"Where is he?" I wonder. Every morning for the past year and a half, rain or snow, he has greeted me impatiently on the railing overlooking that window. "Meow, meow. Feed me, feed me."
When I got to the back door he would be scratching on the screen, "meow, meow, meow." After he downed his bowl of food he would follow me out to the chicken coop, whining for attention, jumping over the wooden fence, perching on the gate, harassing the chickens, then retreating between my feet when one of the hens would chase after him and give him a peck on the nose.
He would follow me back to the house, circling around, blocking my path by stopping in front of me, slowing my progress toward the house. Morning, noon and night he would be there to greet me, arriving or leaving. He was our "porch cat" ever since his mother, Skitty, never returned for her daily food.
He was a constant companion when Bob was out weeding the lawn or clipping the bushes, rubbing against his legs, crying for attention, when not otherwise occupied with chasing leaves or mice.
He was not a nice cat, bullying his mother and other strays from coming to our door. Our yard had become his territory for stalking birds, mice and squirrels who dared to venture too close. But I was responsible, after all, for his very existence since I had neglected to spade his mother in time and she delivered him to our back door in late Spring of 2014.
As to his mother, she vanished from our lives a few months after bringing us her baby and this last Monday, Muddy, as we named her baby, also disappeared. I can only suppose as to his certain demise. Was it the dogs let loose after dark by careless owners, too preoccupied to walk them on leash, another cat, tougher and more brutal, a trap set out in the neighborhood, or a car racing thoughtlessly through the night?
I drove around the neighborhood that day, searching. He never wandered far from our block. I guess alley cats have a way of appearing, then disappearing as secretly as they come, never to be seen again.
I can only hope that his ending was not lengthy or painful. Muddy was not a very pleasant cat as his mother was, or loving or gentle. He was demanding, pushy and self-centered, but he was there each day when I raised the shades and there each evening meowing for food. He would follow me on my walk, but only to the edge of his turf which amounted to a block. His absence is felt, and this surprised me. I never thought I would miss an alley cat, but I do, just as I missed his mother when she vanished from her daily visits to our back door.
This morning I saw cat prints in the light drifting of snow in our back yard. Just guessing, but I suppose I will be greeting another new arrival seeking food and a friendly greeting. After all, our territory has opened up and there are fat, furry mice lying in wait.
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