A Practical Cat

She came charging out of the darkness more than a year ago. It was about 1:30 in the morning. My boyfriend and I were sitting on the front porch relaxing after work when we heard her. She had a meow that sounded harsh and complaining. I had never seen such a scrawny cat. Her hip bones jutted out; her back felt boney, like a skeleton covered with fur. She might have been a different species from the 15-pound cats inside the house.
I went inside, got her a can of food and watched as she ate. When she finished, she paused long enough to hiss at me, then went running off into the night.
Neighbors in Sunset Hills tell me she’s been around for six years, a sort of neighborhood stray, a cat-about-town. But in the last year she hasn’t strayed far from my porch. She’s been vaccinated for rabies, leukemia and distemper. In May, the vet removed four teeth that were decaying. Fortunately, whoever took care of her before had her spayed.
But many strays aren’t so lucky.
In North Carolina last year, 284,402 cats and dogs ended up at shelters. About 42,000 of them found new homes. The other 219,311 were euthanized, according to the N.C. Department of Health and Human Resources.
In six years, one female dog and her offspring theoretically can produce 67,000 dogs. In seven years, one female cat and her offspring can produce 420,000 cats. Most of them will end up at shelters. Most of them will be euthanized.

Gypsy, I call her. A neighbor calls her Singer because she’s so vocal. She answers happily to both names.
She reminds me of Mehitabel, a character created by Don Marquis in a newspaper column he wrote in 1916. Mehitabel claims to be a reincarnation of Cleopatra. Her story is told by Archie, a cockroach who writes his column by jumping on the keys of a typewriter. He writes in lowercase because he can’t use the shift key for capitals.
This is Mehitabel’s song:

i have had my ups and downs
but wotthehell wotthehell
yesterday sceptres and crowns
fried oysters and velvet gowns
and today I herd with bums
but wotthehell wotthehell
i wake the world from sleep
as I caper and sing and leap
when I sing my wild free tune
wotthehell wotthehell

When I get home from work at night, I listen for Gypsy’s wild free tune telling me she's hungry. Any worries I’ve brought home vanish when she runs to greet me, purring, stretching out on the pavement in front of me to have her head scratched.
Wotthehell.