When our dog passed away, our yard became overrun with not only the many stray cats, but also an occasional coyote or raccoon and quite a plethora of squirrels, birds, and rabbits. The later three we quite enjoyed, but the first two we could have happily done without.
However, if a cat stuck around for a while, it was, naturally, dubbed with a name. Most of them came with obvious names, such as Ringtail for the orange and white tabby that had such a peculiar grey and orange ringed tail; the black Sylvester, with his huge white bib and lopsided markings on his face; and Little Cat for the little gray tabby cat. The black stray also came with an obvious name. He was so muscular and lean and tough, with such big yellow eyes that there really was no other name for him than Bagera.
With all the animals around, it was really only Bagera that truly bothered our cats the most. My poor Lica became so traumatized that she was scared to death of anything black. On the rare occasion I would take her inside and up to my bedroom she took to creeping around, freezing if she saw anything black--even if it was a belt laying on the floor. Once when I moved said belt, she about had a heart attack, jumping and slinking stiffly backwards.
When wanting to go outside, both cats would slink up to the cat door and sniff for sometime before working up courage to poke their head cautiously out to look for any looming cats.
Bagera was quite bold and often hung close to the house. However he was completely terrified of humans. If he so much as caught a glimpse of one of us he was freeze for one split second, his eyes wide with the very epitome of terror. Then he would run with desperate panic.
Stay tuned for more enstallments of The Saga of the Black Stray. You can read Segment One: Overrun by Cats and Coons here.