Tag: feral friend

Survivors

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She’s survived another summer in the Valley of the Sun. Living life on the lam.

Climbing walls and trees. Stalking birds, lizards, and rodents. Dodging haboobs, monsoons, and ICE agents. Ducking in and out of covered patios … sleeping on weathered blue cushions melting into wicker chairs outside our front door.

Poly is her given name. Given by me to her. No doubt, she has other assumed names from other presumed cat lovers in our Polynesian Paradise condo community.

I hardly consider her a stray anymore, because we are three years into our relationship … our parlor game of fancy treats followed by quick goodbyes.

In 2022, she wouldn’t get close enough to touch. Tom and I left kibble outside our door in the same chipped dish you see here. She ate quickly, then darted off … back into her Sonoran neverland.

But in 2025 we have reached a deeper level of closeness, intimacy, love perhaps. Maybe she’s been reading the news and needs comforting. I know I do.

Every morning around 6, Tom or I open the security door and look for her. Nine out of ten days, she hops down from that day’s pre-selected chair, meows as she glides and stretches on the mat in our foyer.

She trails around our legs, marks our shoes and furniture with the scent of her furry face, and shimmies up and down as Tom or I (we take turns) prepare her dish of Sheba cuts in gravy with sustainable salmon.

The frequency and volume of meows increase as the dish comes close to the floor. Poly purrs loudly, then polishes that off in less than a minute. Her eyes sparkle with gratitude.

Lately, she’s been staying longer after her meal. Sometimes returning later in the morning or evening for a second round of treats. Dry savory salmon-flavor Temptations for the cat that deserves the best.

On September 1, at 11:13 a.m., Poly allowed me to sit on the floor and give her love. I patted her head, back, and tail as we talked about her morning … our day.

Then, I placed brunch before her and captured this kitty-calendar portrait of Poly, our cagey Sonoran friend, modeling in the kitchen on our new, natural oak flooring.

After she consumed her meal and licked her paws, she glided and sniffed through our bedroom, den, and sunroom.

Poly then departed through the front door, left ajar for her safe departure (she is a free spirit, after all!) back into the wild of intense sun, hissing sprinklers, spiky cacti, and random critters (animals and humans) … all of us living each day, giving and taking what we can, embracing or deflecting each moment as it comes.

Because that is what survivors do.

Just Dropping By

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I haven’t stopped in lately.

I won’t apologize for that.

I’ve had important things to do.

Pressing places to go.

Unexpected treats to devour.

Birds to stalk. Make sense?

I know you’re busy.

New flooring tomorrow?

But it’s Easter, right?

Like my grand entrance?

Anyway, just dropping by,

To shake your tree,

Add a little levity,

Which only I deliver,

And then I’m outta here,

Cause that is what I do best.

Blogging … or Something

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I heard him tell the other one that this is his sixth anniversary of blogging … or something.

I don’t really know what “anniversary” or “blogging” means, but they seem nice enough.

I don’t really care about any of that, as long as they keep feeding me.

I heard him tell the other one–again–that he is going to blog … or something.

It must be important to him, even though he doesn’t know what to say.

Oh, well, I guess it’s time for me to leave now.

I don’t really know when I’ll be back, but I’ll be on my way.

Don’t Ask

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Don’t ask who I am, where I’ve been, or where I’m going. You wouldn’t believe me anyway. All you need to know is that I hide here once in a while.

There is no rhythm to my scheme. Sometimes I sleep under the awning or lurk in the shadows. Or you may think you hear me caterwaul in the night.

Yesterday, I waited for a handout like a circus carnie–under the eaves, then out near the roof’s edge–ready to pounce on an unsuspecting pigeon.

I’ll be gone tomorrow. I just stopped by to remind you that we critters and survivors–often invisible as you go about your day–confound explanation.

In Like a Feline

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Passing acquaintances, like months in a parade of forgotten years, come and go with a dry desert breeze and the turn of a page.

But kindred friends–no matter how long they’ve been gone–turn our heads and rekindle our spirits when they or their memories appear.

We greet them with an open door, a place at or near the table, and the promise of more chapters to write in the chambers of our hearts.

Part Friend, Part Feral

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Shy and suspect, she appeared in May 2021. Soon after, I named our feral friend Poly. It’s short for our Polynesian Paradise community where she resides on the lam.

Curious but skittish, Poly stared down at me from our neighbor’s roof the first time we met. Later on, she padded down the walk–past the lemon and orange trees–when Tom or I approached.

She didn’t allow us to get closer than thirty feet.

Last summer came and went. On warm mornings, she’d climb into the crook of our fig tree to search for food. Delectable fruits weren’t her thing. In her dreams, it was a birdie buffet, featuring an unsuspecting dove or finch.

In the months that followed, Poly paraded by frequently. Meanwhile, Tom and I sat for other cats: adorable Blanca and acrobatic Hex. They also live on our lane, but both will be leaving in the next few months. As is the way of life, they’re moving on with their owners for adventures in new homes.

Now, in August 2022, Poly is the featured performer. She appears at our front door most mornings. Here on the southwestern edge of Polynesian Paradise, she meows, stretches, and rolls on her back. Like a shifty circus character, who knows how long she’ll stay in town?

By now, you have surmised that Poly has become our friend. Perhaps even our pet without an official home or address.

If she had to call one place home, I think she’d scribble the number outside our door onto a legal document with the tip of her paw. That is my fantasy.

On her most trusting days, she stands on our threshold, brushes up against our legs, and peeks in. She waits patiently as I place a ramakin of milk, handful of dry kitty kernels, or dish of wet food from a can (turkey, chicken, or fish) at her feet.

She finishes her savory treats, licks her paws, and grooms herself. Then slinks down the lane to rest on another neighbor’s doormat.

During this active summer monsoon season, I wonder where Poly hides, where she sleeps at night. Perhaps under a low palm. Or, if she scales a wall, in the cozy corner of a neighbor’s empty, but protective, patio.

Chosen or not, this is the life of our feral friend.

Sure, Poly trusts us more. She has warmed to our food and advances. But she hasn’t quite come to terms with whatever shadows lurk in her checkered past.

Like any nomad, Poly believes she’s better off on her own … better off when left to her own devices.