Feral Cats 2
Keef the feral cat. Physically I can’t tell him apart from his twin sister Mick. The only way I can tell them apart is from their different personalities. Keef is much more assertive and affectionate. He likes to ram his face against my face over and over, first one side of his head and then the other. Cats have some weird androgenous zone right underneath their ears.
Mick on the other hand is more demure. She lets me pet her but only in very particular ways. And she has this squeaky, mournful meow sound that usually means a.) feed me, or b.) pet me.
It strikes me that of the dozens of feral cats who have come through my campsight over the years, each cat has had their own unique personality. Even as at other times I think its all just one cat, some Universal Cat that embodies all the different cat bodies.
Blondie and her daughter Mick enjoying breakfast. For years I fed Blondie mostly human food. Cans of tuna. Cans of chunk chicken. Leftover restaurant food like steak burritos, hot dogs and ham and cheese sandwiches. But lately I switched over to regular cat food. Much to Blondie’s chagrin. Usually she’ll take one look at the cat food, trot over about 10 feet away from me, and sit there staring directly at me for an hour with a look on her face that says: “What’s with this cat food shit? Get up and get me some real food. NOW!!”