So I've acquired this cat.
Well, actually I've acquired two. The first is, of course, my sweet Kitty (short for Dander-free Kitty the Hypoallergenic Cat). I won't bore you with the details, but I'm allergic to regular cats. Siberian cats do not produce the allergen that makes me sneeze, so I can snuggle Miss Kitty all I want without inducing an allergy attack. My sister found her for me on Petfinder, and I flew her in from Minnesota. Apparently we don't have dander-free cats in Indiana.
Anyway, Kitty is an indoor cat, except when I take her out to stalk around the garden while I weed. She occasionally takes off, but she's 1. chipped, and 2. easily freaked, so it's not too hard to bring her back. The rest of the time she spends watching out various windows, shedding on my pillow, and curling herself around my head while I sleep.
But the cat I recently acquired is a local stray I've named Big Lou. A rambling tom cat, he first came around when I was putting out food for another stray cat (Jack, who often visits during the summer). Once Big Lou figured out that I was a reliable source of food, he chased Jack off and laid claim to my porch as his own personal territory.
He spends at least part of each day curled in the cathouse (yes, I bought a house for a stray cat, I plead momentary insanity), especially early mornings when he knows I'll be bringing out the chow. He runs down to the curb to meet me whenever I pull in so I can love on him. And once or twice he has attempted to enter the house to make himself at home, but I've chased him out.
So given that this is a fairly large cat who still has all his claws and to all appearances a very definite sense of ownership of me, my property, and the food I put out for him, I found this little vignette particularly interesting:
That is the hind end of one of our local squirrels (whom I personally believe run some kind of squirrel mafia). He has just raided Lou's food dish, while Lou is curled up, completely content in his little house.
But even the squirrel is no big deal compared to coming home last night to find in the cat house not Lou, but a big-ass possum. This possum periodically swings by to check out the cat food dish. I call him Al. Al has also been known to take a nap on my wicker porch settee on warm summer evenings.
So my point here is that Big Lou is clearly more of a lover than a fighter.