Fun fact: “Community cats” are made up of feral cats, which have never been socialized around people, and stray cats, which are lost or runaway pets.
I’ll never be smarter than a cat. I’m okay with that. Really. Every cat lover knows and accepts one simple truth: Cats are smarter than people. What’s upsetting is the extent to which cats can outsmart me.
It all began after my beloved cat, Toonsie, passed away. Not only did I miss her daily antics, but my yard was becoming overrun with chipmunks, squirrels, and other little critters. The cat was away, and the local wildlife wasn’t merely playing; they were having an all-out free-for-all party on my property. The only things missing were itty-bitty beer kegs and mini ping pong balls.
Getting another cat was out of the question. “We’re not having another pet in this house,” declared Prospero. “I miss Toonsie, too, but we finally got our lives back.” By this he meant that we hadn’t had a proper vacation in the thirteen years since we took her in. She got mad when we left the house, so we stayed home. Toonsie had us well trained.
One day, I saw a cat in the yard. I had some leftover dry food and decided to leave out a dish along with a bowl of fresh water. Word along the kitty telegraph must have gotten out because, before long, I had several regular visitors. Of course, cans of wet food soon began to supplement the dry, and I had a new job directing traffic and breaking up fights among the diners.
A rough-looking Tabby began making appearances but was a bit skittish about staying around. He was huge and scruffy, and we named him Chestnut for two very large, obvious reasons. Soon, a little black kitten showed up, also very skittish, but would circle back around if food were left out for her. It soon became apparent that whenever Midnight was eating, Chestnut would join her. The tough Tabby and little kitten happily shared whatever was in the dish. Of course, I would then go out with another plate of food so they could both enjoy a meal. I realized that whenever the cute little kitten would come begging for food, Chestnut would be hiding beneath a bush and join her when it arrived.
It was a pure bait-and-switch scam. I’d feed the little kitty, and the big cat would then move in. The two cats outsmarted me!
What was really amazing was how well the two got along. Little Midnight always finished her food first, and then shoved Chestnut aside and ate out of his plate. They were an odd couple, but also the best of friends.
Feral cats rarely come close enough to make human contact, and these two wonderful cats were no exception. The only way they would come to a plate is when I was firmly enclosed back in my habitat. That’s why it was impossible for me to rescue Chestnut when I saw a large, bloody gash on his shoulder. He ran off, never to be seen again. My heart was broken, not only for the injured cat, but also for little Midnight, who lost a good friend and protector. For all we know, Chestnut may have gotten his injury defending his little buddy. What a loyal friend.
Cats are smarter than people. Not only did those two little scamps fool me with their bait-and-switch routine, but they also taught me a true lesson about selfless love and putting a friend before one’s self. Rest in peace, Chestnut. I’ll keep an eye on your friend for you.
~Lynn Maddalena Menna
