My neighborhood is odd.
Last night I received a coyote alert. A coyote alert. Okay, then.
Most of the time it’s a strange car notice or a warning about people loitering on the corner. This time it’s, “Hey, there’s a coyote family on the corner of XXX and XXX (three doors down from me). Better watch your cats.”
People are odd, too.
Coyotes have learned how to adapt to urban settings. I wouldn’t exactly call my neighborhood urban, but it is suburbia. Animals that have adapted eat things, like small pets. When the Mexican hawks come hunting you’d better lock up any dog smaller than a Rottweiler because they’ll swoop down and carry it off for lunch.
Yet people are absolutely horrified at the notion that a family of coyotes will eat their wandering cats.
Segue here: you know how I feel about outdoor cats. I don’t think it’s a good idea. However, the Cat Police have never called and asked my opinion, so I’m SOL here.
Lots of my neighbors are now canvassing for the feral cats that live in our area. I haven’t seen the little black cat for a while. Or the gray one. Or the black and gray one, either. I have no idea what happened to them, but I don’t think it’s good.
The coyotes are welcome to the skunk who has visited my house for the last two nights, driving Stanley the Skunk Killer Insane. Or the possum I saw swaying back and forth on her progression across my little creek bed. I think it was a mama and she was very, very pregnant. Okay, skip the possum, but the skunk’s all yours.