Bizarro Kitty (Sally #4)

Every time I blog about Sally, she ends up doing the opposite of what I just wrote. So I won’t give further updates.

(Ha!)

She’s Bizarro Kitty. Bizarro, in Superman lore, has among his many quirks the speech pattern of always saying (as crudely as possible) the opposite of what he means.

Sally is Sally. She’s a stray cat and as such calls her own shots. She comes and goes as she pleases.

I just happen to love it when she’s around.

Listen, and I certainly don’t want to jinx it, but it’s just terrific how she avoided snagging a claw on a winning lottery ticket that ended up at my doorstep. That would’ve been awful!

Stray Has Gone (Sally #3)

Continuing this inadvertent, unplanned saga of the stray cat Sally, the next update again reverses the fortunes of the last entry:

Stray has gone.

(This is a riff on a Dave Matthews Band song, “Grace is Gone,” a title that was later a movie, too. The song comes from my favorite DMB album, Busted Stuff, which was once delayed because the record label didn’t think it was sufficiently commercial. It ends with the epic “Bartender,” my favorite DMB song. In my day job I have been bringing in CDs, a thing I still have and listen to, every morning, a wide variety that last week included opera. I opted out of bringing Busted Stuff this first round, but maybe it comes in next week. Also skipped over Bob Dylan!)

Anyway, parenthetical phrase (I used to do them randomly, and at length in the middle of sentences, such as I am doing right now!) aside, the sad truth is that Sally, the beloved stray, has indeed been straying.

I don’t know if it was the incursion of Hilary that caused it, or the alarming drilling that I heard at around the same time (did someone deliberately scare her away???), but she’s been scarce ever since. I wasn’t even spotting her at her other human feeding post until yesterday or so. I saw hide nor hair of her, which even when she was boycotting me due to dog contamination never happened (or at least for very long).

At this point I’m not going to assume anything. She’ll do what she wants to do. It’s kind of the whole point, right? 

She came back the next day, by the way. (Sally #2)

Yeah, she didn’t wait long. 

The funny thing is, this week another cat (Sally looks like she has black fur but she’s pretty dirty), who’s got dark black fur, who has never visited before, started following her up the steps. Sally hissed, but I’m not sure what’s continued to develop. As I’ve said, she likes food from humans but not necessarily humans themselves. She skitters away if I, cat gods forgive, attempt to pick a leaf off her. I put out the cup (or the tin) of gravy-loaded goodness (which is her preference, as I’ve learned the past few years) and then close the door again, leaving her to it.

If there’s unexpected commotion and she skitters away for other reasons, I always check later to see if she came back to finish. Usually she will. 

Or perhaps her horrible, horrible rival has, recently!

I don’t know the sex of the rival. I’m calling it Hilary, and another cat, who’s never visited but is always around, Ted. These are all names from the comic strip Sally Forth. (Very funny, highly underrated.)

(If the rival is a boy, it could be like Edmund Hillary, okay?)

Sally

 

This is Sally. Sally is a stray cat. Sally might have another name. As far as I’m concerned she’s Sally.

I’ve known Sally pretty much since I moved to my new apartment two years ago. She’s one of several strays who were around at the time, and the only one I can be certain is still around now. She’s hung out at my stoop periodically, originally because the people who lived next door had a cat bed out for her.

I’ve since learned more about her. I’ve learned she’s very slow to trust. That she even came round when I first moved in now seems remarkable. At the moment she’s again keeping her distance because I have another new neighbor, and they’ve begun putting things outside their door, and she’s evaluating.

She only recently returned to my stoop. You see, there was a dog. Not my dog. The neighbor from before this one. I perhaps contaminated myself by petting the dog, quite enthusiastically. It was a very good dog, and deserved the attention.

Sally didn’t agree.

Sally is a finicky eater. It took time to learn exactly what she liked. I only just nailed, it, too, and stocked up. And then the new neighbors had to unsettle things again.

Sally is not to be petted. No, not at all! She values her personal space. But she’ll follow me up the stairs, knowing I’ll have something for her. She’ll look into my apartment, mewl her thanks. And she’ll get on with it, and sometimes just hang out.

She’s got another human friend. As far as I know, they’ve never contaminated themselves, with dog or otherwise. They put food out reliably. She eats it. She comes round when it’s safe, here, all the same. Never pin yourself to a single source!

Sally is a stray. She values her independence. And she doesn’t mind humans helping out. She doesn’t mind sticking around. Within reason.