Where's Boots?

"My turn!"  I told DH, darling hubby.  "I'll feed the cats this time," I typed into the cell phone's messaging app.

They're feral cats, but oh-so-feral they're NOT.  They sleep on the door mat and DH scratches their bellies upon arriving home, and he feeds them like beggars at a buffet!  They also have affectionately chosen names, yet they do survive in the great outdoors.

Anchovy, the momma, is gray like the little fish on a pizza, and we love pizza!
Boots, is what they call a tuxedo cat, because of his black and white coloring.  He's a tom alright, stubborn and hungry.  He's not the father, tho he's fatherly.
Gizmo, gray striated with white paws, misjudges distances, and constantly accidentally steps off the deck, or misses a step and bumps his chin.  He's lively.
Sprocket, scawny, colored like his brothers, eats more times a day but still looks the runt.
And, then there's Pig.  Gray Pig eats everything.  Gray Pig is first.  Gray Pig is fast.  Gray Pig still nurses and Anchovy lets him!  Why?!?

Now, you know sizes, colors and some personalities.

So, I volunteered to feed the cats.  This isn't normal for me as I have asthma and am allergic to long haired animals but I donned some disposable gloves, popped a top on the tuna super dinner, and doled out the food.

First, because he's a slow eater, a big portion for runt Sprocket.  I pick up him and his plate and plop him onto a table so his portion isn't stolen by Boots or Pig.

Where's Boots?  Oh well, if Boots were around I'd have to play guard dog.

Second, the momma.  Anchovy is skinny and won't wean them totally, so I give her a larger portion.

Third & Fourth, Gizmo and Pig get equal portions.

"Boots," I call.  No sign of him.  "Here kitty-kitty."  Where's that cat?  Hopefully, he's hunting, sniffing out some mice or vole or piney squirrel.  Then it happens.

Zoo-oom!  Zip!  A black streak zings by my ankles and slurps at Anchovy's dish.  "No, you don't,"  and I set him at his own dish.  He finishes in record time as I knew he would.  He began helping himself to Anchovy's.  "No you don't."  And I pick him up again and dangle his feet in the kiddie pool of water.

Cats usually like to preen after being in water and I thought this would stall Boots and give the others time to finish.  So, dangle, swing, white toes in the water and out, "Let's dance and splash, Boots, whatdya say?"  His body goes stiff, his language says "I'm not having non of this!"  I put him down.

Zoo-oom!  Zip!  It's a black streak deja vu!  He's back at the food dishes budging for his place at any dish.  Well, shoot that didn't work.  I check the plates, most are almost empty but Anchovy and Sprocket are still at it.  So, I pick up Boots again, deciding this time he's gonna get a little more wet, hopefully this time he'll stop and shake off the water and do some cat grooming, lick and swipe.

So,  I dangle his white toes in the water up to his black furred legs, all four.  We get the tail wet, he's still not buying it, so I lower him further and get his belly wet and some of his chin whiskers, too.  I play with his legs, ding-dong his tail, and scratch between the ears.  There.  That'll do the trick.  The kitties will surely have time enough now to finish their dinners plus Boots gets a little extra exercise and play time.

He never gave me a blink!  He didn't pause a nanosecond.  He didn't wonder at his flattened fur.  He thought I was a nut.  

Without a thought, without a smile, he was gone!
Zoo-oom!  Zip!

"Boo-oots!"