Traveler on the prowl
With 8 cats on the farm (and 5 that are sociable), I’m finally getting my FPD (feline-petting-deficiency) under control. All the cats have very distinct personalities. There’s Silky, who’s 21 years old and Doodle, who fancies herself the heir apparent. Then there’s Purrsica, who’s almost pink and seems to be a loner & whose hobby is sleeping in the shale road which she almost matches. And Hannah, who loves to be petted, but shrinks down flat to the ground under your hand before you can start.
But my favorite is Traveler. She’s a young adult tabby, and doesn’t quite fit into the pecking order of the pack. She’s got other things on her mind, and definitely has her own agenda.
First of all, if any car is left with an open window, Traveler is likely to jump in and go along. Over the years, several farm visitors have had to make a return trip , to deliver the little stowaway. She doesn’t seem to care where the car’s headed; she just wants to see what’s out there in the big world. (Sounds like somebody I know…)
Then there’s the food thing. Silky & Doodle get fed special VIC (very important cat) food on the porch, while all the others eat cheap-o food out on the lawn. (Silky by virtue of her ancient-ness, and Doodle b/c she was ill this winter & now seems to think that it’s her due.)
Traveler is not taking this sitting down. (The other yard cats don’t seem to notice or care that they aren’t getting the VIC food.) If that porch door is left even slightly unlatched, Traveler will claw it open, slip inside & eat every bit of the special cat food. Each time someone comes in or out the porch door, she checks it for access.
Obviously, we started being very careful to latch the door behind us. But good old Traveler figured out that she could go around the house, open the kitchen door, go thru the kitchen, out the kitchen/porch door & gobble up all the food. Which she did several times, before we figured that one out.
The best part is when you catch her with her face in the bowl, eating that last piece of kibble. Instead of looking guilty or apologetic, she gives you a look that says, “Yeah, I’m a porch cat now. Didn’t you get the memo?”
There’s a cat who knows what she wants, and is going to get it, if it’s at all possible. I have a feeling that she’s tunneling under the porch floor as I type.
