It occurs to me that I haven’t given you all an update recently on the stray cat family that dines on my porch every evening. Sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m sure inquiring minds want to know.
If you are a latecomer to this column (please bring a note from home explaining why you are late), I started feeding a little gray cat a couple of years ago. I named her St. Francis because I’m crazy about St. Francis and have a statue of him next to the birdbath. I wrote “St. Francis” on the bowl I put out for her so no other wanderers would touch it. However, a couple of other cats, neither of which apparently could read, appeared and ate anything that St. Francis left. So I put out two more bowls, one for Lady Pearl and one for Golden Boy.
Months passed and St. Francis one day showed up with three kittens. Two were gray and one was black. The grays looked a lot like Lady Pearl, who I then re-christened Lord Pearl, in view of his obvious paternal instincts.
Today, the three kittens are huge, beautiful fluffy-haired cats. I fill four bowls twice a day with cat food and it’s always all gone by the next morning. The only one of the diners I see regularly is one of the grays – the one I named Christopher Robin. The others must work late shifts somewhere and come in the wee small hours of the morning to sup. I can only hope St. Francis is one of the night eaters, but she just hasn’t appeared in the neighborhood for quite awhile. Neither has Lord Pearl. Golden Boy did show up once a few weeks ago but isn’t a regular.
I have never told Ivy Scarlett, the German Shepherd that Bing and I adopted years ago, about my feline friends – I’m afraid her feelings would be hurt. She doesn’t share well.
When I started today’s column I must have thought I’d write something about football in addition to the stray cat update. At least, that’s what I wrote in the heading. Now I’m not sure where I was going with that.
Maybe the cats and Ivy Scarlett reminded me of how much Bing also liked cats . . . and dogs . . . and football. He was captain of his Chicago high school team and had a couple of college scouts watching him. Sadly, he wracked up his knees his senior year, so the football scholarship to Dartmouth never materialized and he went instead to Miami of Ohio.
Where he met me.
And we lived happily ever after.
Don’t you love happy endings?