A story from my daughter: Feeding the Cats

We had an unbelievable cold snap last winter that happened during a week that Kevin and I were both home with Covid.  That caused us to spend a lot of time staring out the windows and doors around here out of boredom.  We noticed a small tortoise shell cat on our back porch in a makeshift dog house that's been out there for years.  I told Kevin to please grab some cheap cat food the next time he's at the store. I can't stand to see a cat hungry and cold. We decided we should name her if we were going to feed her, so Kevin named her Daphne.  Since then, she appears twice a day for feedings, usually with one of her adolescent children that are wilder than her.

Kevin's knees are really bad, as are the rest of his joints.  Walking hurts and is difficult and stairs are worse.  Each evening, Daphne is sitting on the side porch near the door, yeowling to make sure he is very aware that she is hungry.  He has to walk up the steps of the side porch and into the house, get cat food, then down the same steps and to the back of the house, where we feed them.  Then he returns and climbs the steps again.  

A coworker and I were brainstorming and she said, "You meal prep for your lunches every week, meal prep for Daphne!"  I liked the idea, so I packed several baggies with servings of cat food to keep in his car.  This got annoying REALLY fast, having to refill those baggies.  I decided to pursue other experiments to find a more suitable solution.

We were in WalMart together and I said, "Let's find a container that locks closed," and settled on a rubbermaid type tote with a locking handle.  We were pretty sure that nothing would be able to get into it.  The next morning, Kevin went out to feed them and the lid was in the window well and half the food was gone."  Have I mentioned how much I despise racoons?

Saturday, Kevin finished the last few pork rinds from the bottom of a rather large container.  I said, "Hey, that's a screw top!  Racoons can't open THAT!" and washed it out., filled it with cat food, and put it out there.  I was pretty smug, this time.  I've camped a lot and I was sure they wouldn't be able to open that jar.  The next morning, I went out to feed the cats.  The cat food was gone.  GONE.  The jar and all.

It was still dark out, so I returned for a flashlight in case it was down in the window well or something, but it was nowhere.  I probably stood out there with my mouth hanging open for 2 minutes before I gave up and came back inside.  A few hours later, I looked out the window and saw a splash of yellow in the brush pile behind the neighbor's shed. I asked Kevin if the lid to the pork rind container was yellow and he confirmed my suspicion.  Those suckers hauled that 5 pound (or more) container over 40' across our yard.  All I could picture was a group of them, all lined up and rolling it along like in a log-rolling contest. 

This weekend, I'll be out there trying the next thing.  All for a stupid feral cat that isn't even mine.