Before Christmas we take in a new kitty cat who's in need of a home. Comes with it's own cage & litter box. The friend bringing it over even goes all the way up to Pennsylvania (from Baltimore) to get it fixed before dropping off. All black except for two little white spots.
Despite warnings to wear gloves and handle with it care, we found the cat to be friendly and playful. We quickly let it out of the cage and experimented with integrating into the population. Even though the large calico we've owned for about 5 years didn't seem crazy about the idea.
Our friend says that the cat's a female, and that's what the papers from the vet reflect. But the animal doesn't have the tell tale belly incision that indicates cat hysterectomy. What it does have is a pair of furry protuberances in a certain spot. As we pick out names, we think about mythological characters who had both male and female characteristics. Hermes came to mind. Someone suggested Pat. The boy insists on calling him Skipper.
After a couple days of co-habitation, the interloper is driven out. Or maybe he just escapes. He leaves our house New Years Day, the day of a big Jamboree party we have every year. People show up to our shotgun duplex with their instruments to play and the children run in a big gang around and through the house screaming. Skipper skipps out.
For days we comb the streets and alleys of our neighborhood, Evergreen. Then we decide to put up posters in select locations. A few days later, some other poster putter uppers see ours and realize they matched.
The handoff was arranged to be at the neighborhood video store, Video Americaine. Skipper shows up in a halter and with a leash. These people have gone all out. They said he showed up on New Years day. They were having a small party. They think he's great but they don't have a cat lease.
He comes back and the calico is distraught. It's worse than before. Skipper is banished to the boy's bedroom. He escapes, raises hell with the innocent fur ball. He comes up and bats her with his paw. He eats from her dish. He bolts for the front door every time it's opened.
Slowly the cats start to fight less. Only once or twice a day will the foray of a paw into furball territory provoke the rolling tumbleweed of hiss and claw. Skipper seems to be bolting for the door less. He'll take suggestion in the land of food bowls.
Then one day a feral black cat known as Midnight turns up dead in the street in front of our house. A cat who usually keeps his territory way up the street. He's just lying there, like hit by a car. Boys who poke him with a stick diagnose a broken rib. I move him from the street to under a tree. Then when i come back a litle while later, he's gone.
