The Herd: TAB’s POV

Rocco looking practically kittenish

This is The Amazing Bob's take on our outdoor herd.

G&G, about to go toe to toe, resenting the presence of paparazzi

When former pet cats, now strays, get dumped in my neighborhood by lazy parents or annoyed college students, somewhere in the next 24 hours, they hear on the cat grapevine (or catnip stem) that there’s a couple of soft touches over on Wall Street.

Rocco in Sgt. Rock/Bogart pose

When they find their way to the Straying Inn, they are confronted by the pecking order of the resident transients, who set up a barrage of groans, insults, taunts and thinly veiled threats.
 

Gus

Then the cat’s angel appears, acknowledges their existence and disappears back into the house. The felines take up their positions on or around the porch. The newcomer is left to figure it out and take possession of unclaimed space.

Then the Cat’s Angel (AKA: Donna) reappears and, like any experienced waitress, she has a line of cat food (or tuna) filled dishes along the length of her arm. Saying something like ‘Ookay, here we are. Everyone calm down now,’ she places a dish in front of each furry beast. She will name the newcomer after feeding him/her.

The senior member of this gang of exiles is Rocco. He’s an old, grizzled, scarred veteran of about ten years, a tuxedo cat, who has only recently decided that it is easier and more rewarding to let go of his paranoid defenses and allow his fondness for her to show through. Maybe after ten years during which she has never tried to kill and devour him (Ed note: I’m a fuckin’ saint, I tells ya!), has always spoken well of him, spent a fortune on food for him and nursed him back to health when he showed up with his scalp dangling from his skull -- maybe he at last decided to return a bit of her affection.

Miracle of miracles!

Our insecure yet patient Coco

Gaston in mid aria

The second most senior cat is Gaston, a Maine Coon Cat who rose in prominence after B.O.P. (greatest cat we ever met!) was eaten by coyotes one summer night and Trixie got herself adopted by a friend of Jen’s. Anyhow, Gaston came along, announcing his presence with operatic arias of yowling. Donna would go out to the porch patting him, giving him catnip and cat-munchies and quietly but firmly reminding him that he was always welcome but had to check his yowls at the driveway. 

Now, personally, I would have dropkicked him into the middle of last Tuesday (Ed. note *snort* yeah, sure) but she has persisted and Gaston has steadily improved.

Then there’s the newest arrival, Gus. Gus loves to let us know he’s there with a medley of disgustingly cute little mews. The grey/white fleabag has a friendly personality as big as his appetite.

Over the years, Donna has fed nocturnal diners of various sorts: skunks, possums and raccoons among them. None of them were anywhere near as Bogart as our old friend Rocco.
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 Ed. last note:
I must add, of late, Coco's been getting jealous of the time I spend with the herd. The minute I come back inside she has to give my hands a thorough sniffing. Afterwards, she insists I hold her, carry her everywhere. When she's not clinging to me like spandex to Shakira's amazing posterior, she's either sitting on TAB's lap or napping on top of the seat back of his office chair while he writes.

The MOST Amazing Bob