Those Darn Cats

The neighborhood cats love my yard. It’s a little like Switzerland during World War II. It’s a neutral zone where fighting is prohibited but everyone is welcome--a reprieve for weary warriors. Hard to say how my yard became this ‘no man’s land’ for feline R&R. The neighborhood is full of strays who spend most time defending their home turf from fellow feline ruffians. My yard is a woodsy bliss with no trace of anything cats would find menacing.

 I blame myself for never chasing them off the land. I encouraged their disregard for boundaries and dangerous curiosity. Like a wicked witch cooking a stew though I had ulterior motives, mice. I hate when mice invade my kitchen or garage. Cats are the only real killers that mice respect. Mice are difficult to catch and nearly impossible to kill, once they’ve moved in the only choice is death…uh…for the mice I mean.

But aren’t cats lazy and selfish, concerned with being fed and rubbed before agreeing to work? Ahhh, but here is the beauty of my plan. All cats are welcome for a time but none can’t supplant the others and claim ownership of said property, least the others object. It’s all very legal. Occasionally I do wake up to the sound of screeching cats under my window fighting each other over the yard space. Night time is precarious for those unaccustomed to the schedule; new recruits wander recklessly into the lush grass. Veterans set them straight by roughing them up a bit. Youngsters exercise caution next time.

 I get the benefit of mice hunters without the annoyance of having them jump on my face at 6:30 a.m. ready for breakfast before I’m awake. Hair and subsequent dander stay outdoors just like the litter box waste. My leather (pleather) chair remains in one piece not subject to clawing stretching felines ripping holes in soft fabric. They don’t bother me with incessant meowing (begging) for wet, stinky canned meat or that cardboard dry mix they ignore. All previous cats I have owned have either left the canned food half-finished or just walked away at the sight of whatever I shoveled out for them. This isn’t a problem for dogs. Dogs never have enough. You could order a semi-trailer full of kibble and they would devour it in time to sit by the recliner and whine for popcorn from your bowl.

This isn’t to say the welcome cats haven’t gotten lazy in their day time prowling. I’ve pulled in the driveway multiple times to find the neighbor’s tabby asleep on my sunny stoop, oblivious to danger. Oblivious to my loud car too since it hadn’t so much as twitched when I zoomed into the parking spot. An overweight, lethargic tabby is a cat that isn’t getting a workout chasing mice around my crawl space. But I don’t complain. I know the next one through the yard will be hungry.  I’ve also nearly run them over crossing the street in front the curb; the veterans don’t run so much as stroll away unafraid of my loud engine and lights piercing the quiet and dark yard.

I don’t own a dog so my decent size yard is a playground for felines blowing off steam and chasing birds. Dogs would raise hell at the sight of a cat cutting through the grass and leaping over the fence. Dogs never manage to catch those irritating fur balls walking skillfully from fence to roof, roof to fence. It does limit the chance that cats will spend time using the yard as a hunting ground though.

For now the truce among midtown Tulsa cats abides. Let’s hope not one gets greedy wresting exclusive control of the yard and breaking the agreement. For me not having mice scurrying through the house to their well-healed caverns is worth whatever trouble cats are up to.