Time-share cuts and time-share people
By PAT WICK
© Another Day in the Country
The first ones to greet me when we arrived back in Ramona, after our trek to the west coast, were the cats. Even though Frances had been faithfully feeding them in our absence, the cats recognized me as the hand behind the food supply and began telling me they were hungry and "Where had I been?" and "How about a little breakfast right MEOW."
These cats are the ones we call our time-share cats because we share them with the neighbors across the street — or they share them with us, one way or the other. When we first came to Ramona 12 years ago, the ancestors of these kitties came calling. We called them "The Staatz Cats" and they soon declared our front porch a wonderful place to perch because my sister put pillows on all the porch chairs and then commenced fussing at the cats when they sat on them and got them dirty. In cat parlance, this made no sense at all. "If you didn't" put them out there for us, who then?" they wondered.
When our weeks in Ramona were over and we were ready to head back to California, we'd give the cat food we had left to our neighbors and bid them and the cats goodbye for another year. Every year, on our return, Tigger — the feisty old calico mother cat — would have another batch of kittens ready to greet us. We'd enjoy them for a few weeks, then head back to the west coast and the cycle continued.
These "Staatz Cats" were a fun bunch to have around — tame from so much handling, talkative and friendly. They'd follow you up and down the street like a dog. Often I'd see our little neighbor girls heading to the restaurant or to fetch the mail with a string of cats tagging along behind. It was a "Staatz Cats" trademark.
"Are these your cats?" someone would ask as they approached our front door. "No," we'd tell them, "They are the 'Staatz Cats' and we do time-share."
When we came back to Ramona a couple of years ago to stay for awhile, the cats were pleased. When the annual batch of kittens came calling with several generations of cats represented, we laughed about our nine-cat porch. Today, the number at breakfast is often more and has never diminished.
As the time-share cats grew up we learned some hard cold facts about kitties in the country. It's different than city life! For instance, if they are outdoor cats (which these are) you can't get too attached because they are like the grass — here today and gone tomorrow. Coming from the city, we fretted the fact that people didn't neuter their cats to control the population then we discovered that the neutered cat is the lowest in the cat hierarchy and will soon disappear.
We attempt to get these time-share cats to get along. Jessica lectures them regularly on cat manners and cooperation, "How do you expect there to be peace in the Middle East," she says, warming to her subject, "when you are all from one family and can't get along?" The cats sit listening but as soon as her back is turned, someone growls and the fight for supremacy resumes.
In a small town like Ramona, we not only have time-share cats, but it seems to me we have time-share kids and time-share neighbors — people as well as felines that we watch out after, nurture, support, and love.
This morning as I was feeding the cats and making sure that the dog across the street didn't steal their food, I heard the church bell ringing. It was announcing Mary Beisel's funeral. Her time in our community was over long ago and now her time on earth has ended. I counted the chimes — they stopped at nine. I wanted them to keep on ringing out — one for every year of her life. It gives a person pause to reflect.
Whether it's time-share cats, time-share kids, or time-share people, it's good to be back, and I'm so glad to be spending another day in the country with you!
