Congratulations to Shicana Allen who won a free outdoor shelter for their colony cats and a bottle of Feral Flower Essence from FixNation board member Jackson Galaxy’s Spirit Essences line through FixNation’s National Feral Cat Day story competition!
My name is Shicana and I am a feeder. Unexpectedly and to my own amazement, I went from having no cats (after my last feline Ajna passed away three years ago) to feeding and housing a colony of ten…or whomever happens to wander by and needs a snack on any particular day. Here on Romar Street in Northridge, my neighbor Judy—the other cat lady who lives at the far end of the block—and I feed somewhere around 22 cats (“The Romar Roamers”) on a daily basis. Earlier this year, we joined forces in a project to spay and neuter as many as possible, and I believe only one remains that we have yet to be able to trap. It feels like I am running a Caternity house (the feline version of a fraternity), with the elder of the group, Goldilocks, acting as house mother. Even though Goldilocks is a male—a beautiful orange-and-white Maine Coon—he has proven to be the most affectionate, loving, and doting overseer of the brood of younger kittens, who are all between one and two years. Goldilocks was the first feral to plant himself on my property, until one day when he invited over a mother (“Midnight”) and her four kittens who had been living under a house a couple doors down. When nursing was complete and solid food was in order, Goldilocks—the Most Unselfish Cat in the World—decided to share his home, his food, and the attention that he used to enjoy all by himself. When another litter of kittens was born, he did the same again. One of my greatest joys is to watch Goldilocks cuddling, grooming, and playing with one or another of the kittens. Abandoned by their mothers, who seemed cold and uncaring, the younger cats have found a Protector and Father Figure in my big orange boy. While I have been able to socialize the ferals to varying degrees, I find it interesting that, although siblings, some won’t let me touch them (hence their nickname, “The Untouchables”) while others are fine with petting and being picked up a wee bit.
Frankly, I never expected to be a foster parent of two dozen kids. Growing up, I always dreamed I’d get married and have children, but life threw me a curve ball and I ended up alone…except for the ongoing companionship of a series of rescued cats. You might say I was an inadvertent practitioner of serial meow-nogamy: it was usually one at a time until about two years when it started raining felines in my neighborhood. Several litters of kittens later and I now have a colony of ferals squatting on my property and demanding regular meals! The neighbor’s backyard two doors down was apparently the breeding ground of choice for pregnant pussies, but as no continental breakfast was served at that birthing hotel, when solid food was desired, they went a-lookin’ and they found me …or my friend Judy, the other cat-lady on the block. Between us, we currently feed two colonies totaling 22 cats, all of which we have also had fixed. So when someone asks me, “How many cats do you have?” I respond that I feed ten fur-babies, and I always make it clear that I don’t have them…they have me.
In trying to think of a heartwarming or funny story about my feline soup kitchen, it’s difficult to pin one down that seems head-and-shoulders (or paws-and-whiskers) above the rest. There have been so many trials and tribulations along the way that what might bring a smile or laughter to others just makes me sigh with relief…that I got through that challenge at all. So I’ll start at the beginning, since how my adventure began is probably the most memorable for me and those who have heard it. After my friend John had just been tragically killed in a motorcycle accident, his group of friends planned a weekend memorial celebration in a local campground. Lo and behold, feral kittens and puppies were running all over the place, using the groundkeeper’s cabin as their base of operations. When I asked why all these critters had not been spayed and neutered, the response was a shocking, “We don’t have to worry about that because the coyotes always take care of them.” It was at that moment that I knew I had to spare the little orange and white rascal I was enamored with from the fate of being a mid-day snack or happy hour appetizer on that week’s wild canine menu du jour. Only a month old, he conveniently fit into Coleman thermos container and off we went, homeward bound. What’s strange is that this Adoption Day just happened to be Mother’s Day. A couple days later was my friend’s funeral, and as I was bottle feeding little Pandora every few hours, I took him everywhere with me…so off we went to church. I knew such a move was unconventional and potentially disastrous, but I had no choice and somehow had faith it would all work out. John’s friends were gathered in the parking lot before the service, and my new baby boy—cradled in my arms—immediately became the center of attention. Tears turned to smiles and demonstrations of affection, and I overheard someone say: “Brilliant! Bringing a kitten to a funeral!” The dearly departed himself had left behind two beloved Siamese which he had rescued, so it was definitely a cat-sympathetic crowd. Attached at the hip (or rather shoulder), I even took Pandora with me up to the podium when it was my turn to eulogize John and share some memories. Needless to say, little P chirped his baby talk through the entire service, but curiously no one seemed to mind. Somehow, it was an affirmation of life and renewal to hear the cutest sound on earth—“mews in the pews”—while trying to make sense of such a devastating, sudden loss.
I love being able to share these stories with other cat lovers. It’s a difficult task to have to be responsible for so many lives, making sure they are safe, fed, watered, and otherwise healthy.
