As only an only-cat can

Holding the high ground

Sudden chaos of a catfight erupted outside the kitchen window. Death screams and growls filled the neighborhood. I ran to the front door and called Percy’s name.

Snorting and huffing

He galloped over, as he often did when he knew had exhausted his time outside. Uninjured, he trotted into the kitchen for wet food. But something seemed wrong. 

“What’s that between your toes?” I asked aloud. His white paws had huge chunks of black fur jutting out from the seam between each toe. He got both paws into whatever cat joined the skirmish. 

Percy 1, Neighborhood Cat 0. 

Detente with Lucy

To put it mildly, Percy had a fraught relationship with other cats. Not every cat or dog caused him to lash out, but those that did he never forgot. I never heard him growl until we moved to Inglewood, when he first viewed the neighbor’s cat.

Some mornings I woke to him growling, snorting and hissing as one of the wild tuxedo cats in the neighborhood stared at him through the bedroom window. 

He eventually came to an uneasy truce with Lucy, my neighbor’s cat. He also dealt with his two dogs pretty well. Everyone traded sniffs and no one turned aggressive. But Bill (my neighbor) moved on, and Percy was alone again aside from hissing at tiny tuxedo cats.

This he didn't mind.

Polite sniffing

Percy sparred with a few feral cats in Donelson. One black and white male took to attacking him on occasion. He had a few spats the feral female but those died down after she had six kittens in the fence. Once everyone was fixed, everyone got along or at least tolerated each other. 

Maybe it was because Percy saw those cats in the yard when they were no larger than balled-up socks. When they sniffed him or tried to give him group-scent, he darted out of the way. If they caught him off-guard, he entertained a sniff. But he never stayed. He never missed a chance to pee on a spot where one of them left a scent in the yard. His tail had a mind of its own, shaking furiously as he squeezed out every last drop. 

The one cat from that group that he never tolerated was Gray. From our feral mother’s earlier litters, the lean gray male wit a white bib raised Percy’s ire. Gray even knew Percy was gunning for him. When Percy came onto the patio, Gray would sometimes flee or hide behind my flowerpots. If he only saw the other outside cats, Percy usually moved on. 

One cold morning, Percy aimed straight for Gray. He started growling when he spotted Gray and began circling. They kicked and fought as Gray tried to leave the yard. I followed and shouted Percy’s name till he paused his assault. Gray was gone over the fence. 

Last days with Miss Min

Next to me Percy huffed and puffed, me blissfully unaware I was now in danger. His agitated meows and snorts grew louder. Then he pounced onto my left leg, drawing blood through jeans. I shook him off and went in. When he joined me, he sat atop the hamper with an expression that could have only been pouting. That Percy deliver the last lesson I’ll ever need in cats and misdirected aggression. 

His only inside companion was Miss Min. That lasted two years. They were not bonded. Miss Min came from the outdoor clowder after she suffered a bad leg injury. Once she lost the group-scent, they rejected her. 

Percy did not entirely embrace her, even as they were introduced in the proper manner. Sometimes they were buddies.When she left, Percy easily resumed life as an only-cat. Aside from sparring with Gray until the latter’s disappearance in January 2019, he rarely had any troubles with the outdoor cats. 

A Crosswood cornering became a scrap

Trouble only came if he accidentally cornered one, and then they had to see their act through. I’d provide escape corridors and they would flee. Then I would flee to avoid becoming recipient to Percy’s redirected aggression. Percy also gave a pass to the cat known as Cream, a large but skittish male with lush fur who only came by irregularly. Outdoor kitties stayed in Nashville as we went west. A new gang to eat what Percy didn’t and loiter in the backyard did not emerge. A tortoiseshell cat came around easily, and they hissed at each other from the office window.

As close as Burd got

In Colorado, his only real encounter with another came from Burd. 

Yes, Burd the Cat. I have no insights on that name origin, but he wore harness with rabies tags and his owner’s phone number. The jet-black, intact male walked across the top of the backyard fence as easily as the squirrels.

He seemingly wanted to befriend Percy, which Percy would not accept. He watched Burd’s every move, attempting to look relaxed as his tail swished furiously every time Burd came within 10 feet. 

After a few weeks, I had enough of Burd – he kept trying to follow Percy into the house, and that didn’t fly. I had to haze off Burd after he tried to use my front flower bed as a litter box and he vanished a month after he first arrived. 

I chalked Percy’s icy response to the other cat’s youth. But really, Percy always preferred to keep other cats at a comfortable distance. 

Despite all that avoidance of other cats, Percy’s night trips outside always included several sessions of yowling, the long mournful sounds that feel like an animal in pain. Since he was fixed before I acquired him, Percy had no need to use yowling for draw a mate. 

Aside from calling for mates, cats can yowl from boredom, cognitive decline and as a warning to other nearby cats. 

To his very end, I can see Percy telling the neighborhood felines to step back. 

To the end, happily solo