Midnight - Life on the Mean Streets

Just a quick look at these 2 photographs will give you a rough idea of what life as a stray cat is like. When he was first abandoned near our house, Midnight was a cute little fellow, with a purr-fect face and a meow to match. There was an innocence behind his eyes.

Here it is, almost 3 years later, and his voice is shot, and his face is scarred in several spots. There are also wounds to his ears and sides. The innocence has been replaced with a certain wariness. In short; he has had a thin time of it.

He has become even more feral in nature; never trying to come into the house at all; although he still allows himself to be brushed and occasionally tolerates being petted. This is a photo I took today. It's rare that he lets me photograph him close up anymore. Since his recent fights he has become increasingly camera shy, although he has healed nicely. He looks kind of like Keith Richards. "Torn and Frayed."

I wonder, what is the nature of the bond that has formed between us? We both have scars; and we both don’t always feel well. Beyond that we have little in common aside from the need to know that we are there for one another.

He uses me for food; that’s true. But he can get along without me. He sometimes stays away for several days and seems to survive. He might be a bit more hungry than usual upon his return, but you know what they say about lean freedom being better than fat slavery.

He looks at the house cats in the windows with disdain. And he scorns the ones that go in and out of their little cat doors. But, then he also steals their food on occasion.

When I go out for my morning paper I am not at my best. I have to adjust to the day. And there’s Midnight; lying by the front door; trying to stay awake for his “dinner” before he sleeps off whatever it is that he just done did last night.