Last week was a turbulent, sex-charged and noisy experience. The tom cats were prowling, singing their songs of love to the quivering females.
Our indoor cats have all been neutered. They are safe from attack or rape, but the tom cats came a-calling for the outside cats.
We have two females who choose to live within the boundaries of our house and garden. Both are feral and won’t ever be house cats. The smaller cat, the last survivor of her mother’s litter from the year before won’t allow us to touch her, yet calls out at breakfast time, waking us up. She will answer to her name, Georgie, but is well and truly feral.
She may be well and truly pregnant by now as well. We thought that due to her size – she is only two-thirds grown, that she wouldn’t be excreting hormones to attract the males.
She was quite nervous, preferring to stay in tight corners, in niches and crept around the courtyard, diving for cover whenever she saw a male cat.
Her mother was enthusiastically joining with the males, even the largest ginger tomcat in the area and we thought that Georgie would be safe.
She was lucky in some ways. She must have been broadcasting hormones to the males, but her first was another young tomcat, a relative of a large gang who live at the crossroads down the lane.
The largest males, who come from all over the parish arrived then and poor Georgie was part of the feline orgy.
I hope she doesn’t get pregnant. We’ll find out in 60 days or so, when she and her mother will disappear into a nice safe barn to give birth.
Let’s hope that we won’t be feeding six outside cats. I’m not sure our small income can stretch to that.
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