I love a melting pot. A mixture of cultures. Nonetheless, ever since our cat started subletting to roommates, I’ve had to face my own bigotry. Most cats spend their evenings guarding their territory. Ours spends his hosting guests. At some point, Kai looked around and thought, “you know what we need around here? More wildlife.”
The raccoon cartel would have you believe that raccoons are cute and cuddly. Cartoons and logos like Ranger Rick have really paved the way for raccoon acceptance. They’ve got the great little mask, the cunning little hands and they’re just so stinking cute. But honestly, they make terrible roommates. Their little hands are into EVERYTHING and for a creature that washes its paws regularly, they seem FILTHY. I have little paw prints all over every surface on the porch! Water bowls are splashed about, cat food is polished off and my pillows are rearranged. One moved right into Kai’s heated house. Kai seemed unfazed. He glanced over like “yeah, he sleeps over sometimes.” Sir, what?
Ever since raccoons began visiting, one has grown so bold that it will happily walk within a few feet of us while stealing Kai’s food. I suppose it’s not really “stealing” though, since Kai seems to be offering it up freely. To be fair, the raccoon is very well-fed with a healthy, shiny coat. That food seems to be working. I do not wish for our cat to cohabitate with raccoons. He feels differently. I’m confused about who is actually running the show here. Spoiler alert: it is not me.
Country
When you live “in the country,” it’s a fact of life that strays find you. I don’t know if they are drop-offs, Acts of God or the slow but inevitable migration of feral feline populations across our nation. Nevertheless, barn cats just seem to appear.
At last count, we have one cat that is actually ours and at least two others we know of from sightings on security cameras or the faint blur around the side of a barn. I try not to get attached, but since our cat is the host with the most, these animals are all stopping by the porch for dinner and drinks.
Every night, he proudly takes his position by the door, acting like the social director of a country club with questionable standards. First to arrive are usually the raccoons. They waddle up like they have reservations. Our cat greets them with complete confidence, as though inviting tiny masked burglars onto the property is a perfectly reasonable decision.
Then came the possums. While most people would be startled to find a possum on their porch, ours has become a fixture. I, too, am a fan of possums. They are harmless. They eat ticks. What’s not to love? That does not, however, mean I want them lounging on my wicker chaise like they own the place.
He doesn’t chase anyone away. He doesn’t defend his turf. He simply welcomes all visitors as honored guests. If a squirrel ambled up to join him, he’d probably pull up a chair.
At this point, we’re expecting him to start organizing events. Tuesday night poker with the raccoons. Book club with the possums. A neighborhood cat mixer featuring light refreshments and discussions about knocking things off counters.
Somehow, our cat has become the mayor of a porch-centered wildlife sanctuary. He’s like the doting grandma of felines. “Come in! Come in! You look hungry! Have you eaten?!”
Other cats: Territorial. Hiss and chase off interlopers.
Ours: The more the merrier!
Meanwhile, we wonder how our cat, who once became hopelessly lost inside a pillow case, managed to create an interspecies social club? At this point, I honestly can’t decide if Kai is some sort of stone-cold gang leader with nerves of steel, as exhibited by his ability to gather multiple species to live in harmony, or if he has the survival skills of a biscuit.
