These two are five now

Sometime between today and the 28th is the cats’ birthday. It’s not really known, the first vets they saw after being rescued from the streets had to do an estimate when they were just days old and that was late August of 2021. Though I didn’t adopt them until after they’d been fostered for a few months, it’s now been close to five years, and so we’re having a three-day party. (They do not know this, they will just enjoy the benefits.)

Because they are cats, when I initially brought out catnip and treats to celebrate with, they both hid under furniture. They know that unexpected treats can mean being put in a carrier and taken to the vet (or, more recently, moved across town). Eventually they got curious and enjoyed the offerings, but I can appreciate their hesitation.

I moved recently, and the back door of my new place opens up into a fenced-in parking lot. The fence is chain-link on two sides, and metal bars on the side facing the street. There’s an automatic gate for cars to get in and out. The bars are just far enough apart for small animals to be able to squeeze through.

I say this because, for the past two nights, I’ve been woken up by the shrieks of animals in distress. Last night the identifiable cries of a cat echoed through my apartment at three in the morning. I went out to my stoop to see if something was happening, and the cat kept wailing. After a minute, one came in from the street—the stray that hangs out in our neighborhood that my neighbor Donna sometimes cares for and calls Trashy. I heard no other animal sounds, leading me to believe that a person on the street had been attacking her. She saw me and laid on the ground, keeping her distance.

Tonight, or just now rather—I don’t know if five am qualifies as the night or not—a combination of wails and barking woke me up. Two vague shadows that could have been street dogs or coyotes had a raccoon cornered on Donna’s stoop, the raccoon trying to avoid getting caught, barking in a way I’ve never heard a creature sound. Two sounds came from the raccoon: a violent bark in self-defense and an excruciating cry whenever one of the dogs caught hold of it.

I didn’t know what to do and was frozen watching this animal trying to save itself. The raccoon somehow escaped the stoop and scampered across the lot, climbing the chain-link fence. The dogs followed and were able to climb it for a minute or two. The barking and howling continued but the dogs were not able to keep on the fence and eventually abandoned their attack, leaving the raccoon to try and balance on the top, gravely wounded. It tried to walk, it tried to hang on, it swayed as it attempted to head toward the street, its legs were giving out.

After a few minutes, the silhouette of the injured animal fell to the ground of the alley on the other side of the lot and hobbled into the shadows of the building across the way. I have no clue where the dogs went or how they got in and out of my lot. I am sure the raccoon is dead by now.

It’s just one of those things where like, my new place is a pretty amazing spot to live, but when I initially toured it I did not think to ask, How many nights a week am I going to have to listen to a small animal fight for its life? It’s a harrowing experience, to hear and/or see a living creature being attacked. The echoes of wailing fade but that resonant pain and violence lingers in the air. Nothing is comfortable. My cats are scared, huddled up on the bed.

I can handle many things, but stuff like this really gets to me. I know the way the world works—larger animals attack smaller ones, that’s life, et cetera. But confronting it in reality just reminds me of how we humans choose to do this sort of thing to ourselves. Raccoons and cats are kind of just subjugated to nature’s order, but humanity has invented its way out of that. We aren’t subject to violence, we choose it. I don’t have a great memory, but I’ve seen many forms of brutality—accidental deaths, street fights, drive-by shootings, defenseless beatings, murder—and every scene remains crystal clear in my head. I remember exactly where I was, the time of day, the weather. Even just a proximity to violence leaves a mark.

I don’t know, this post has turned into something else. Truth be told, I just am still stirred from hearing and watching that poor raccoon trying not to be torn to pieces on my neighbor’s steps. A little death in the morning tears a hole in the day, and I’ll just be off-balance for the rest of this one.

Richter and Key, in a photo that totally makes Key look fatter than she is (I doubt she will mind)

Sometimes I get half-heartedly resentful at these two because owning cats means I can’t just leave my world behind and move to Slovenia on a dime, but then one of them does something funny and my plans to abandon America fade.

I’ve known since I was young that I always wanted cats—and, later on, maybe some goats—as opposed to kids, and I think that’s an okay thing to admit. Children aren’t for everyone (and not that pets are, either—it’s all just preference).