Life at the edge of suburbia
Just a little incident here at the "ranch" this morning that left me thoughtful for some reason.
I went out to feed Patch the stray cat this morning; he had been on the front porch already, checking out the now-empty food dish that we fill only in the evening. I took a scoop of dry food out to the food container in the back yard and he was there, waiting. When I got within six feet or so, he slunk away and stopped just outside what seems to be his safe zone. Just this close, no closer, he seemed to say. I filled the container, speaking softly to him, encouraging him to come nearer, assuring him I would not hurt him. He stared at me, not moving, his yellow eyes slitted, his body tense. “OK, little guy. I’ll move.” I backed up a few feet. “Come on, Patch! Come get your breakfast!” I squatted down to wait for him to approach, but I was still too close. He stared back at me, then blinked once and slowly looked away, eyes now half-closed. I could see his whole body downshift into waiting mode, settling into an animal space that despite a rumbling stomach could wait far longer than a human in a bathrobe could withstand the chill of the morning. I left him to his meal. By the time I reached the basement door he was eating.
Just now I noticed that a couple of starlings and the bluejays are also enjoying the cat food out there now that Patch has had his fill. Not a good idea, guys! I wouldn’t mind so much if a starling or two ended up as breakfast, but we have so few jays these days after the West Nile virus wiped out most of them.
This world is not a safe place, is it? But it is so beautiful.
I went out to feed Patch the stray cat this morning; he had been on the front porch already, checking out the now-empty food dish that we fill only in the evening. I took a scoop of dry food out to the food container in the back yard and he was there, waiting. When I got within six feet or so, he slunk away and stopped just outside what seems to be his safe zone. Just this close, no closer, he seemed to say. I filled the container, speaking softly to him, encouraging him to come nearer, assuring him I would not hurt him. He stared at me, not moving, his yellow eyes slitted, his body tense. “OK, little guy. I’ll move.” I backed up a few feet. “Come on, Patch! Come get your breakfast!” I squatted down to wait for him to approach, but I was still too close. He stared back at me, then blinked once and slowly looked away, eyes now half-closed. I could see his whole body downshift into waiting mode, settling into an animal space that despite a rumbling stomach could wait far longer than a human in a bathrobe could withstand the chill of the morning. I left him to his meal. By the time I reached the basement door he was eating.
Just now I noticed that a couple of starlings and the bluejays are also enjoying the cat food out there now that Patch has had his fill. Not a good idea, guys! I wouldn’t mind so much if a starling or two ended up as breakfast, but we have so few jays these days after the West Nile virus wiped out most of them.
This world is not a safe place, is it? But it is so beautiful.