We’ve named him Underfoot, this affectionate feral kitten who appears a few times a day in the backyard for a feed.  Poignantly, more than a feed, the young cat wants contact and affection.   He rubs against Sekhnet’s pant legs as she shoos him off, lest Skaynes get a whiff of the young male cat marking Skaynes’ woman.  As she works in the garden he tangles himself under her feet.  He lets people pick him up, he’s happy to be hugged and carried around.

“He’s dying to be somebody’s pet,” Sekhnet commented.  And it’s true.  He’d be a great pet.

Haven’t seen him the last few days.  Could mean a little boy or girl picked him up and said “daddy, can we keep him?  Can we?  Daddy, can we keep him?  I want to keep him.  Look, daddy….” and daddy seeing the adorable, cuddly pair smiles and nods, reaching for his camera phone, and the kid screams in delight and waves the kitten in the air.

Could mean what has happened to several generations of feral cats we’ve known, fed, played with and watched grow up — a tiny body lying somewhere. These cats in the wild don’t seem to live more than a year or two, many of them don’t make it that long.  Hard life out there on the street.

(two hours later)

I saw the little scamp hop over the fence, from the top of the compost bin.  I went out and called him and he came bounding over, leaped another fence.   Did his dance around my feet until I picked him up.  He purred as I rubbed his face.  Then I opened a can of food and put it out in the chilly late afternoon, he ate a few bites and then was rubbing against my pant legs again.  Picked him up for another few pets, then left him to eat.  

Looking out the window just now I saw his food bowl almost untouched, then I saw him, by the garage next door, chowing down studiously on something the neighbor had put out for him.  Had the thought– only in America, where millions of children go to bed hungry every night,  do neighbors compete to feed doomed stray cats their favorite flavor of cat food.