No crostata ex machina today. I passed three people on my thirty minute morning walk – back and forth, back and forth – two smiled, one of those also nodded. Those two represent the social life of the moment. Count your blessings.
There is a beautiful grey cat with golden eyes that has, periodically, frequented my yard. (I didn’t even see him today, but never mind.) He’s friendly and affectionate, but at the height of his affections he likes to claw and bite. I’m fairly sure that in the feline universe that’s attractive, sexy behavior, but me, don’t like it much. Nevertheless it was nice to have him around gracing the flower beds, so one day last fall I bought a bag of cat chow. I set up a bowl on the ledge nearest the front door to the house, and anticipated his next visit.
Cats here are very good – I should say, remarkably good – at climbing walls. Maybe cats everywhere are, but if so it is a trait I was not familiar with until I moved here. The wall between my garden and the street is about two meters high. So is the wall that separates my garden and the rear neighbor’s. And I’ve seen any number of cats who visit leaping and scaling these sheer drops like it was nothing. My grey visitor is not one of these. Oh, he obviously can, and does, climb into my yard, and I’ve seen him do it. But he would sooner find me and meow until I open the gate, either hectoring me from the house, or badgering me on the street. And naturally, I’ve interpreted these meowings as a plea for victuals.
But my attempt to feed was not met with enthusiasm. I know where he generally hangs out, and the food they offer doesn’t look any more special than mine, but he took a few sniffs and declared (and loudly, too) my offering to be beneath his customary standards. I left the food for a few days, went to Bratislava for two weeks, and it was still there when I returned. Okay, I’d forgotten about it, and it was distinctly unappealing by then, but I use that as an example of the extreme disdain that the grey cat has shown my attempts at luring him in as a customer at my osteria.
Well, shortly after the beginning of the lockdown, he met me on the street. I’d not seen him for months, so this was a surprise. I let him into the yard and he followed me to the house, meowing in that half demanding, half pleading way that his kind is so good at.
“I only have the same food you rejected last October.”
“Meow.”
“You’re welcome to it, but you’ll probably remember it was beneath your dignity last time.”
“Meoooowwww!”
“Okay, I’ll give you some.”
“Meeuu.”
“Be right back.”
Just as I expected, he sniffed at the pile of dried ovals, but didn’t commence eating.
“Fine. I’ll leave it, do as you like.”
I passed by a few hours later, and there was a significant hole in the middle of the pile. I’ve not seen him since, but I refresh the bowl every morning, and by next morning, there are only random bits remaining. The cat is in quarantine mode. Something, even déclassé, is better than (horrors) chasing lizards.
Now, people in this town seem pretty loyal to their wandering cats. Some of the cats, I’m sure, have homes, others reliable feeding stations. So this fellow’s sudden reappearance requires a creative explanation. Could be his kitchen staff, as it were, were caught out of town by the quarantine declaration, leaving him to beg off others he knew to be at least moderately friendly, if not possessed of much gastronomic sophistication. I suspect that must be it. No lockdown rule that says you can’t step outside your front door for a moment to feed your wayward cat. So, this guy made the rounds.
“Who offered me food (even of an inferior quality) during the past six months? If I hang outside his gate long enough, he’ll eventually fall victim to my charms and let me in. He serves garbage, but it’s a meal.”
There is another grey cat in the neighborhood who hangs out two streets away from golden-eyes. She is pure grey, my visitor has a white triangle on his chest. In good weather I meet her fairly regularly. She sees me coming, climbs onto the nearest car, and throws herself into play mode. No bites, no scratches, just purrs while she pushes her head into my neck. I love her dearly, but do not want to see her until we can legally, and safely, touch. At any rate, it’s good to know that she’s not just after my kibble.
Photo is of the grey with triangle, showing off his aristocratic airs.