of at least one other cat.

So it was with a bit of humor that I received an e-mail a few days ago from a gentleman named Brian.  He said:

I stumbled across your site, and found it ironic that we both have cats named Grendel, and even more ironic that they looked so similar. Mine is a female (thought about naming it “Grendel’s Mother”, but that was too complicated) and an all-around good kid. Just thought I’d share those photos of my little beast, and let you know you did a bang up job naming him.

Grendel is a gray tabby.  Given the abundant nature of this particular breed of cat, it’s always been safe to assume he has a plethora of doppelgängers, has had an innumerable number throughout history, and will have many more in the future.  But to find one with the same name?  And to find one who is similar in appearance with the same name but who is a female?  I thought that was rather cool.

So of course I checked out the photos Brian sent along with his missive.  And sure enough, his Grendel is quite similar in color and markings to my Grendel, and even her body shape is eerily analogous.  I also noticed in the background and discussion he provided that their personalities are not terribly dissimilar, both being relatively laid-back, easy-going, very affectionate, and outspoken.  These are all traits of the tabby line, I realize, and so I need not be surprised by the multiple likenesses with regards to their personalities.

Brian notes she’s a petite lady, which would make her the opposite of Grendel’s hefty fifteen pounds (seven kilograms).  That discrepancy easily falls under the normal feline gender differences seen most evidently in their sizes.

Head on over and take a look at Grendel’s gender-bending doppelgänger.  Don’t forget to read through Brian’s affectionate talk about her history and their life together.  You can’t possibly come away from it without realizing she’s done a great job softening up a self-proclaimed dog guy by expertly endearing herself to him—something cats are quite good at.

Aethon is a beast.  After monitoring his proclivities and activities for the last several weeks, I now understand why his continued presence and tendency to hang out and sleep here is negatively impacting the rest of the outside cats.  Let me explain.

Larenti once enjoyed a stable schedule which entailed early morning, late morning, afternoon, evening, and late-night feeding sessions.  That schedule no longer exists and I now see her sporadically at best.

Clance, while never on a schedule like Larenti, often stopped by for a meal two or three times each day, and sometimes more often than that.  I have not seen him for two days, and then only once, and before then his absence spanned almost a week.

Henko is a petite cat who is quite skittish.  Her size makes her an easy target for larger cats, so she often sneaks in under the radar so she can eat.  Before Aethon’s appearance, she came around perhaps two or three times each day.  I rarely see her more than once now, and sometimes not even once.

Psiwa is a new cat I have not mentioned yet but will discuss in a later post.  This feline increasingly visited until the last several weeks when suddenly those visits slowed tremendously and became sporadic.

Keep in mind all of these cats sans Aethon inevitably have been tolerant of each other.  In fact, Larenti loves other cats and is neither threatened by nor threatening toward them.

What does all of this mean?

I have seen with my own eyes what Aethon does when other cats enter the neighborhood.  I mentioned once that his sleeping outside the patio for most of the day could be interpreted as protecting a kill (e.g. hanging close to a reliable food source and keeping it safe from others).  It seems clear to me now that is precisely what he is doing.  He has chased Henko, Clance, Psiwa, and Larenti as they tried to approach for a bite to eat.  Last night was the clincher.

I stepped outside around eleven and Aethon was out there, so I went back inside and grabbed a handful of food before returning to the patio.  Keep in mind the timing also coincided with part of the long-standing schedule with Larenti.  As I was putting the food down, I saw the cat reacting to something coming from behind me, so I turned to see Larenti peeking around the corner from the direction where she normally sleeps (I assume based on observation).  Late night had been her domain for many months.  I turned to Aethon and told him to leave her alone, and I even stood up to intimidate him (since Larenti is not bothered by my presence, being close to the fence and moving about will not bother her, but it does trouble and frighten Aethon).  My ruse failed to make him think I would stop him if he bothered her (since the fence was between us).

He prepared for attack and launched himself at her.  She turned and dashed into the shadows trying to escape.  Before I could get over the fence, her wailing and crying pierced the night in a horrible way.  Just as I prepared to leap from the fence to the outside world, Aethon casually strolled back around the corner—apparently returning for a meal.  I leaped over the fence and chased him away out of anger and resentment (it was nothing more than landing on the outside of the fence and walking toward him, as he is still quite aloof and uncertain about people—probably distrustful as well).

