It might take a village to raise a child, but a village wants to raise a cat. Common is the number of felines that point paws towards welcome mats not their own.
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We will feed, coo and pat them, and one owner’s “Doris” might be the neighbour’s “Salem”.
Take Pancakes Regina O’Downing.
My wife and I might not see our chestnut, longhaired prowler for a day or two.
Pancakes - it’s cute – Regina – she likes to reign – does not feel out of place entering next door’s abode.
She will stop in the middle of their living room, pat claws into rug, then lie down and sleep between two dogs.
Before leaving, she often licks said canines’ bowls totally clean of mince and kibble.
Not that our neighbours mind, not that we can stop her.
But one day it was a tad disconcerting to see her leap into our backyard.
Last time we laid eyes on Pancakes, she had matted hair that would have impressed a cackling Rastafarian.
However, padding towards us, we discovered her chest and stomach were free of knots tangled from saliva and dirt.
Pancakes had received a haircut.
Not from us, and not from where she gets her kibble fix.
It's a furry mystery; not only for who would have done it, but how many neighbours Pancakes knows on a first-miaow basis. Startled, perhaps we should have been a little angry.
Because while we keep her fed and healthy, Little Mate never sleeps, and our dog Muttley barks us all to madness.
So, we were both guilty and grateful our feline got the tender love and care she deserves.
Maybe she had earnt it. After all, not a rat’s safe in Pancakes’ backyard.
Chris O’Leary
