Tim and I stopped to talk with a neighbor. She introduced me to Henry, who lives on her front porch. "He's a feral, but he doesn't know it," she said. I told her about my little feral, Mangey.
She listened and said, "We have a little black cat on this end too. He's got some eye troubles." She also told me that there is a squadron of people who tend to the ferals on that end of the street. She said that some of the cats at that end of the street have mange, too. Someone has been treating them with Ivermectin, as well.
I thought that was pretty cool, that there are a bunch of quiet people trying to make things better for these poor creatures. I also worried...what if the black cat with the eye problem was MY feral? What if it was Mangey?
Anyways, Tim and I had some running to do. We went to look at a property first thing this morning and did a little running around in the name of due diligence This will certainly be one that requires some thinking.
We got home and I unpacked some groceries. Tim was heading out to test drive the dump truck and its new transfer case. He stuck his head back in the door and hollered for me. "Your little cat is here!"
What? WHAT???? He was living a pampered life indoors, or so the neighbor had told Tim.
The little stinker. He knows who he's dealing with.
I went in and got the good stuff for him and set it on the stone wall where he likes to dine, and he tore into it as if he had decided he was hungry after all.
So...whatever black cat is at the neighbor's house isn't my feral cat...unless he has made it clear to her that he's just not cut out for a life of leisure. I do not know. But also...whatever black cat is down the street with his eye problem isn't my feral cat either, which made me feel heaps better.
In summation, this mystery is not solved after all.
Walking back to the house, I noticed he'd brought his friend.