Tag Archives: feral cat

The update on Bob.

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I didn’t want to share the update on Bob. The last time I saw Bob was late March. I started getting very worried and reached out via our neighborhood Facebook pages for folks to be on the lookout for him. There were no reported sightings.

I reached out to the Cat Coalition that had helped me trap both Bobs, and they sent word out to their contacts. Nothing. They thought it would be odd behavior for him to move on his own. I took that as they felt he was gone (in the bad way). They had other theories, that were very depressing. I blocked those out.

I called the shelter. Nothing.

I put up an outdoor camera to see if he was coming by at night. I only saw a raccoon. And even the raccoon stopped coming. Was the condo no longer a 5 star abode?

I still put food out, every night. I also cried, a lot.

I have spent my whole life allergic to cats so I have never really had deep feelings for any. I basically saw them as a health threat. But then I rescued Bob’s mom, Bob(1) and she was a total bitch who hissed at me and pretty much terrified me on a daily basis but for whatever reason, I got her. She stopped coming by shortly after I took away her reproductive rights.  That seemed fair.

Then Bob’s son, Bob(2) started coming around. And he was sweet and gentle and he stared into my soul from the bushes. And after his man-parts were rendered inactive, he still kept coming. And I bought him condo after condo and the best food and when I saw him in the driveway I would run out and put his natural flea and tick preventative drops in his food to try and give him the best chance at joy. And he’d let me get pretty close and that was close enough because the ER bores me.

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I mourned my boy Bob for several weeks. I  had come to love a feral cat. I couldn’t believe it but I was a cat person. Well, a dog person who happens to have a feral cat that they are allergic to but that is pretty much the same thing. I kept putting food out, and some nights it would disappear and I was a little hopeful, but also just glad some creature was being fed.

Yesterday, I got an alert on one of the posts from FB that a neighbor (who knows Bob) said her husband had seen Bob in their yard and he even drew a photo to show what the cat looked like, and as the cat mom of Bob, that IS BOB!

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Could it be true, my cat Bob is alive and back???!!!!! Then another neighbor saw him and hot damn if I am not a crazy cat person again who in fact does not have to deliver the news of Bob(2)’s death!

Bob is alive! And Doug could care less. And yay for JOY!!!! All is right in our world.

It’s a boy!

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So maybe you will recall that after Bob (the feral cat that I thought was a boy, but was really a lady cat, and she had kittens and I got her fixed and now she’s chipped to me but roams the means streets of our hood), Bob 2 showed up.  Bob 2 looked so much like Bob one that I didn’t even know they were different cats for a while. Then I realized that Bob 1 has two eye patches and Bob 2 has one.

Cat math is hard.

I am pretty certain that Bob 2 is the child of Bob 1. When we trapped Bob 1, we were not sure if all her kittens were accounted for. I have been feeding Bob 2 for about six months.

So recently Bob 2 was trapped (accidentally when we were trying to trap my friend’s missing cat). Since I have been feeding Bob 2, I claimed him/her and s/he went to the vet for the snip, snip.  Obviously by the title of this post you can figure out that Bob 2 is a boy! We didn’t know this until the vet was able to take a looksy.

He was chipped to me, released back into my yard and he comes to eat every morning and night again.

Also, I’m still deathly allergic to cats.

I have no idea what to call Bob 2. Here are some ideas, feel free to vote on one or add your suggestion and we will formally name him this weekend.

  • Bob 2
  • Bobb
  • Carl
  • Oreo
  • Poop (suggested by a six-year-old)
  • Sherry (same six-year-old)

If anyone is wondering what Doug thinks of Bob 2.  He hates him. He barks viciously and rams the window when he hears him meowing.  That said, if Doug ever comes face-to-face with Bob 2, he would paws-up surrender and cry and jump into my arms for safety.

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Bob, the lady cat.

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As you will recall, Bob is the feral cat that I started feeding last fall, when she was just a kitten. Then Bob got knocked up, and her gender became more obvious, but I kept her name anyway. She’s Bob. Bob was trapped, she nursed her kittens and they were adopted out.

Bob got spayed, vaccinated, ear tipped, microchipped and got a three-month tick preventative this past week and has come here to recover.

Bob is an angry, rebellious teenager. And everything is apparently my fault.

Listen Bob, I get it. You’re a slutty little vixen (that sounded judgy but I fully accept who you are) and after a few nights of unprotected boy-toy time you started gaining some weight. Then one day, kittens dropped out of your area. I imagine that was uncomfortable. I don’t know how you felt about being a mom but you seemed to step-up and kept the kittens well-fed. Then the rains came, you moved the babies to higher ground and then giants stole your babies, trapped you and forced you into a cage with the kittens to be their food source. It all seems pretty hurtful. 

Then one of the giants took you to a place where they poked and prodded you and then took out your lady parts. Then a different, yet familiar, giant picked you up and put you in a high-rise cage that she built with her own hands. Even though that familiar giant paid your vet bill, and is allergic to you, and reaches into the cage several times a day to feed you, give you fresh water and clean your litter box, you take time out of your very busy lying around time TO HISS AT HER LIKE VICIOUS LION.

Yes, folks, that’s right, inmate-Bob hates me too. I go outside and use soothing tones and feed her really, really good food and she basically gives the cat equivalent of a F U. Every time. It rained yesterday, so I went and bought a huge tarp to keep Bob dry and I spent a long time trying to aerodynamically figure out how to utilize the tarp and not SUFFOCATE BOB at the same time and still that little hussy (sorry, still no judgement) hissed at me the entire time. Every time I reach in to fill up her food bowl I wonder if that will be the moment I learn what cat attack feels like.

I don’t blame her. She does not have a clue as to why her life has been disrupted and when, if ever, she will back to walking the mean streets. The answer to that is, SOON, very soon. Once free. my guess is that she will return to the front of the house where I was feeding her before her teen pregnancy and that is fine. I will feed her wherever.

I am also moderately concerned that she and Doug are planning some sort of prison coup. They can probably communicate telepathically.

I need a sturdier lock on my bedroom door.

The only thing that I know with absolute certainty is that cleaning a litter box is a new level in hell for me. It’s not even that there is poop or pee, I mean the scoop makes it really easy. It’s the smell of the fresh litter. It’s so overwhelming. It’s like someone sprays a powdery,  deodorizing, air freshener directly into my face every time. The smell haunts me, all day.

Here is Bob being introduced to her condo. This is right before poop started flying out of her butt.  It made me miss Jake.

 

She looks super sweet. Until you look at, lean towards, reach into or try to help out in any way.

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It makes me laugh how much Jake would HATE the mere idea of Bob, let alone seeing her in his yard.  I’m not even sure I would have taken her in if Jake was here, his prey drive was so severe. Bob’s existence would have haunted him day and night. He is probably flipping out about her as I type this.