Taking in strays became tradition
I wrote about this subject several years ago, but it bears repeating. My mother and father could have staged their own version of the Broadway musical “Cats.”
Of course it would have been with the real deal, not some actors made up to look like the animals.
When they lived near Somerset, a dozen or so felines in various shapes, sizes, ages, color, etc., lived inside and outside their home.
At first it was something of a joke. Each time I’d visit I’d learn of an addition to their coterie of cats. “Oh, that’s Tinker Bell,” my mother would say. “That’s Nubby II,” Dad would tell me. And I’d marvel that somehow all these cats decided my parents’ home was just the best place on this planet or any other to live.
“Why did they all come here?” I once asked.
Well, that was a dumb question. I should have known better. From the time I was a toddler if anything stray came around the house looking hungry, it got fed.
If a neglected buffalo had wandered onto the property, I know Mom would have somehow figured out what to feed it. And we would have had a buffalo roaming around our yard until it died of old age.
Where they formerly resided, the road was fairly secluded. That made it a prime target for people who wanted to dump that kitten-now-turned-cat (that was so cute when it was little but now eats like a horse and shreds the sofa). Another incentive for them to drop the animal and run very likely was when they learned how much it costs to have the critter neutered.
So, a litany of strays filed onto the property looking for a meal. I’m sure in the beginning they tried the neighbors first, but, finding no sustenance, ambled over to the Pletchers. It became a tradition. If a cat made it to their road, the animal knew it could find easy pickings.
However, it reached the point of no return one summer.
Three of the cats had kittens. Managing to find a home for the mother and one litter was no simple feat. But two families remained in addition to several other full-grown strays.
There were two other cats living on the back porch while mother attempted to tame them so they could go to new homes.
None of this included the two cats that were family pets.
It became more complicated, since my parents began buying cat food in bulk, kitty litter by the dump truck load and attempted to spay and neuter every four-legged creature in sight.
There was an organization that offered “grants” of $50 or so to help defray neutering costs. And my parents kept nearly every farm in a 20-mile radius of where they lived well-supplied with mice and rat chasers for years.
Mother even tried advertising in her local newspaper, just as so many people do in this daily tome.
Well, dad passed on a couple of years ago and mother lives in a nearby town where (you guessed it) she now feeds a couple of strays, one we named Percy and the other an infrequent visitor (thank goodness) to her front porch. Fortunately, none have shown up with kittens in tow.
Dad always served as the head cat wrangler, attempting to herd them into a storage building for protection from other of nature’s creatures, keep them fed and medicated, if they needed it.
Frankly, I think things were getting a bit out of hand.
Once, when I visited Dad, he scratched me under my chin and tried to give me a can of tuna.
I left when I heard him calling the vet.
After all, I’d already had my shots.
Have a good day.
James Pletcher Jr. is Herald-Standard business editor and can be reached at 724-439-7571 or by e-mail at jpletcher@heraldstandard.com
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