Unfortunately, without foresight but with kindness in her heart, our neighbour fell into the trap. She started feeding one feral feline and before you could say meaow, we had a rapidly breeding multitude and yowling midnights. It only takes one before the cat-word gets around. “There’s easy dinners and a cathouse down the road.”
We’d already saved one feral kitten three or four years ago; officially known as Skye, but has so many nicknames I’m sure the poor animal is confused…until the shake of a packet of food brings her home. She’s a beautiful cat and well cared for (see Vet bills) but I’m sure her late introduction to a household has made her aloof to the expectations of my wife who wanted a cuddle cat.
Coming home one recent evening there were literally dozens of wild kittens outside our door, all of which shot away like rats up a drainpipe as I approached, all but one, who wanted to play. I picked it up and immediately the purring and settling in my arms seduced me. So I took it inside (it was later we discovered that it was a him, not an it) and he bolted for the kitchen and sat down in front of the fridge. Immediately knew which way the cookie crumbled.
The opposite of Skye, Maria got the cat she had always wanted; follows her around, purrs louder than the air con, sleeps on her lap and now Skye is actually tolerating him. His name? Started with Sherlock (the investigator and checker of the laws of gravity) to Shelly to Ciccio to Tito. His comfort with being inside on Maria’s lap whilst enjoying climbing the olive tree makes me think that this is a cat that was already domesticated and maybe been ditched as unwanted. Sure, the vet bills and food bills have doubled but Sherlock is now at home and coming to a mutual agreement with Skye.