Thirteen years. In 13 years, I figure I will have a freshly-painted porch. By that time, I also figure it will be a termite-eaten, water-rotted, sagging, splintering mess. Ready for replacement. But it will be done. Re-painted. A beautiful thing when hauled to the dump. It will take another 13 years to get to that point. That is what I figure.
It’s all thanks to the porch cat.
There is only one now. There had been two. Both were already up there in years when we adopted them from down the street. A duo. A pair that never went anywhere without the other one. Sunburst is the older male – a nick in his ear forever designating him as a former feral cat. He has only three teeth in his mouth and he’s completely deaf. Not likely to win any kitty pageants, but sweet as can be.
Teagrass was the ailing female who started losing weight dramatically and had just gone on thyroid pills. She must have been 16 years or older. One morning a month or so ago she came home, sat on the kitchen floor without eating and just kind of alerted the world to her presence. It was like she wanted to say hello … or maybe goodbye. Afterward, she wandered off and we never saw her again.
Cats do that, we’ve been told. Come to say their goodbyes, have a last look around, turn in their wills and then go off to find some comfortable out-of-the-way location to lay their heads for the final time. As hard as we’ve looked, we’ve never found her.
The old man, Sunburst, is pretty lonely now. He comes in to eat and nuzzles against my dog, craving companionship. The dog casts us glances that seem to say in a single expression: “This kind of thing isn’t natural, you know?” and “If he does that one more time, I’m seriously going to eat him!”
We feel for the cat because they were a pair. They never went anywhere without each other, and you can feel his loss. He’s never been alone before, and we’re his only family now.
Which is why I guess the timing wasn’t so great to try and paint the porch. A porch cat, by virtue of the name, resides on the porch. And if there is one thing you can be sure of in life, it is that painting a porch and a porch cat do not mix.
So, I’ve been trying to work around him. Cordoning off sections so I can scrape off chipping paint and re-seal it with primer. I build elaborate cardboard porch “forts” to quarantine an area from his feet and his ever-shedding hair. But he is a cat, which means he can slip through a crack like a stream of water. I will feel a push on my back as he nuzzles his head into me. “Dang porch cat!” I yell, my eyes catching the long line of kitty prints that track his path through the fresh paint.
And it’s not some straight line, either. No cat in history has ever walked a straight line. It looked like one of those dance-step diagrams for some really elaborate or frenetic moves, like the samba or the Lindy Hop. The tracks in the paint meander one way and then the other, doubling back on themselves, and then abruptly bouncing forward.
He looks at me with big cat eyes and meows as if to say, “Done? Dinner?”
“OUT OF MY PORCH FORT, DANG PORCH CAT!!!” I shout at him. But it’s unsatisfying … because he’s deaf and thinks I’m saying, “Want a can of meaty morsels, good sir?”
I’ve taken to doing small sections of the porch at a time. It means what should have been a simple weekend project has stretched on for a month and a half. And I’m still not done. Meanwhile, there are green kitty footprints everywhere. Along the non-green pavers. On the railings. Through the house. The other morning I could have sworn I saw the faint residue of a green track on the INSIDE of the car windshield.
It’s taking forever. I’ll never be finished. I should have fenced it all off with chicken wire and kicked him out until it was done.
But, he’s a lonely porch cat. Mourning in his own porch cat way. Suddenly alone and desperate for companionship. Just looking for a little love and someone to nuzzle up against. I guess I can re-paint over the green footprints. Not worry about the kitty hair sticking out of the paint like clumps of marsh grass. Sure, it might take me years to finish, and by then the porch will be ready for the dumpster. But at least the porch cat will be happy, and no one should ever have to feel alone.