Catboy - Eric Walters [14]
There were at least a dozen cats standing, walking around, sitting or curled into balls sleeping, either on the ground or on the roofs or trunks of the wrecked cars.
“There are a lot of them,” I said. “How many do you think there are altogether?”
“I am not certain, and the number changes all the time.”
“I saw some kittens,” I said. “And some teenager-sized cats.”
“Yes, kittens are born all the time, and other cats disappear or die. I find the remains sometimes.”
“Do they just get old?”
“I do not believe that many live long enough to die of old age. It is not an easy life. There are many things: often cars or trucks on the street, sometimes dogs get in the yard through the holes, and of course people, like those bad boys or even worse.”
“What could be worse?” I asked.
“Poison.”
“People poison them? That’s awful!”
“I think sometimes it is done on purpose. They give them poisoned food. And other times it is by accident.”
“How do you accidentally poison something?” I asked.
“They are trying to poison the rats, and the cats either eat the poison or they eat the poisoned rat.” He shook his head slowly and his expression was sad. “I have seen it. It is such a terrible way to die. Much pain.”
I didn’t want to think about that.
“At least they are mostly safe in here,” he said. “Especially now that the yard is not being worked in very much. The owner, the man who ran the yard, he got very old and could not do it anymore. His son, he is not interested in the business, only in selling the land. Before, there were always trucks and forklifts. Sometimes they would run over the cats, or they were crushed when the wrecks were moved. But now the yard is mostly quiet. They are waiting for the condos to come.”
“I’m glad it’s better for the cats now.”
“It is better, but still not easy, especially in the winter. It is not just some Sikhs who do not like the cold.”
“At least they have fur coats.”
“That is not enough. See the one cat, the black and white one,” Mr. Singh said, pointing.
“Half of them are black and white.”
“On the car, the blue car. You see how he is missing part of one ear?”
“Yeah, I see.”
“Frostbite. Some even freeze to death. Some are not well fed and suffer from diseases, and the winter finishes them off.”
“Don’t they have places to get out of the cold?”
“Some nest in the wrecks or in holes in the ground.”
“I didn’t know cats dug holes like that,” I said.
“I do not believe they dig holes. They simply use holes dug by other animals or ones naturally formed. Some of those holes are very, very deep. Some people even leave blankets for them. I come in and find the cats lying on them, but cats do not know how to bring those into their burrows.”
It was good to know some people cared enough to try to help the cats and not everybody was tossing rocks or spreading poison.
“Sometimes it is not just me who feeds them. I find cans of cat food on the ground sometimes,” he said.
“That’s nice.”
“It would be nicer if they did not leave the cans as garbage. This is a junkyard not a garbage pit,” he said. “Look, do you see that?” A big black cat ambled into view. On his forehead was a burst of white that looked like a star. “See what he has!”
In his mouth was either a large mouse or a small rat.
“That one is a good hunter! I’ve seen him often with something that he has caught. Mice or rats or birds and pigeons. He helps to keep the yard free of such things.”
“Does he share with the other cats?” I asked.
“I think with his mate, and perhaps some scraps with the others. There are some cats who would simply take his food. You see that big one over there? He is not nice and takes what he wants.”
A big tabby cat—a really big tabby cat—had come out from under a car. On cue, the other cat, the mouse still in his mouth, scurried off in the opposite direction, quickly disappearing from view.
“If there was a king of this colony, that would be him,” Mr. Singh said.
“If he’s like the king, what advice would he give to a new cat who asked about the cats in this colony?” I asked.
“His advice would be short and sweet,