It’s been three weeks since I started feeding Smokey, and the old girl has mostly eluded my intrusive care. I’ve seen her only a handful of times, and when I do, it’s cause for elation. She comes along the sidewalk, moving at her odd, hesitant gait in my direction, smelling the New Leaf cat tuna I’m tempting her with, along with dry cat food, and cookies when I have them leftover. I wait until she’s close and then call out to her softly. She pauses, lifting her perfectly pointed nose in the air, sniffing for danger, then finds her way to the food.
I keep talking to her so that she becomes familiar with my voice. I marvel at how she makes her way around, probably seeing only light and shadow, and how she’s been able to stay alive so long.
In the last three weeks, I’ve put out the word about Smokey, hoping that a sanctuary can be found so she can live with less fear and more convenience. There has been a connection made, with a kind animal rights activist who lives in the Sierra foothills. She said she would take Smokey if I could trap her. That means getting to know her comings and goings.
It’s not moving very smoothly. I check the feeding area at least twice a day to see if Smokey has appeared, but as of yet I have no sense of her timetable. I suspect she really misses the two women who used to feed her, tho I have nothing to base that on.
I’m also on Kitten Watch in the parking lot where I’ve been feeding for two years now. Mama Grace – the only cat who’s too smart to be trapped so far – was chubby for a few weeks and then… thin. She is an old hat at giving birth, and acts as casual as if nothing has happened. This routine has gone on before, and then – surprise – a darling new face or three emerges from the garbage-filled ravine. A good mother, she leads her babies up to the food source. I’ve been expecting some wee ones for a few weeks now, but so far nothing.
Last year, I saw the triplets (Oberon, Ariel and Puck) for the first time on the same day as Matt Cain’s perfect game – June 13 – so they seem “overdue” now on the 24th. It makes me wonder if Grace’s latest babe(s) did not make it. Might a bobcat or coyote have found them unattended? Even though it’s a challenge to place any feral cats – even kittens – the idea that they might not have survived a feral birth just crushes me. Barbara has advised me to talk to Grace when I see her, and tell her to bring me her kittens. I’ve been doing this for the past few days; I’m not sure I’m getting through to her but I find it enormously amusing. And amusements are in short supply some of these cold mornings, with coastal drizzle turning my hair to frizzle.
Bring it, Saint Francis – help me find a better place for Miss Smokey, and show me those kittens!!