Jonny Numb

Two animal-kingdom encounters that occurred on June 18 caused me to reflect on the seemingly odd wildlife I’ve seen in the area since early 2020.

When we were at our previous address and things were still shut down, I looked out the front window of our apartment and saw a pack (gaggle? squall?) of wild turkeys walking from the side yard and across the street. Where did they come from? Where did they go? Beats me, though their formation and movements seemed very purposeful.

At our current residence, there are a group of stray cats that roam the neighborhood in search of food. There are some “lifers” in the group, but the new furry faces that appear seemingly at random convey that we’re a popular “dump site” for irresponsible shitheads unfit (and unworthy) to take care of their pets.

Since winter of 2021, I’ve been putting food and water on our back stoop for the strays. And last year, I finally took the initiative to work with an excellent trap-neuter-return organization (Nobody’s Cats) to help regulate the consequences of “kitten season.” They loaned me a trail cam to get an idea of the cats who were coming by to feed, and at what times of day.

As I keep the outdoor cats on a feeding schedule (putting fresh water and food out in the evening), a majority of the snapshots from the trail cam were taken anywhere between sunset and dawn, which led to a lot of black-and-white photos that made it hard to discern one cat from another. (I estimate I’m feeding at least 5-6 “regulars,” plus the occasional transient.)

Well…anybody who knows me knows cats aren’t unique to my daily existence (no offense, Kima), but an opossum was also caught red-pawed on the trail cam. (One image was a bit comical, as an impatient cat stood nearby, waiting for the opossum to finish up.)

On the morning of June 18, me and my partner had plans to go to Lancaster to celebrate Father’s Day with her family. As we both rushed around to make sure we had everything we needed for the trip, my concentration was disrupted by a loud clanging coming from the chain-link fence that surrounds our backyard.

The repetition of the sound – like a horror-movie victim-to-be reaching a dead end – made me rush to the back door to identify the source.

I swung open the storm door to see a doe deer scrambling along the perimeter of the fence, trying – and failing – to clear it. (The corner it was fixating on is blocked by a triangulation of big, angular tree trunks.)

One of the neighbors behind us (we share part of our fence with her property), also jarred by the noise, asked what was going on. Her vantage point was blocked by our shed and the massive trees at the back of our yard. I said, in profoundly inelegant fashion: “holy shit – it’s a deer!”

“You need to open your gate so it can get out!” she replied. I told her it was already open, to which she added: “She’s not going to go away if we’re out here.”

I was too surprised by what I was seeing to register that the presence of two humans volleying loudly back and forth was only aiding in making the doe feel even more trapped and threatened.

I retreated back inside, closing the doors behind me, and attempted to block the scene from my mind and focus on our imminent departure. After a few minutes, the clanging subsided and the doe was gone. (Our suspicion was that it entered and exited via a small side-fence that was bent – and subsequently lowered – during an incident last year.)

We reside in a suburban area, with any habitable “woods” several miles away. My only hope is that the doe found its way to safety, as we live pretty close to the on-ramp for a major interstate.

In any case, we arrived home from Lancaster a little after 9, as the final dim traces of daylight gave over to all-encompassing night. As me and my partner were quite spent from the day’s events (the weekend overall had been extremely busy for both of us), I went about my usual routine of checking refilling Kima’s food bowl before checking on the feeding station for the strays.

When I flipped the switch for the back-porch light, I saw a creature squatting on the other side of the storm door. It took a moment, but what I thought was an especially plump cat was really a raccoon chowing down on the vittles I’d put out before leaving that morning.

It seemed nonplussed at my presence and the glow of the outdoor light, so I opened the door slightly, upsetting its preferred feeding pose, and gave it a halfhearted “get outta here, YOU!” as it retreated – similarly halfheartedly – toward a dark corner of the backyard.

So yeah…a lot of interesting experiences with wild animals one doesn’t typically see around here. That said, I hope the deer snafu was an isolated incident – it was sad to see it trying so frantically to escape the situation it found itself in.