I sure am. I’m thinking of fixing up my back porch so that it’s basically a catico rather than my back porch.
Since my Toby, my giant Rhodesian Ridgeback died, I’ve turned into a cat lady. My three felines rule the roost. Sox, the elder, a tabby, tells me when to get up, how long I should nap and when and what he wants to eat. He thinks I’m the doorman. He comes in the back door only to go out the front door two minutes later.
Noodle, the pure white queen of the roost showed up at my door, barefoot (with extra toes – a polydactyl) and pregnant. Once ensconced in my home, Noodle (named because she would go limp as a cooked noodle when I picked her up) gave birth in my pink suitcase that was stored in the hall closet. Four of Noodle’s five babies survived. All white like their mom, also polydactyls.
Reluctantly I adopted the kittens out, except one adoption fell through so I kept the little girl, who I named Clarity and then shortened it to Claire.
Claire was born during the pandemic and is now over 3-years-old. She is the only one whom I know just how old she is.
The vet believes Sox might be 13. I think maybe he’s 10. And Noodle might be a year older than Claire.
Sox wakes me at 5 A.M. for a cuddle. He inches up to my face and his long white whiskers tickle me. Then he lets me know he wants to eat by howling, then he howls to be let out, then howls to be let back in. Hence the reason why I want a catico that would let him be in a quasi outdoor environment. Most likely though he would just howl for me to let him outside to the backyard.
My back porch is pretty wrecked from age. The windows were lacking screens or had sagging screens. The porch wasn’t secure as there were two areas on either end that lead to the outside. The doors didn’t shut properly. The problem was, raccoons come into the porch and toss pillows and chairs around. Playing? Or looking for food?
The other night a giant raccoon knocked over my watering can on the front porch. I feared for Sox’s life with raccoons that big. Noodle climbs up into the garage rafters so I’m not too worried about her and Claire is my inside girl.
When I was a kid, my uncle had a cabin in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We’d visit with an odd old couple who let wild birds feed off the crumbs on their dinner table. I loved being around the strange couple until one night Mr. Bible (yes, that was his name) shot 50 (yes 50!) raccoons. At least that’s what my uncle told us. No more visits to Mr. and Mrs. Bible.
I’m not about to shoot any raccoons but I could prevent them from using my back porch for a playground.
When I’d sit outside, I tick off a dozen things I wanted to fix. Until lately my bad back (you all must know about my stupid back) has prevented me from fixing things on my own. Now that I’m a bit better, I’m chomping at the bit to fix everything.
But of course, history has proven that charging out haphazardly, only tosses me into bed for a week. Hence I contacted my handyman who redid my bathroom.
My handyman came out the next day and fixed everything on the back porch. He was fast and had it finished in less than two hours. Love that guy!
I love shutting the porch doors at night now and finding that all the futon pillows are where I left them. The front porch has been a bit messy so I’m sure the raccoons are fussing with the porch carpet and plants in the flower box. Not sure how I can discourage raccoons there, but I won’t turn to the drastic measures the Bibles’ did.
What’s a girl to do?…maybe get the handyman to screen in my front porch? Or just let the raccoons be raccoons. Maybe my cats could all three gang up on the raccoons instead of me!
Lucy Llewellyn Byard is currently a columnist for the Record-Bee. To contact her, email lucywgtd@gmail.com
