My Balconied Perch : Withdrawal Symptoms

Withdrawal Symptoms

I am compelled to put pen to paper right now at this moment. Perhaps it will make me feel better. I really don't know. Depressingly, I am having withdrawal symptoms - if that is what you call it.
It all began about three-and-half years ago during the Jewish holiday of Sukkos. This is the time of year when we build so-called huts outdoors and depending on the weather, spend our days and nights basically living in these quarters. As this in itself is a religious topic, I want to get back to my train of thoughts, and concentrate rather on my dire plight. Hopefully, there will be plenty of other opportunities to speak about the meaning of life, etc.
As I say, it all began when I noticed lingering outside our house a frail, little kitten, who moved about in a forlorn manner.
Stop. Before I go any further, I have to insert a little background information crucial to my present state of mind. Growing up in South Africa, for my 11th birthday, I was presented with a kitten. He was what you call ash-blonde, and until he died some 14 years later became my companion, pal, and friend. In his honor, I mention his name, Abba. Many, many years afterwards, living in my present abode, my wife deemed it necessary to secure the services of a cat. The reason being that the adjoining desolate valley was to become a large city starting from literally scratch. As a result, dynamiting and explosions for leveling the terrain for mass construction soon shattered the landscape, and hitherto dormant underground havens for rats, mice, snakes, and other creepy-crawlies, were soon aroused with a vengeanceful wrath. An invasion of great proportions by these forces promptly swept the land. Our community, the closest to the marauding hordes, was plumb in line, or, in other words, ripe for the plucking.
At the time, I had been married for about 15 years, give or take. Well, one would think that after such a span of time, a wife would know most things about her husband.
On that fateful day, when she brought home a kitten ostensibly to wade off the unwelcome visitors, I managed a smile which really was a grimace. "What's your probem?" she uttered. "I always thought you liked cats."
I remained silent. Little did she know. Abba had left this world about 15 years ago - and it was still hurting.
Now, back to that fateful sukkos and the frail little kitten. By this time, my family were aware of my idiosyncracies with regards the feline species. Shnapsie Beilin, the initial "watchdog" was already 13-years old and still going strong. For those interested, still today, she rules my house with an imperious air of superiority.
Alas, after years of refraining from the temptation to surreptiously dropping a few morsels of left-over food for the strays, I succumbed. The little kitten devoured the meager pickings and next day was there for more. Only this time, she was accompanied by a second cat. And that is how it all began.
Today, who knows, there must be at least 30 cats, if not more. During the last couple of years, some have disappeared, some died, some born, and some have pretty much stayed throughout the duration. It has come to a point that what seems an entire army wait for me twice a day to receive their daily rations. About 2 years ago, I started to buy bags of hard cat food which lasts about 2 months, but lately is being gobbled up in less and less time. Not to mention the financial cost for this food. They also get household leftovers and Shnapsi's leftovers as well.
The neighbourhood folk kindheartedly make jokes at the new families pouring into our little street, but understandably there is an undercurrent of annoyance. The Rabbi of our community, who lives on a different street, has come out against this growing population phenomena. Our local municipality has a policy instigated some years ago of not helping solve the increasing dilemma. The truth is I don't feel great joy at what I am doing. Where is it going to end? Its getting out of hand.
This very morning, I received a great shock. I ventured outside with my rations in hand and looming before me presenting an austere stance with a stern, concerned frown, was my friend and neighbor from across the road.
"I am not moving from here. I will stand and watch everyday if need be, whilst you feed these cats. Please, stop feeding them.
"Last night, not for the first time they broke through my roof, made all kinds of noises, did things that cats do, and damaged my air-conditioning."
I stood nonplussed. How could I just go Cold Turkey and stop feeding them?

"But, but, " I stammered. "I can't just stop."
I looked at him in utter desperation.
"What it comes down to," he said, "Is that you care more for the cats than you do for me. Its as simple as that"
What was I to do? My neighbour was not being personal against me. I took no affront whatsoever. But he was being affected, and something had to be done.
For a few stickly seconds the stand-off ensued - and then I was thrown a lifeline.
"Its okay if you take the food to the garbage dump and feed them there," he surprisingly suggested.
I did not need a second invitation. I began walking the 200 or so metres to the dumpster. Only one wise mother of a cat who had been a veteran outdoor resident almost from the beginning, followed me. The rest, all shapes and sizes, seemingly watched in bewilderment, as I plodded by. Upon return, they were looking at me, their faithful provider all these years, with rising hunger, and expectant breakfast. I went inside and closed the door.
As suppertime nears, they will be there waiting for me. I am already devising a plot, whereby I can enter and exit the house by a second door, make a wide arc, and avoid their stares.
I expect to continue making my way to the dumpster, and hopefully more cats will get the idea and follow me. Quite definitely, however, there will be a winding down of feeding.
I thank my neighbour for his stand. I am sure it was not easy for him.
Right now, I am feeling a little low to put it mildly. Even though I don't smoke, I envisage the smoker's need for a cigarette, as he undergoes acute withdrawal symptoms in trying to give up the habit.
No doubt within a short time our street will revert to its former placid suburban calm. And that the cats, like billions worldwide, will acquire an expertise of survival under the banner of noble strays.
In the meantime, all I can say is, "Long live Shnapsie Beilin".