要起床吃早餐了。
我家是一个由家猫和野猫组成的两族家庭，它们都饿得不行了。有一对猫在我的床脚下大叫，而 凉台 上的野猫则兴奋地打翻了庭院里的椅子。我敢肯定，如果没有猫科动物的闹钟，我还在睡觉。现在才早上5点。
现在我已经退休了，曾经必要的早起冲锋，已经放缓到几乎停滞了。除了猫咪，如果我睡到中午也没什么关系。我抬起身子，把脚摆到地上，吞咽。在没有工作日的日常里，它们天亮后的要求给了我替代性的满足——一种关怀仪式。
我光着脚走到浴室。我的两只家猫皇后跟在后面，它们的叫声在大厅里回荡。我提起T恤，屁股坐在凳子上，透过敞开的门看向隔壁的房间。在 家庭房的远处墙壁上，在玻璃推拉门的另一侧，野猫们排成一排，用大理石般的眼睛盯着我。它们有八只，一只公猫首领和他的两个妃子，四只小猫和一个厚颜无耻的玳瑁猫难民，它有一天来到这里，就再也没有离开。
上完厕所，我洗了脸，刷了牙，用了漱口水，然后照了照镜子。这又是没有化妆的一天。我用抓绒布顺顺灰色卷发，并观察着回看着我的那个女人。我从未打算在我的人生最后一幕中成为一个养猫女，但我却毫无羞耻地宣称自己的刻板印象。镜子里的倒影微笑着。我可能不再是我所选择职业中的领导者，但每天早上，我绝对是这群猫的领导者。
来-来。来-来。 这是我用来称呼小猫的特别唱腔。 来-来。来-来。 我的声音有种通电的效果，能把无形的电波送入大气层。
提卡，一只20岁的猫，它的米色外衣已经变成了银色，首先跳下走廊。毕加索，一只免疫力低下的三色猫，因其半边阴阳脸而得名，踮起脚尖小心翼翼地跟随。他们停在家庭房间里，等着我。它们眼睛跟随着我的手，解开凉台门闩，推开门。
The ferals
Outside, the ferals jitter in anticipation, pushing shoulders, jockeying for the best position. Pilot, a nickel-coloured kitten, hangs spread-eagle on the screen door.
“Are you that hungry?”
The sound of my voice triggers a tumultuous commotion. Honeyboy, the Lion King of the lanai, has dethroned Pilot from the screen with a furry swat. A chorus of hungry howls reaches a crescendo.
“All right. All right. I’m getting it for you.” My barefoot pace quickens, and my actions go on automatic pilot, a ritual that begins every day.
From the pantry, I take out the cans of wet food, then fill the bowls, forming an assembly line on the counter. The fishy smell stinks up the kitchen and I rinse the oily residue down the drain. Aroused by the odour, Picatso and Tikka bracelet my ankles, motorboat hum and plaintively mew.
I set their bowls on a placemat. There is satisfaction in feeding hungry mouths, even those of aged indoor cats and rambling outdoor strays. But I feel something else, too. Tikka and Picatso dip their heads, flagpole their tails, lap up the sauce. I feel grateful for these furry alarm clocks who give me 10 good reasons to get out of bed since I no longer need to dash to the office.
When I go to slide open the screen, all eight of the furballs rush the door and block me in, and I can barely make it onto the lanai. I wobble on unsteady feet for a moment, and then gently move Honeyboy and Mama with my toes. Only Smokey, the blind one, refuses to give way, looking up at me with her vacant, rheumy eyes. The kittens, pushed back by their elders, have rolled themselves into a collective ball of fur. The outlier Tortie paces on an end table she’s claimed for herself.
“Come and get it! ”
I lower the food in two recycled plastic tubs. An urgent, furry pandemonium explodes and then separates, encircling both bowls. I am no longer the focus of their undivided feline attention. Their faint slurping and purring are thanks enough.
The last one to be fed is the Tortie I call Hedley, who waits, pacing in circles on top of her table. I place her personal bowl in front of her and she gives my arm a lingering, appreciative rub before launching her mouth into the food.
一 feeling of gratitude wraps around me like a shawl, as I listen to the chorus of indoor and outdoor slurping. Even without a nine-to-five job, I’m content. I pour a cup of coffee, slice a pear. Then I take my seat in the family room, where I watch both tribes eat, knowing that for a moment, I was the most important person in the world.
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图1 Dimitris Vetsikas 来自 Pixabay 图2 摄影 Aline Dassel 来自 Pixabay
