Feeding the Herd

We will skip right past the reason why I was going away for a long weekend in Washington DC a couple of years ago. That is best forgotten. What was much more memorable was obtaining the services of a competent and trustworthy petsitter. I wasn’t going anywhere until I had hired someone to look after the Fur Patrol while I was away. Not being much of a traveler, I was totally clueless how one went about finding a petsitter.

I decided that the best place to start was with my friend, C, who runs a small cat rescue. She knows lots of people in the rescue/cat world and could probably come up with a few names for me. She surprised me by saying that she would do it herself in exchange for my services as a petsitter for her 14 rescues, collectively known as The Herd, when she went away. No problem, I could do that. I left for DC confident that the Fur Patrol was in good hands.

When it came time for me to return the favor, C sent me a long list of instructions. I should amend that to “sent us”. She uses a team of people to come in twice a day to feed and scoop for The Herd. Each of us is assigned either morning or afternoon shifts depending on our work schedules while she is away. She emails detailed instructions for feeding because different cats are fed different diets due to the variety of ages, ailments and medical conditions of The Herd. She also prints the instructions and leaves them in the kitchen for us to refer to.

Driving to her house, I started to panic. I was intimidated by the sheer number of animals. My heart was pounding as I pulled into her driveway. What had I gotten myself into? My panic increased when I found myself unable to unlock her door. I struggled and struggled, turning the key one way and then another, pulling it out slightly, pulling and pushing on the door knob, nothing was working.

As I was struggling with the glass door, her big orange tailless cat, Cheddar, strolled over to see what was going on. He’s the official greeter and busybody. He sat down and watched me struggle. One by one, more cats came to the door, attracted by the noise. By the time I figured out that whoever installed her lock, had installed it upside down and I should turn the key to the “lock” position to unlock it, there was a semi-circle of cats, as if they were sitting in an amphitheater, watching me through the glass. I burst out laughing.

The first thing I did when I got into her house was grab the big water bowl which was full of “floaters”. I washed it out and filled it with fresh water. In unison, my audience eagerly stuck their heads into the bowl and then back out again, all with the same look on their faces.

“Hey! This is water. Where’s the food? You’re here to feed us.”

I laughed again. Scanning the feeding instructions, I decided to begin with the feral cats in cages. I started opening cans when a furry orange missile launched from the floor to the counter and knocked the can out of my hands. I had forgotten C’s explicit warning “Beware of the Cheddar!” Cheddar must be caged during feeding time or he will eat everyone’s food. I used an open can to lure him into the room with cages and got him safely locked in.

The cage next to him exploded with fur and yowls. Cheetah, the purebred Bengal, sprays when he gets excited so he must be caged while C is away. He is allowed out of his cage while a petsitter is feeding The Herd as long as the petsitter puts him back into his cage before she leaves. I let him out of his cage and he proceeded to literally climb walls. This is normal behavior for Bengals who are described as “very active”. Hyperactive is more like it. Cheetah is a friendly guy who means no harm. He just has a lot of energy. A LOT of energy.

I fed the ferals and changed their water and then fed Cheetah and Cheddar in their cages and changed Cheetah’s water. As I was walking back forth between the kitchen and the room with the cages with bowls food and water, I noticed a pretty little tortie was running ahead of me and then plopping down in the same spot each time. I finally realized that she was trying to tell me something:

“This is where the food goes. I know that you’re new at this, so I’m showing you where to put the food. Right here. Okay?”

And so I did. I scattered bowls of wet food around the room, including the spot where the tortie wanted her dinner and cats literally came out of the walls. I’ve been to C’s house a few times, but I usually only saw a few of the cats at a time. This time I had an opportunity to see all of them as their hunger overcame their shyness. I was startled when a black cat came slinking out of the bedroom. I thought that Beauty had escaped but when I checked her cage, she was still there. Apparently, there are two black cats.

Fluffy Lee, the geriatric cat, was having a bad day. At age 17, she’s allowed. She didn’t want her special wet food. She didn’t want everyone else’s wet food. She didn’t even want cooked chicken. Cheddar finished that off later when I forgot to pick it up before letting him out of his cage. Beware of the Cheddar!

While everyone was chowing down, I started scooping litterboxes. I thought keeping up with three cats was difficult but it’s nothing compared to 14. I filled two plastic grocery bags. And this is done twice a day.

After all of the poop had been scooped, it was time to collect the bowls and distribute the dry food. Fluffy Lee was having none of it. Cheetah gladly returned to his cage. Cheddar stopped howling to get out in exchange for more food. And I started washing dishes. As soon as I had finished with the wet food dishes, The Herd was finished with their dry food and I began on the next load of dishes.

When they were finished and the kitchen counters wiped down, it was time to find Cheetah and put him back into his cage. He saw me coming and read my mind. He literally flew into the bathroom. As I was closing the door behind me, I told him that the bathtub is not the best place to hide from me. It’s too easy to confine and catch him. That next time, he should try hiding behind the couch or under the bed, places where I can’t get at him. He resigned himself to his fate and allowed me to carry him back to his cage.

Cheddar burst out of his cage when I unlatched it. He tore around the house looking for any food that the other cats had missed. He was ecstatic when he found Fluffy Lee’s chicken. I took one last look around for any food bowls that I had missed or water bowls that I hadn’t refilled and then took my leave.

Driving home, I realized that there had been no reason to panic. They were just cats, each one with its own distinct personality. Like the Fur Patrol times five. I found myself looking forward to my next shift of feeding The Herd.