The incident was over so quickly that I barely had time to register what had happened.  There is no doubt in my mind that Larenti is fine (albeit perhaps with a new scratch or two, if that much).  Her screams were panic and shock, not the calls of a dying or mortally wounded animal.  But the damage was done.  Her security in our ritual, in our schedule, is shattered.  Her feeling of safety when visiting me and having food offered by me suffered a tremendous blow.  I suspect this has been going on since Aethon showed up, and my own observations bear out that assumption.

I feel I have only two options.  Both are unthinkable yet appear to be my only recourse.

One: Stop feeding them altogether.  Having no temptation to hang around my patio would eventually keep them from encountering Aethon, at least under circumstances caused by me.  This lends itself to resolving the feeling I have that I am somehow the cause of their suffering at his hands (and yes, I assume Aethon is a male based on personality).  Having allowed them to learn I will always provide food and never pose a risk to them, I now feel responsible that the same environment is being violated despite the continuing presence of food.

Two: Take whatever action is necessary to dissuade Aethon from visiting or hanging out.  This would be the more difficult of the options.  Food availability will continue drawing him in and I cannot remain on guard duty 24 hours each day.  It would be impossible for me to intercept him at all times when he might visit.  The caveat to the difficulty is that it would allow me to continue feeding the other cats who clearly rely on me to some degree for consistent meals.

I find both options distasteful.  I would prefer to keep feeding them.  I do not want to intentionally inflict fear of humans on any of the cats.

Regrettably, upon further consideration of my possible solutions, it appears to me to be a Hobson’s choice.  That is an idiomatic expression meaning the illusion of a choice that is really no choice at all (not to be confused with picking the lesser of two evils).  In this case, the second choice is infinitely more attractive than the first, yet it is impossible to implement and enforce.  I would succeed in making Aethon frightened of me personally, yet the presence of food for the others would continually draw him back, only he would be forced to use his best predator instincts so as to avoid me and detection by me.  As I already pointed out, it is a delusion to think myself capable of monitoring the area all the time so as to keep him at bay while allowing the others to eat.

Therein lies the Hobson’s choice.  I am left with option one as the only recourse available.  The temptation of food will keep him coming back.  It would also continue placing undue stress and the threat of harm on all the other cats who find no qualms with sharing the resource (they stop by, grab a bite to eat, and move on, but Aethon spends the vast majority of the day haunting the area).

I very much dislike this situation.  As beautiful a cat as he is and as increasingly pleasant as he has become, Aethon is now the menace of the food bowl.  This state of affairs is unfortunate and upsetting.

[Update] I want you to know it’s been crushing to see Aethon lying out there since about 5:30 this morning.  He only just now left (10:20 a.m.).  Each time I went outside, he’d give me that longing stare that begged to know why there was nothing to eat and whether there ever would be.  I also saw Henko come by earlier, but she ran off the moment she saw him (as she always does).  I hate this.  A part of me feels I’m being cruel by cutting them off.  Part of me feels cruel for thinking it acceptable to try to frighten Aethon away.  All of me feels like a disappointment, as though I’ve done something terribly wrong.

Clance is grabbing a bite to eat while Larenti watches from around the corner of the fence.

I’ve been trying to get a few new photos of Clance mostly with the purpose of showing off his black tabby features.  I find this kind of feline coloration to be the most unique.  Just as is the case with Kako who herself is a black tabby, their fur is actually almost all white.  It’s only the outer third of the hair that is black.  That’s one thing that makes them so unique, but they also have the classic tabby stripes—except they’re black on black, which makes them difficult to see while being equally beautiful.

I was finally able to grab a few close-up shots of Clance in natural light that was perfect for showing off his stunning coat.  Here’s the first.  (Pardon the edge of the fence you see in the top-right corner.  I didn’t realize I’d captured that until later.)

And a similar shot sans the fence.

Finally, here’s a shot more from the front that again shows off the tabby stripes across his chest as well as around his face.  Note the classic tabby stripes crossing the cheeks from the eyes.