We live in a cul-de-sac. That might sound boring. But there is always something happening in the street.
There is a narrow lane way at the end, that leads to 4 schools, and some walking paths.
We get students, walkers, cyclists and other dogs.
There are also delivery men and workmen--lots to keep us busy.
HOWEVER, the greatest theatre comes from the CATS.
The Cat People (Jenny and Bill) live across the street.
They feed homeless cats around town every day and have an arrangement with a local Vet for medical care.
They have 'backyard' cats and 'indoor' cats
(and 2 abandoned Jack Russells)
A few years ago, a mother and three kittens were dumped at their house--word gets around.
Their home was full, and the local shelter was overfilled, so they deemed the little family front-yard cats.
One of the kittens was killed by a car early on, but Roy and Marvin ruled supreme on our street, usually lounging in OUR front yard.
They even came into our back yard at night and stole our toys.
Jenny was always returning them.
They haven't been around much, we think they have been promoted to either back-yard or indoor cats now.
BUT, last November there was a new cat on the scene. He (we think it's a he) was usually at the end of the street, so we thought he lived down there. As he was white and we could see him in various front yards on our early morning walks--a white patch in the blackness--we named him Ghost Kitty.
Recently, he moved to our end of the street, having discovered food and water always on tap at the Cat house.
He has taken over, keeping other kitties away.
He lounges in our front yard, staking out the Cat house so he can chase away other cats.
Drives us NUTS, and we're NOT allowed to yell at him early in the morning. He just ignores us anyway. We call him 'homeless' because he doesn't seem to mind people. Probably a cat left behind when his family moved on, and he wasn't a cute kitten anymore.
Roxy loves telling him off.
He doesn't care.
|That green thingy is our letter box.
Enter T'Abby Kitten.
You have to look closely.
Poor little T'Abby is beginning to move away from the storm drains--where he was probably born.
He is a feral kitty. One that is wild, and won't come near anyone. He has learnt that food is available across the street. But he's been chased away by Ghost Kitty, so he sits in our front garden, to make sure the coast is clear. He's about 1/3 the size of Ghost Kitty.
We feel sorry for him. Though young, he'll probably never be socialised, or caught so he can be desexed and immunised.
Ferals learn early about survival.
But in the meantime, we have lots of street theatre.