That cold winter day,
But Edwin L. Uhler
Was well on his way.
Ned left Owings Mills,
His wife, Kay, at the wheel,
Driving 25 miles
To deliver the meal.
They got to Nick's Fish House
Where Ned keeps his boat,
And then something happened
That's worthy of note:
'Twas a gaggle of cats
- A feline regatta -
Appearing from nowhere
Upon hearing his auto.
One cat, then two cats,
Then three and then four;
And then after that
There came even more:
Black, tan and gray cats,
They trotted and waddled;
Some long-haired, some short,
Some solid, some mottled.
From the rocks on the shore,
From beneath a trailer,
They crept and they scurried
To greet the old sailor.
Ned wore a cap
- A Greek sailor's hat -
And got out of his car
With a big plastic vat.
With a wood-handled spoon
They laid food on the ground:
Some here and some there
In big heaping mounds.
And no sooner than that
Did the cats start to nibble
On Kay's special mixture
Of canned food and kibble.
Until he retired
A few weeks ago,
Ned, 80, came daily
- Rain, sleet or snow.
Kay joins him on weekends,
And when the job's done
They go out for breakfast
And coffee, and fun.
Kay plays video slots
And Ned drinks a beer;
Then they go home
All filled with good cheer.
They once sailed the bay,
But those days are past,
And their boat now sits empty,
No sail on its mast.
Ned lost a leg
About six years ago;
A stroke left Kay's right arm
Quite weak and quite slow.
But together, Kay said,
They can meet most demands.
It's a trade-off of sorts:
"I'm his legs; he's my hands."
Ned ran a company
That dispatched big trucks;
Kay worked in the office
- Now how's that for luck?
Kay liked him right off
Partly based on this fact:
"He can't be a bad guy
If he has a cat."
They married, years passed
And many more pets they raised,
But the last one that died
Had left them quite fazed.
The death of their cat
Had left them bereft,
So the Uhlers decided
They'd have no more pets.
But not long after that,
At their front door one night
Two cats showed up,
Both of them white.
One they named Blanche
And one Crackerjack,
But not long after that
They were taken aback
To find Jack was a Jill
- Now what's up with that?
Back at the marina
They have even more,
Though the days that they go
They've reduced to four.
It's a long way to drive
And they need to cut back
On the money they spend
On big cat food sacks.
Between canned food and dry
They're paying high rates:
Forty-five dollars a week
Or so Kay estimates.
"Forty-five dollars!"
Ned says with a hiss;
"Forty-five dollars?
I did not know this."
It all got started
Three years ago June,
When the owners pulled out
Of the Dead Eye Saloon.
There were two cats they fed;
One left there with them;
But the one left behind
Faced quite a dilemma.
His name was ol' Smokey
A friendly feline
With no rightful owner
And no place to dine.
That's where things stood
When ol' Ned stepped in
Not thinking that one
would soon become ten.
Apparently Smokey
Had girlfriends, you see,
And one became two,
And two became three,
And three became four,
And four became five,
And the cat population
Continued to thrive.
Now Ned's not Nick's only
Feral cat feeder.
There's a woman, also
Though few try to meet her.
She builds kitty shelters
And lays out more chow
And no one's quite sure
Just when or just how.
Only this much is known
About this lover of cats:
She drives a black car
And her first name is Pat.
Being a marina
And a restaurant, at that
Nick's had some problems
With occasional rats.
Now the rats are all gone,
And some boaters like that,
But still others complain
About the number of cats.
Some even admit
That the cats drive them bats
And soil their boats
With nasty cat scat.
"If they fed them less
It would work better for me,"
Says Nick's general manager
Whose name is Terry.
Boat owner Sue Weeks
Says they look cuddly at first,
"But when you put food out
You're just making it worse."
They leave paw prints on cars
And they stink up the joint,
Leaving stains on boat cushions
They choose to anoint.
One would be fine;
Maybe two would be cuter,
But much more than that
And it comes time to neuter.
Weeks knows that it might
Make the soft-hearted pout
But she thinks the cats' ranks
Need a good thinning out.
One-legged Ned
Doesn't see it that way
And you can rest quite assured
That neither does Kay.
Starving the cats
Is not a solution
(And don't even mention
Cat execution).
Whatever their numbers
The cats need to eat,
And Ned will keep feeding
Come cold or come heat
Ned rose from his barstool
After sitting a bit
He straightened his cap
To secure a good fit.
He pondered a question:
Why not just quit? And he said only this: "
They appreciate it."
john.woestendiek@baltsun.com