We're cautious because it's risky to lend your heart to a cat on the Clark Point Road because they tend to disappear long before their time, victims of passing trucks and cars, and sometimes coyotes. We are still recovering from the loss of Ruby, a regal brown and russet Maine Coon, who lived across the street from the inn. She would jump in our laps as we ate breakfast on the porch, and join us poolside in the afternoon for a drink. Then she misjudged the speed of a truck, which never stopped. We weren't there, but we heard.
So we meet outdoor cats with enthusiasm but also admonitions to stop hanging around in the street and to be careful crossing it. We try not to get attached, as we did with Ruby. I assume they won't be around for long. It's too bad, because cats really do belong outside. The ones we meet clearly relish their freedom to roam, hunt, and carouse with total strangers. When they aren't demanding affection, they tend to be rather cool and arrogant, with the confidence that comes from catching many birds, bugs, and rodents.
But it's no longer a safe world for them, and that's that. My cats will never roam outside, although I like to fantasize about a high, brick-walled garden where they can pursue bugs and nap in the shade.
This fluffy silver tabby was the only cat who refused to come near us.
She stayed under the car while her friend was much more sociable.
He looked like a tough guy, but wasn't.
This big Maine Coon type was another marshmallow.
As you can see, outdoor cats are tricky to photograph — one can't get any distance from them.
This is Ginger. She belongs to Ruby's family.
She likes to roll around on the Clark Point Road. Sigh.
We'll enjoy her company for as long as we can.